“Yeah. That’s true.” Micah let out a half laugh and pulled his keys out of his pocket. “I’ll just tell her you’re gay. That’ll throw her off.”
I flipped my baseball cap backward and flashed a tight grin. “Right. I gotta run.”
I ignored the instant wave of panic and the accompanying shame that came with letting them think there was even a hint of something romantic between Sunny and me, and hurried to greet my parents just as they were saying good-bye to Christian and Rory. They all praised my crappy game and I let them. I soaked in the love distractedly and tried not to dwell on Micah’s parting comment. Fuck, that guy bugged me.
“So proud, mijo.” My mom snaked her arm around my waist and hugged me to her side while my dad highlighted his favorite part of the winning play, using sweeping hand gestures.
Christian and Rory grinned at his antics. I felt an instant pang of longing for what they had. They were out and open, laughing and joking with my parents like old friends. Which made sense. My parents had known Christian since he was a baby. His family belonged to the same church as mine. We’d both grown up in strict, religious households, but unlike his folks, mine put their children first.
They’d been appalled that the Raffertys had disowned their son when he came out, and they made an extra effort to include him in our family gatherings. And Rory too. But my parents might react to my revelation differently. It was a culture thing. I was second-generation Mexican. And overblown machismo was a strong Maldonado trait. Gay friends were one thing, but being gay…no. I doubted I’d get tossed on my ear when or if I came out, but I knew everything would change. And not necessarily for the better.
“It wasn’t a good game. We all know it, Ma.” I tickled her side until she squealed and moved to stand next to my father.
My parents reminded me of mismatched salt and pepper shakers. My dad was six one and lean with mostly white hair, while my mom was five three, tops. She usually tied her long dark hair in a knot atop her head and tended to wear flowy blouses to hide what she referred to as the layer of fun around her middle. I looked like a combination of them, I supposed. I had my dad’s height and my mom’s hazel eyes and olive skin and her sense of humor.
“Doesn’t matter. It was a win,” my dad replied. “Too bad Sky is gone. I was just telling one of the other parents we need that kid back. Your coach mentioned it too.”
“He did?”
“Yeah, just in passing. He said he heard Sky was playing in a rec league. I think he wants to find a way to get him back on the team.”
Christian and I shared a wary look. I hadn’t had a chance to tell him about Sky’s message. I honestly just wanted to forget about it.
“Sky? I don’t think that would be such a great thing.” I glanced at my cell when it buzzed in my hand, grateful for the distraction.
Pressed at seven. Does that work?
“Of course it would be. That kid really knew the game. He had an instinct for…”
Yes. Where is that? I typed, tuning out my father’s speech about my ex’s baseball prowess.
Phoenix sent the address with a heart emoji. I stared at it for a moment, weighing reciprocal emoji options. A heart might give the wrong impression. A smiley face was lame. I settled on a thumbs-up symbol and then scrolled to find an ice cream cone. I pushed Send before I could overthink. He sent a gif of a toddler in a high chair flailing his arms in excitement while being fed ice cream. I chuckled, looked up and…
All eyes were on me. Fuck.
“What’s up? Did I miss something?” I asked casually.
“No, honey.” Mom smiled indulgently. “Are you hungry?”
“Yeah, let us buy you boys dinner.” Dad rubbed his hands together like he was already planning his order.
“Thanks, but we’re heading to LA tonight, Mr. and Mrs. M,” Rory said politely. “My brother is playing a solo guitar gig at Aromatique. I guess they’re keeping the coffee shop open late for a new artist showcase or something. You’re all welcome to join us.”
My parents politely declined the invitation, but I could tell they were pleased to have been included.
“How about you, Max?” Christian asked, nudging my bag.
“Tempting.” And it was. I liked Rory’s bother, Justin. He was a hot as fuck barista slash bartender with rock and roll aspirations. Any other Saturday I would have jumped at the invitation. “But I can’t. I have plans.”
“Oh. Are you seeing anyone special?” Mom’s eyes twinkled.
I hiked my bag higher on my shoulder, then leaned in to kiss her cheek. “Only you, Ma. Love you. Gotta run.”