Max frowned—something he did not do often. He started, “What do you—”
“You know what I mean,” I interrupted. “Why is Carter on your case about kicking? He’s the quarterback, and he acts like he’s never heard of your position. There’s something else going on between you, isn’t there?”
“Yeah. It’s kind of hard to explain.”
“Try. It’s getting weird, and I’m getting tired of teaching Carter football.”
Max chuckled, but there was no humor in the sound. “Well, Carter didn’t speak English all that well when he came to America, so he got behind in school. He’s always had trouble making friends, for the same reason. The first sport we played together was soccer, but being a big guy isn’t an advantage there. It’s an advantage in football, and when we started playing, he was a lot better than me.”
I nodded. “And then you became a kicker.”
“Yeah.” Max sighed—because he was worried about the situation with Carter. Or because he was relieved I understood what he was explaining to me. I couldn’t tell.
“Carter’s a great quarterback, but you’re a great kicker,” I said, piecing it together. “He finally found one thing he was better at than you, and now he’s lost that.”
Max shrugged. “I mean . . . I’m not even sure that’s what he’s mad about. That’s what I think, but I don’t know.”
“Why don’t you ask him?”
Max laughed, and this time his heart was in it. “Have a conversation with my friend about how we really feel? You’re one to make that suggestion.”
“I don’t communicate very well with my friends,” I acknowledged, “but you do.”
“With you,” he said. “Not with guys. Guys would think I couldn’t take the pressure.” He rubbed his eyes with one hand, then held his head, eyes squinted shut. “How could Addison make a mistake like that? You go to the same high school, with its three Chinese or whoever they are, and you’ve never made a mistake like that.”
“Jesus, Max, would you let it go? I make plenty of mistakes. I ruined your mojo, remember?”
He put down his hand and stared at me with wide, serious eyes. “Don’t say that.”
“And you make mistakes. I don’t know what they are, but I’m sure you’ve made one before.”
My hand was still on his chest. His heartbeat had slowed as we talked. Now I felt it speed up beneath my fingertips.
He swallowed and said softly, “I sure have.”
Oh God. Max was trying to tell me that he wished he’d asked me out instead of Addison!
Or, was he? As he watched me with his long lashes blinking slowly over his dark eyes, I began to wonder. Maybe he wished he’d never met either of us. If he broke up with Addison, that would be the end of my friendship with Max too.
“What do you mean by that?” I asked. It came out a whisper.
“Nothing,” he grumbled, walking away. My hand slipped off his chest.
I wanted to pull him back, to tell him to wait. But I was beginning to feel like a puppy following him around and barking at his heels. So I hung back a few paces as he strode around the corner and up the sidewalk toward Addison. I wanted to plead with him not to break up with her forever, but all I could do was hold my breath.
By the time I reached the booth, he’d slid next to Addison and was talking earnestly to her, holding her hand. She looked upset, but her eyes were dry.
As I approached, Max stood up, pulling Addison with him. He frowned at Carter and said, “We’re going to my car. Give me five minutes.” His scowl sent the message, Or else. As they left the shop, he didn’t glance at me.
I slid into the seat they’d vacated and reached across the table for my iced coffee. The ice had melted.
Carter looked at his watch, marking the beginning of the five-minute period. Go.
I sipped my coffee. “You shouldn’t have called Max a pretty boy.”
“You don’t know. You’re not there.” Carter stared down at the table. “It’s my team.”
“It’s not your team. It’s Max’s team too.”
We didn’t say another word for the rest of the five minutes. He signaled that time was up by standing.
Outside, I led the way to where Max had parked. We emerged from a tree-lined section of the sidewalk to see Max and Addison kissing in the front seat of his car. Not making out, exactly, but not a peck on the cheek, either. His mouth was on her mouth. His hand cupped her jaw.
My stomach sank. So he was glad to be with her after all. And the mistake he told me he’d made was . . . getting close to me?
Which meant that I hadn’t been imagining things. He had liked me.
And somehow I had blown it.
I looked up at Carter. “Good night.”
“Good night,” he said, hardly glancing at me. He stared at Max and Addison.
They parted and opened their eyes. Max glanced at us through the back window. They exchanged what must have been one last whispered declaration of love, and Addison scooted out of the passenger side and walked up the sidewalk to Carter. “I’ll call you,” she lied to me.
Carter and Max didn’t even wave to each other.
I shuffled down the sidewalk, climbed through the door Addison had left open, and closed it behind me. I faced forward, watching in the side mirror as Addison and Carter hike slowly back up the street.
Max started the car and pulled into traffic.
The silence was excruciating. Even the radio was off.
He finally broke the silence when he turned the car into my neighborhood. “We should plan something really special for your birthday next Thursday. We can go out then, since we all have the game on Friday.” His words were sweet, but he enunciated them with fake emotion, like he was reading off a cue card.
“Yes,” I said in the same tone. “That—sounds—like—fun!”
He glared at me across the car. “Why are you so mad?”
“I’m not mad.”
“You’ve been mad since I kissed Addison.” He sounded proud of himself. When I looked over, I caught a glimpse of the smug expression on his face before he could wipe it off.
“I have not been mad at you,” I said haughtily. “You’re supposed to kiss a girl when you’re on a date with her.”
“So you’re relieved that I’m finally kissing your friend,” he prompted me.