Page 92 of The Incredible Ordinary

“You’re not that bad. Ignore me. I’ve been like this the whole day.”

He eyes me some more. “You sure you’re okay?”

I nod and gesture toward the stadium. “Let’s just go inside.”

By the time we make it to our regular seats, practice is in full swing. I stare at the field, determined to concentrate on the game. That lasts until Milán sits down next to me. I honestly don’t know why he has to sit like this. There’s no normal sitting with him. No, he sprawls. He reclines. Spreads his body out like he’s a king sitting on his throne, observing us mere mortals.

His shoulder is pressed to my shoulder. His thigh falls against mine. My whole body tenses, and I keep myself still by sheer force of will that stems from the fact I don’t want him to know just how much of a mess I am right now.

There’s a point where I stop breathing.

What the fuck am I doing?

When something warm comes into contact with the back of my neck, I almost fall off my seat.

Milán lifts both his hands up in front of himself, eyes widening. “God, you’re jumpy today.”

I am. And it annoys me just a little bit that he’s not. It’s a sign. Evidence. He’s not thinking about what happened. It didn’t leave a mark. It doesn’t burn inside him.Idon’t have any hold over him.

I rub the back of my neck in a futile attempt to erase his touch. “What… what are you doing?” I ask. It doesn’t come off as conversational or curious. It comes out as freaked out.

“I was checking to see if you’re freezing your ass off. It’s barely forty-five degrees outside, and you’re in a hoodie.”

I hadn’t even noticed the temperature.

He grabs my hand, clutching my icy fingers.

“Jesus. You’re gonna catch a cold,” he says, and starts to unzip his coat.

“I’m fine. I’m fine.” I’m anything but fine.

He rolls his eyes. “Sure you are. Just take the jacket.”

“So you get to catch a cold instead?”

“I thought you were fine,” he says smugly.

“I am. Toasty.”

He studies me with a frown, and the more he does, the more difficult it is to keep my body from trembling. I tell myself it’s from the rapidly cooling temperature, but I’m not sure that’s true.

Milán sighs and shakes his head. He unwinds the scarf from around his neck and takes off his beanie, then he leans over me, wraps the scarf around my neck, and plops the beanie on my head.

“There,” he says.

I force a smile.

You are grateful.

You are not weird.

The scarf smells like him. The hat, too.Ismell like him.

Grateful.

Not weird.

This practice can’t end soon enough.