Page 17 of Irreconcilable Attractions (Westwend Boys #1)

Derek

Something had come to my attention and I wish it hadn’t.

Colton had definitely been acting weird when we left Darby’s Wish, but I’d tried not to let it faze me. We were both adults, so I figured that if I had really messed up out there in the water, we’d eventually talk about it.

But then nothing happened. No big talk, no sit-down meeting. Nada.

So, I assumed we were okay. Chalked it up to him being ready to get back to town or being upset for having lost our wrestling match.

I could feel that things had shifted between Colton and I after that day, but I wrote it off as still learning how to read him. There hadn’t been any outright hostility or huge change in our dynamic. From an outsider’s perspective, we were fine.

Except, I kept noticing things—small things.

Our routine was still the same. We’d eat dinner together when it worked for both our schedules.

I would cook, he’d make dumb comments, we’d eat together at the table with our mismatched utensils and kitchenware.

But it was like Colton was only half present.

He wasn’t hovering over me to watch our meal being prepped.

The sass he’d normally toss around like confetti fell flat between us.

Things felt… stilted. Like he was watching what he said and when he said it.

I’d gone to hand him a mug of coffee the other day and instead of taking it from me, like a normal person, he’d politely asked me to put it on the table. In front of his perfectly empty hands.

A few nights ago, we were on the couch watching a show we’d been binging together when something funny happened. Normally, he’d have leaned over and nudged me, maybe even make a quip of his own.

But this time? He’d looked over at me with this big grin on his face that was so real it was blinding.

He’d shifted his body toward me like he was going to shoulder bump me, but then stopped halfway.

I could see the gears in his head spinning before he slowly sat back, his customer-service smile sliding onto his face.

He made some remark about how funny the show was but his voice sounded hollow.

And in that instant, I realized that I was suddenly in the same category as all the other people on the street, even in the home we shared together. He was holding me at arms length for some reason.

Which was driving me up a wall.

I had no idea what I’d done or even how to begin to fix it. He wouldn’t come to me himself and whenever I tried to broach the subject, he’d deflect by saying I was overthinking things.

“We’re fine, Derek.” He’d told me with all the sincerity of a robot in his voice.

I’d tried to let it go, to put it behind me and just move forward.

But, then Colton had come out of his room the other night looking like a version of himself I didn’t recognize, only adding more to my confusion on things.

I’d never seen Colton dress that way—and sure, I knew realistically people dressed in ways they normally wouldn’t to go out to clubs but…

I couldn’t put my finger on why the sight of him had caused my stomach to tighten into knots.

And contrary to what he’d requested of me, I’d stayed awake that night, staring at my ceiling with my mind racing.

I could understand wanting to get laid—and shoot, maybe that was the crux of the issue.

He’d been so pre-occupied with helping me settle in, he hadn’t gotten any.

Good sex put me in a better mood, so I got it.

Except, who was he with? Was he being safe?

Was he picking up women looking like that… or men?

I’d heard whispers about the hook-up culture of gay men—the kinds of things that went on in the clubs—but did that also apply to bisexual men?

He’d had this smug swagger to him as he’d sauntered out of our living room, I just knew he would find someone. Which should have relieved me, but instead, I felt even more twisted up inside.

I’d finally fallen asleep from sheer exhaustion of being over it all—the weirdness, the confusion, and the feeling like the gap between us was growing wider every passing day

In truth, I enjoyed my time with Colton and wasn’t about to let our friendship fizzle out over some awkward tension. I wanted to get back the banter in our conversations and the friendly physical touch. I wanted Colton back.

So when it was apparent the club hadn’t done anything to resolve our situation, I’d asked him to another game of basketball.

At first, he seemed reluctant—hesitant—like he knew getting on the court with me meant he’d have to get close, physically or otherwise. We both knew our own competitive natures. He wouldn’t be able to avoid me if he wanted to win the game.

I hadn’t let him back out, though.

“Worried I’ll wipe the floor with you?” I teased, smirking .

He shot me a glare. “You wish.”

I raised my hands in mock surrender. “By my record, I’m ahead by one game. I’m just stating facts.” We had played a few more games before going to Darby’s Wish and I was using my winning record to my advantage.

