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“Now you know,” he says when he reaches my porch. He turns to flash me a smile that only partially lifts his dimple. “I'm mental.”

I open the door so he can step inside to set down the box.

“Oh, I always knew you were mental, QB,” I say. “You had everyone else fooled. Not me.”

He sets the box down and when he straightens up, he’s laughing a soft laugh.

His eyes scan the room. “Did I interrupt something?”

“I’m just watching a movie. Win’s at Declan’s.”

“Mmm.” He nods, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Where are you taking the parade next?” I ask.

“It was sort of a one-stop parade.”

“One-stop parade of one through Sulksville. Got it,” I say.

I glance around the room. “Do you want to stay? I mean, to watch Mission Impossible. I was going to order pizza.” I wasn’t, but I will if he’s staying.

“You didn’t stay after the game,” he says. He sounds sad.

“I didn’t want you to have to fake after a loss like that. You needed to just be what you were. No added pressure to perform.”

“Hm.” He studies me. “So, you were thinking of me?”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” I say.

“No. I’m not. I just thought … I didn’t know why you left.”

“I texted you.”

He pats his pocket and pulls out his phone. “I had it on silent. Guess I should have checked.”

“Marcus,” I step closer even though I shouldn’t. “You thought I just left you?”

“I don’t know. It’s not a big deal.”

“I would never.”

“I know. It was a bloodbath that last quarter.”

“As if that’s any reason for me to leave you alone after a game.”

“Yeah,” he says, drawing his mouth into a close-lipped almost-grin. “I know. You wouldn’t.”

“So?” I ask.

He’s closer somehow. Did he move, or did I? I want to reach out and pull him into a hug. Not a kiss. Though, if it led to that, I wouldn’t complain. But he’s hurting and my heart aches for him.

Instead, I step back and ask, “Pizza and a movie?”

“I never eat pizza in season.”

“You’ve got one more game and then the playoffs.”

“If we make them.”