“What’s going on there?” I asked.
“They do penny PBRs for Harton players in uniform if we win the homecoming game,” Jacob said, grinning. “It used to just be for football players, but someone ages and ages ago pointed out a while back that it just says “players”, so now everyone in the athletic department comes out. It’s a tradition, now.”
“Want to go?” I asked, though what I really wanted to ask was “why aren’t you there?”
Jacob hesitated— I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen him hesitate like this, like he was uncertain. Like he was worried. “Yeah. Yeah, of course,” he said swiftly.
He guided me over to the bar; once he was within everyone’s line of sight, they began to call out greetings. The football players standing outside jostled toward him, looking like they wanted to clap him on the shoulder but were worried about picking the wrong one and exacerbating his injury. They knew me by name now, too, and smiled at me, which felt strange but also nice.
“Here, man, it’s on me,” a player— it was Greene, I realized, then realized I knew the names of all the players nearby from watching the games. Greene reached into his pocket and slapped a handful of pennies into Jacob’s hand, lettings dozens fall to the ground.
“You’re too kind,” Jacob laughed, and pocketed them. “See you guys inside?”
“Nah, Adams is in there being a dick,” Greene said under his breath.
“Perfect,” Jacob said darkly. He took my hand and together, we walked into The Manhattan.
The bar was so similar to the way it had been the first time I met Jacob here that it almost felt like I’d stepped back in time— only now it was Adams in the throne, taking visitors. Piper was by his side, leaning against him possessively, but she didn’t look particularly happy to be there. She looked even less happy when she saw me and Jacob come in.
“Hey, you two!” I called out with such false glee that it was almost laughable.
“Hey, Piper,” Jacob said warmly. “Adams.”
“Brother!” Adams said, rising. He held out a hand, then— “Oh, wait, man. Don’t want to fuck your arm up.”
“I’m not too worried about a handshake. Especially if it’s yours,” Jacob responded, still warm, still grinning, but I felt his grip tense on me. The crowd around them laughed at the joke, and Adams threw his head back and rather drunkenly guffawed.
“Can I get you a drink man?” Adams said.
“Nah, Greene hooked me up with his riches,” Jacob said.
“Well, then can I get you a drink?” Adams said, turning his attention to me. His gaze washed over me with none of the propriety the guys outside had shown. Piper went stiff beside him.
“I’m all set, thanks,” I answered crisply.
“Ah, yeah, yeah, your man’ll treat you,” Adams said, laughing and leaning back against the bar. His chest was broad— broader than Jacob’s, actually, now that it was puffed out like this. I rather suspected the pose was to show that fact off. “Lucky man, lucky man,” Adams muttered loudly.
“I am,” Jacob said, and turned to the bar to end the conversation. I, however, found myself roped in by Adams’ eyes on me. It wasn’t the smoldering, hypnotic gaze that Jacob had used to trap me so early in our relationship; it was more demanding, capturing me in a way that made me afraid in some way I couldn’t quite put my finger on.
“You let me know if he ever stops treating you, yeah?” Adams said coyly.
“What would you need her for?” Piper swept in, and licked at the edge of Adams’ right ear to recapture his attention. Adams grinned and turned his head, then kissed her on the lips. It was the outlet I needed; I turned away from him, though not quickly enough to miss him answering Piper’s question.
“Come on, baby— why have just one roommate when I could have two? Hell, aren’t there three of you?” he said hungrily, in a voice just playful enough that if he’d needed too, he could have claimed it was all a joke. Piper laughed faintly, and I stepped closer to Jacob, wanting desperately to get out of Adams’ space.
“I heard a rumor you’ll be back in at Clemson,” the bartender, a hipster with a stellar handlebar mustache, said as he slid four PBRs across the counter (for a total of five pennies).
“Absolutely,” Jacob said, smiling broadly. The bartender’s words seemed to have returned some of the cockiness that I missed to his face. “Shoulder is healed up perfectly. Wanted to play today, but you know how it is. Gotta wait till everything is a hundred percent.”
“Can’t wait for it. That guy is good,” the bartender said, nodding toward Adams, “but you’re the hero, Everett.”
“Thanks,” Jacob said, nodding to him, then grabbing all four bottles— two in each hand— by the neck. He and I wound past a series of athletes, Jenna included (I was grateful she was in the midst of a conversation and didn’t notice Jacob), and returned to the players outside. Jacob set the bottles down on a table filled with empties; I nursed one while he pounded another and fell into a lengthy discussion of the upcoming Clemson game with the other players, seemingly fueled by both the words with Adams and the bartender’s enthusiasm. It wasn’t until I checked my phone that I realized he’d been talking for nearly a half hour— and I’d been standing nearby, quietly waiting.