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Luke’s ridiculous flirting and goofy disposition make me feel like I’ve spent the last few hours sitting in the sun, skin still tingling with the warmth of the rays.
I watch him out of the corner of my eye as I prepare a fresh pot of coffee. He looks exhausted—dark rings under his eyes and a slump to his shoulders that wasn’t there yesterday. He’s swimming in another massive shirt, at least two sizes too big. Something about the whole look makes me want to give him a hug.
“I didn’t pick you up,” I point out. “You just sort of attached yourself to me.” “Like a cuddly and adorable koala.” “Or a parasite.”
“I don’t want to do something wrong, that’s all.” “You might,” she says, “but what’s important isn’t that a mistake is made, but how it’s fixed.”
“Your home or mine?” “Driver’s choice.” “Mine, then. I’ll make you a sandwich that will make you fall in love with me, and then I’ll kiss your fucking brains out,” I tell him, as I successfully get the engine to start and put the car in drive. “Careful what you wish for, Luke Kelly,” he warns, holding his hand out to me palm up across the center console. “You’d be an easy person to fall in love with.”
“So, hey, are you my boyfriend?” I ask, and he chokes a little bit because of my unfortunate timing. “What?” he asks, after successfully clearing his throat of peanut butter. “What’s our thing? Boyfriends, lovers, partners? Sex cowboys?”
“Boyfriend, then. Whichever label means that we’re exclusive, and that nobody can touch you but me, that’s the one I want.” “All right,” he says, smiling softly. “Boyfriends. You sure you know what that word means?” “Property of Luke Kelly—anybody who checks out your fine ass that isn’t me, dies a slow and painful death.”
He’s laughing, and I’m laughing, and I’m wishing time could stop because this moment is perfect.
“You’re not broken, Max. You’re beautiful and kind; you make me fucking laugh, and it’s not like you’re even trying to do it, but everything you say always ends up being what I needed to hear. I wanted you the moment you walked into the diner that night—I wanted to know you, and touch you, and just be around you. None of that changed when I found out about the party. I know you’re mad at me, and I’m going to do what you asked and leave, but I’m not leaving for good, okay? I’m not walking away.”
“He knew, and he didn’t say anything, and now the way he treats me makes perfect sense.” “How does he treat you?” The question catches me off guard. I tighten the blanket, clasping it together below my neck as I try to keep the heat in. “Oh, uhm…I guess he treats me like I’m special. Or, that’s the way he makes me feel, anyway.” “That doesn’t have anything to do with what happened,” he says instantly. “You are special.”
“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Max,” Coach says, because apparently, he’s a fucking mind reader. “Everyone needs a little extra help at some point, and whether you believe it or not, you are somebody who is worthy of care.”
“I miss you so damn bad. God, I miss you. You’re, like, my favorite person, you know that? I don’t even think I knew that until this week, but it’s true. And listen, I know that you don’t need somebody to take care of you, or to treat you with kid gloves or anything, but I wasn’t trying to do that because I think you’re weak. I was doing that because…well, I don’t know, because you’re mine, which means you’re mine to take care of.”
At 14:37 during the second period, you were on the bench and you took your helmet off and the cameraman must be a saint because he did this slow motion zoom into your face and OH MY FUCKING GOD. The hair. The sweat. Your NECK. I jacked off to a hockey game like it was a porno. Oh my god lol. My neck? Yes alfkdhgkdhasj your fucking NECK.
