“Yeah, for sure. I’ll plan it.” He hadn’t let go of my hand as we walked around the concession level of the stadium, where they sold nachos, hot dogs, Dippin’ Dots, and waffle cones. It felt nice, not even clammy or anything. “Do you want anything to eat?” he asked.

“No, I’m good.”

He sighed. “I don’t think Braden likes me very much.”

“Braden is an idiot,” I said. “And he likes you just fine. I think it was me that he was trying to prove a point to.” If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was jealous.

“He really looks nothing like you.”

“Oh. He’s not my brother. I’m sorry, I should’ve clarified that. He’s my neighbor. But I’ve known him for twelve years, so I claim him as a brother, and he’s just as annoying as one, so it works out well.”

“Oh.” He glanced toward where our seats were, as if he could see Braden from here. “Your neighbor.”

Evan had a weird expression on his face that I couldn’t place.

“Should we head back? The game’s almost over,” I said, squeezing his hand.

“Yeah.”

When we were almost home, Braden said, “So, Evan, what are you doing in the morning?”

“Uh . . . nothing.”

“Do you like to play football? It’s just a pickup game. We play at nine at the park up the street from our houses.”

“Sure, sounds good.”

“Ohhh!” Amber squealed. “Do you go, Charlie?”

I nodded, silently seething over the invite.

She grabbed hold of Braden’s arm. “Can I come too?”

“Yeah, sure,” Braden said. “It’s tackle.”

I rolled my eyes. Amber wasn’t asking to play. She was asking to watch.

Evan hugged me good-bye, and then I watched as he drove away, followed shortly by Amber in her car. Braden and I stood side by side as her taillights disappeared around the corner.

“What was that all about?” he asked.

I took a deliberate step away from him. “What?”

“You pretending like you knew nothing about baseball?”

“That was me being a good date.”

He grunted and got that typical look he got when someone said something stupid—chin drawn down, eyes on the verge of rolling. “Really? Because it seemed like that was you playing dumb.”

“Whatever. That didn’t mean you had to go and do that.”

“Do what?”

“Invite him tomorrow.”

“Your brothers wanted to meet him. They texted me.” He held up his phone, as if that should make me feel better.

I tried to calm down by drawing a deep breath.

“Why are you so mad?” I wasn’t a fan of the fact that he could read me so well in that moment.

“Because you just took one of my favorite things away from me.”

“I haven’t taken anything away from you.”

My chest was tight and I had an overwhelming desire to punch him. “I can’t play tomorrow. I’ll have to sit on the sidelines, cheering you on.”

“Why would you have to do that? You’re an awesome football player.”

“Because, Braden, Evan will be there.”

He put on a rare angry face. “If you can’t be yourself around him, then you shouldn’t be dating him.”

I laughed a low mocking laugh. “Oh, yeah, be myself. Tackle guys, fall in the mud, score touchdowns, that’s real appealing to guys.”

“It is to some guys.”

“Really, Braden? Who? Tell me! Because I’ve been playing sports with the same ten guys for the last five years of my life and never has one of them hit on me, let alone asked me out. Not one! Do you think any of them see me as someone they would date? Of course they don’t. They see me as—let me see, what were the terms you guys used at disc golf the other day? Oh, that’s right—a big, burly girl. If they want someone to date, they go to the mall or the club and find a girl who wears tight clothes and does her nails and giggles at their jokes.

“I see the way guys look at Amber. I saw the way you looked at Amber. Guys don’t want a competitor, they want a cheerleader. So excuse me if I feel like I have to compromise a little of who I am to make a guy”—I pointed up the road—“a cute, nice guy, actually look at me like I’m not his teammate.” My eyes stung with anger.

Braden took a step back this time. Then he squeezed his eyes shut before opening them again. “You are so clueless. I don’t believe you, the most stubborn girl in the world, would be willing to do that for a guy who’s not even worth the time or effort. You don’t have to pretend to be anyone else. Your brothers are going to die.”

The tension in my chest had built to beyond bearable. I needed to run or this tension would keep me up all night. That or push him to the ground, which actually sounded fun in that moment. “He’s worth my time and effort. Good night, Braden,” I said, then I ran. Jeans were not fun to run in, but the breathable jersey and the sneakers I always wore made up for it.

I knew Braden had followed me. It was the middle of the night, after all, and he knew my dad would kill him if he let me go alone. I could hear him keeping pace about twenty feet behind me. I hoped he was dying in his jeans and polo shirt. I hoped his Chucks were making the arches of his feet hurt.

The big hill marked the beginning of mile three, and I glanced over my shoulder to see how Braden was holding up. He had slipped another five feet behind. I knew I could lose him over this hill if I wanted to. I could power up the hill and take a different route. But I didn’t. By this time my adrenaline had kicked in, easing my tension and making it hard to stay angry. So I slowed down a bit and let him stay within twenty feet, taking a shortcut through the park to make my normally seven-mile run closer to five.

When we got home, Braden, sweat ringing his collar and underarms, just walked into his house without saying a word.

Chapter 25

“You don’t have to do this,” I said to Evan the next morning as we walked from my house to the park, holding hands. “You know what it is, right?”

“I’m proving myself to your brothers or something weird like that?”

“Yeah.”

“What about to you? Do I have to prove myself to you?” He smiled and my heart gave a little jump.

“No. Not at all.”

Evan had dressed the part this morning—a tee and some breakaway sweats, the snaps by his ankles undone—and I was happy for it. He looked good. He even had on a nice pair of athletic shoes. They were a little too clean, but Braden couldn’t possibly complain about them.