Page 23 of Studs Up
“He’s not,” I lied. Ma was such a fucking mind reader. She eyed me, and whatever was on her mind, she decided to let go.
“Only someone special could catch your attention.”
I frowned. Is that what Holden did? Catch my attention? He certainly was a distraction. The kind of distraction I couldn’t shake, and I wasn’t even sure I tried that hard.
“You are such a focused boy,” she took my hand. “Always planning and preparing, studying. You never stopped to discover yourself. You have plowed through life to get where you are, and now that you’re there, well, all that’s left is finding out who you are.”
“I’m a pro soccer player, Ma,” I huffed. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
“But that’s not all there is,” she retorted. “Love is something you should explore.”
Love was a bit of a stretch.
“It’s a distraction.”
“Not all distractions are bad.”
I glowered. She sighed with a smile, the only person in the world that was impervious to my fuck off personality. Holden was definitely a bad distraction.
I took a sip of the coffee. Luke warm and burnt. It tasted like nostalgia and I would have to drink a gallon of mouthwash to get the aftertaste out.
“So the gay thing doesn’t bother you?”
“Is that what you are?” It was a good question and one I didn’t really have an answer to. It turns out that having all the information didn’t really provide all the answers.
“I don’t know.”
“But you like this boy?”
“Yeah,” I said, voicing it for the first time.
“Then lead with that and see where you go.”
I sat lost in my thoughts for so long that she got up and started making dinner. Her words rattled around in my head, echoing upon itself. I ate in silence. She chattered about the neighbors and the kids and how they were doing.
She talked about how little Eliza was a teacher now and had two of her own. Ethan, who had gone to the academy with me, was now a police officer and got promoted to detective. Good for him, I guess.
There were new neighbors. Lana and Jared moved in across the street with their three boys, the three boys who had been munching on cookies and spreading crumbs like the viral little beasts they were.
Most of it passed through me like water. We finished dinner and pushed our plates aside. She forced another cup of coffee on me, and this time, I took a cookie just to manage the taste of the sludge I was drinking.
“So tell me,” she said, her eyes glinting maliciously. “How is Holden Monroe doing? He had a great start to the season.”
I froze all the way down to my atoms.
“He did,” I said and choked on the cookie. It was shortbread and a little dry, so I used the coffee to swallow, which was a bigger mistake.
“Ah,” she said, glinting eyes, making me uncomfortable. “You know, accidents do happen, and as the great Bob Ross would say, ‘there are no mistakes, just happy little accidents.’”
“Christ, Ma,” I said. She knew. My heart rate shot up.
“Your little wall gave it away, and how you played against him.”
“Explain,” I said with darkening seriousness. I played the same against everyone.
“You paid more attention to him on the field than anyone else. You watched him constantly. When you battled, you battled harder against him than anyone else. Still do.”
Her powers were startling and uncomfortable. She reached across the table and took my hand.
