Page 73 of End Game

They support me in a way my parents never have. Sure, I have plenty of money at my disposal. I can pay for dinner tonight, even though I know Stewart will object, and I can override him easily enough on that front. But my biological family has never cared about me enough to care about me, the person, as anything other than the second son and continuation of the Zhang name.

Cecilia and Stewart are interested in me, the person. They ask how my classes are going and if I survived my forensic accounting midterm, which I had mentioned to Diana last week I was stressing over. They ask about my plans for Thanksgiving—probably going home with Miles and his family again, because my parents are usually celebrating the weekend with their friends in Aspen, and I have a game that Saturday. Cecilia invites me to come home with Diana to their house, which I will have to strongly consider over the next few weeks.

As much as I want to be with my best friend all the fucking time, I also know this could be her last Thanksgiving with her father. Everything they do together could be their last. They don’t know how long he has: terminal could mean six months, or it could mean six years. I don’t want to intrude on their precious family time. Wes’s family is proof enough that life is fleeting: you never know how much time you have with someone until it’s over.

Chapter 22

Diana

Barrett is being abnormally touchy-feely today. He held my hand earlier while we were walking, and now his arm is around my chair, and he called me baby, and twice now he’s brushed some hair behind my ear. It should feel weird and clingy and annoying… but it doesn’t. Because this is Barrett, and I know he loves me in his own way.

I’m chalking most of this newfound cuddliness to the testosterone that must be firing on all cylinders in his brain. There’s no way he would ever put the moves on me—especially not in a restaurant, with my parents watching!

This must all be in my head.

It’s probably because I haven’t gotten laid in so long, and that date with Trey was a total bust. He didn’t try to kiss me at the end of the night, and when I sent him a “that was fun!” text a few days later, he never responded.

Maybe it’s for the best. Maybe I’m not cut out for dating.

Tonight, when we go out to a party—because I don’t care what Barrett says, after his incredible game today, we aren’t staying in tonight—I can find some girl for him to hook up with and he can help wingman me a fellow to warm my bed.

My stomach churns. It must have been the nachos I had at the game.

“You okay?” Barrett glances down at me.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re quiet.”

“Just hungry.”

His eyes search mine for an answer he won’t find.

“If you say so.”

As much as I hate it, I kind of like that he’s perceptive enough to know it’s not the full truth, and also that he knows when to let sleeping dogs lie. I’m not going to talk to him about any digestive distress, imminent or otherwise.

He bends down and presses a kiss to the top of my head, which is so unexpected in a moment when we aren’t alone, I jerk back.

“What was that?”

He blushes—hard. He goes from a low-key flush to full beet red in the span of twelve seconds.

“I—I don’t know.”

“Barrett.”

“It just felt right,” he says, clearly uncomfortable. He clears his throat. “Can we just pretend it never happened?”

I eye him warily. He’s sweating now, his face so red it looks like he’s just stepped off the football field.

Sighing, I straighten my shoulders. “What never happened?”

He lets out a breath of relief. “Exactly.”

My dad snorts, and I remember that we have an audience.

“Are you looking forward to the game tomorrow?” I ask my parents. “It’s been awhile since the three of you were all at a game together.”