Page 28 of Grief & Glitter

“I did not.”

Walker held up a hand, and somehow, they both stopped.

“Anyway,” he said, looking around the table. “Finn wants me in dark red.” Ryan glanced up. “But I was thinking black, and when I said that, he said I don’t understand color.”

“You don’t,” Chip said.

Walker pointed at him. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

Chip raised an eyebrow. “I’m on Finn’s.”

“Everyone’s on Finn’s side,” Walker grumbled, but without heat. He never had a bad word to say about the man who’d changed his life.

“Because Finn is usually right,” Arnaud said.

“I agree with Finn,” Ryan said, putting his fork down and looking Walker over. “Black is safe. Dark red would be better. White shirt, black tie, if you want to keep it simple. Or charcoal instead of black.”

“Yeah?” Walker asked, looking pleased he’d got Ryan talking. I shot my captain a warning glare, but he wouldn’t meet my laser gaze. The last thing I wanted was for Ryan to be shoved forward as entertainment or barraged with questions by my idiot teammates.

Ryan, however, didn’t seem fazed at all. “It’s probably because he wants you to look hot.”

A small, unwelcome twist went through me. Did Ryan think Walker was hot? It didn’t matter. We were friends. We hadn’t even had a first date. This wasn’t real yet, and when he found out what I could be like⁠—

Stop!

Walker considered that. “Dark red it is.”

“Gids is wearing oxblood,” Ryan said. “White shirt, matching tie, dark brown shoes.”

No one questioned why he knew this, but Ryan had gone pink.

“I needed help. I asked Ryan. He always looks good. And he’s my date for the event.” I tipped my chin, waiting for comments, but no one said anything for a beat.

Then Walker snorted a laugh. “So, Finn dresses me, and Ryan dresses you.”

“Not the same thing,” I said.

Then it was Ryan’s turn to huff. “It is the same thing,” he said, and it felt fucking amazing.

Ryan leaned into my side, his shoulder warm against my arm. “He has a point.”

Across the table, Walker threw me a knowing smile, and I went back to my oatmeal before he could say anything else.

Breakfast broke up twenty minutes later when Walker announced we had forty-five minutes before we needed to be on the bus, which sent everyone checking phones and arguing about who still needed to pack.

Ryan caught my sleeve before I could follow the others.

“Can I talk to you?”

“Sure.”

He tugged me toward the buffet, away from the table and the others, stopping in an alcove behind the door. He let go of my sleeve, then immediately started worrying at the cuff of my hoodie instead.

“What’s wrong?” I asked because he was agitated and frowning.

“Did I cross a line?”

“What?”