Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 82543 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82543 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Peyton telling his parents what happened kind of gives me hope that it meant something to him too, but everything else points to Peyton only being into girls. Though, Miller’s comment about Pey being mostly straight keeps my hope alive.
Some of Peyton’s teammates start filing out of the stadium, and Peyton pushes his dads toward the west entrance to the school. “Let’s go get that dinner and get this over with.”
Talon turns to me. “Our son loves us. I promise.”
“Not right now, I don’t.”
We walk the couple of blocks away from college central to a restaurant I haven’t been to yet since moving here. It looks fancy and expensive, and it’s right on the beach, but as we get to the host to be seated, Talon slaps his forehead.
“Shit. We forgot we told Brady we’d have dinner with him tonight, didn’t we?”
Miller also pulls the most ridiculous, over-the-top look, as if he’s just remembering something. “We did. See, Pey? We are old and senile.”
Talon steps up to the host and whips out his credit card. “Hi, I made a reservation for four this morning under Talon, but it’s going to have to be changed to two. Let these kids get whatever they want and put it on this.”
The host either recognizes Peyton’s dads or is getting excited over the no-limit credit card because he immediately leads Peyton and me to a table by the window.
Talon and Miller give Peyton thumbs-up as they walk by outside, only cementing it even more that they know about us.
And now they’re setting us up on a date. It’s not the way I would have gone about it, but I can’t say I’m upset by it. Peyton obviously doesn’t agree with me.
He drops his head to the tablecloth. “I’m so sorry about them.”
“I … I actually think they’re kind of great.”
His head snaps up. “You what?”
I shrug. “If I had to choose between those kinds of parents who obviously love you and mine who are cold, distant, and have expectations, I’d choose yours every time.”
“Oh, you think they don’t have expectations for me? If I don’t become the next Tom Brady or Marcus Talon, they’ll—”
“They’ll still love you. They still love Brady, and he’s not even playing football anymore.”
Peyton frowns.
“They mentioned that fact in passing. Though, I already figured, seeing as he’s not playing for FU.”
“They made a joke about him being a traitor to the greatest sport in history, didn’t they?”
“How did you know?”
“They really need to get new material.” Peyton licks his lips. “And about all their comments, you know …” He can’t find the words, but I know what he’s going to say.
“I’m guessing they know what happened between us in high school.”
“They do, but I promise they won’t say anything to your family or—”
“My family knows I’m gay.”
Peyton’s eyebrows shoot up. “Y-you are? And … they do?”
And here it comes. The other conversation I knew I was going to have when coming face-to-face with Peyton again. I take a deep breath. “I knew by coming to this school, there was a good chance I was going to run into you and we’d have to have this conversation, but I’ve tried to think of the right words to say and still don’t have them right.”
“The ones saying ‘Hey, Peyton. I know we hooked up a billion years ago and I said it was nothing, but I lied. You are the best, most awkward sex I’ve ever had, and I want to tie you up in my basement so I can have my way with you whenever I want.’”
The sound that comes out of me is half a whoosh of relief and half a small laugh. “Yes. All of those things, obviously.”
“It’s cool. I had more fun than I let on too. I told my dads and Brady that it wasn’t a big deal, but it kinda was.”
My heart is in my throat as I try to build up the courage to choke out, “So you’re—”
Our waiter comes over to our table to pour us water and ask if we want to start with drinks.
I want to yell, Not now! But Peyton doesn’t hesitate to order.
“A bottle of your most expensive champagne. Please.” He turns to me. “And you’ll have?”
I can’t work out if he’s being serious or not, and sure, it’s just a bottle of champagne, but the way he ordered it reminds me of everyone back in my old circles. The ones who’d order the most expensive thing on the menu simply because they could. The ones who’d crash their Mercedes and then beg their families for a Beemer instead. I left the East Coast and that life for a reason.
My face must tell him so because he leans across the table and whispers, “I have a game tomorrow, so I can’t actually drink it, but my dads are paying, remember? This is payback.”