JAMES
Jas arrives forty-five minutes after sending me that text, greeting me with a kiss on my lips and a slight smile, but I can sense something is wrong. He and Sam are silent, although that’s common with our big friend, with Jas it’s the opposite. I take advantage of his excuse to go to the bathroom and interrogate Sam, hoping to get some answers.
“Did something happen?” I sit next to him on the living room couch, whispering. “Did something happen in practice?”
“Do you know a man named Dylan?” The question surprises me completely, I open and close my mouth several times.
“What?” I manage to ask. “Why?”
“Well, he asked the quarterback about you,” he looks at the hall. “I guess he’s still upset.”
“Dylan asked about me?” I inquire in a murmur.
Oh, for goodness’ sake. What’s that guy
