Breakfast is a blur. Dante’s not sure what
he eats, eggs? Pancakes? He doesn’t know, doesn’t taste anything
going down, doesn’t hear half of what Josey babbles about when she
and Becca squeeze into their booth. He remembers Ryan’s leg pressed
against his, his lover’s hand on his thigh, an orange juice toast
for luck but everything else is lost in the pounding of his heart.
It’s just a race, he tells himself. He’s raced before. It’s
like s*x, nothing to get worked up over. That’s what you used to
think. Just s*x, woo-hoo. But you have Ryan now, it’s so much more
than just that, it’s love and heaven and amazing and it’s
everything in the world to get excited about. And this…this is
State, not some rinky-dink little quarterfinals, not some hometown
race. State.
So what? Same conc