I could see his cutthroat nature for the game driving him. He wanted to get even. His eyes narrowed at me while he weighed his options.

I held my breath, waiting to see what would win out—his stubbornness or the desire to win?

My eyes locked on him worrying his lower lip with his teeth. He was thinking hard about it. When his shoulders relaxed and that familiar cocky grin spread over his face, I knew I’d done it.

“You better be ready to eat those words,” He declared.

I couldn’t help the smile that split my face, growing so wide it almost hurt. I was powerless to fight it. We needed this—a return to normal.

We made plans for that afternoon, and when the time came around, I felt like I was practically throwing my clothes onto my body in anticipation of heading to the court.

Colton came out in his go-to oversized t-shirt and gym shorts, which made me pause for some reason.

He always seemed to dress to disappear, which I couldn’t understand given how he’d looked the night he went to the club.

His shirt had been significantly tighter than anything else I’d ever seen him wear, and he’d oozed confidence with his styled hair and combat boots.

I’d assumed he’d worn the baggy clothes out of insecurity—which also had puzzled me since it wasn’t like he had a bad body—but now? Now, I wasn’t sure why he did it.

Something didn’t add up, but right now I was focused on saving our friendship. Interrogations about his clothing style could wait till another time.

We ended up back at the same court Colton had brought me to before, him grabbing the basketball from the back of his truck while I rolled my shoulders. I would never admit it but I had been mentally rehearsing this match all morning.

We both silently fell into some warm-up stretches, the distance between us physically and otherwise feeling like an impossible hurdle to jump. I was hopeful this game would get us back into the right headspace. But first… I had to coax Colton out of this funk.

“Hope you’re well stretched. You’re going to need it.” I called as I took the ball.

He looked at me over his shoulder as he pulled his hair into a little half-knot.

“Please. You look like you pulled something tying your shoes.” He tossed.

“Keep talking,” I warned. “It just digs your grave deeper.”

We dribbled the ball around for a few minutes, me giving out half-hearted trash talk, hoping to get Colton to respond back in kind and loosen up.

There were some lazy jabs back, but nothing to his usual caliber.

It was clear he wasn’t going to entertain this plan of mine, so onto the next one I went.

We decided to play best of five. That made the stakes higher and I ribbed Colton that if he kept going easy on me, he’d end up forfeiting any chance at tying our record.

It’d earned me a half-grin which told me the real Colton wanted to come out—he wanted to play.

He just wasn’t giving himself permission.

I pivoted past him, sinking the layup easily and without much counter from Colton. My heart sank a little, thinking this might not work.

“You going to let me win?” I called, hoping I could provoke him into caring.

“No!” He shot back.

“Well then, come on!” I motioned with my hands to emphasize my words.

Maybe it was my taunting, maybe it was him actually realizing he had no chance of winning if he didn’t actually play, but things seemed to shift after that.

We went back and forth for a while, sneakers squeaking on concrete and the ball echoing each time it smacked the ground. I drove toward the basket, only for Colton to block me. I shoved his shoulder playfully and he sent me a real grin.

When he darted right, I blocked. He spun left and I lunged, nearly knocking the ball loose. He maintained control and whirled past me, whooping with joy as he sank the ball. I couldn’t help but grin, teeth flashing, and he grinned back.

“Too slow, old man!” He panted, coming back over to shove me lightly.

“Old man?” I barked a laugh. “I’m younger than your brothers!”

He shrugged. “Practically ancient .”

“I’m only two years older than you!” I protested again.

I went to grab him to put him in a headlock but he evaded me, chuckling. God, this felt right. He was definitely more himself. Loose. Cocky. Completely in his element.

Things were slotting back into place for us, and I couldn’t help but feel… elated.

Our game continued on, Colton ribbing me and me throwing it right back. After a few more minutes, both of us were drenched in sweat from the afternoon heat.

“Alright, alright,” Colton said, bracing his hands on his knees. His chest rose and fell beneath the soaked fabric of his shirt. “Last one. Then I take eternal bragging rights.”

“Bold of you to assume you’ll win,” I replied, wiping the sweat off my forehead with the back of my arm. “What’s going to be your excuse when you lose?”