13. Jase

This is fucking stupid. I can't possibly be hungry enough to agree to share a meal with this guy. But here we are at Buster's, my favorite steakhouse in the city, where they make the most phenomenally juicy burgers I've ever had in my life.

Lucas didn't even ask where I wanted to go. He just knew. And fuck me if my heart didn't pump a little harder when he swung his steering wheel into the parking lot.

Buster's isn't a fancy-ass place. It's rustic with dark wood walls, tarnished brass wall sconces that barely give off any light, and sawdust on the floor. It's exactly the kind of place you'd expect to see on Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives.

In fact, I'm pretty sure Guy Fieri has been here.

But I still found it first.

The servers are all rude and snippy, too, like they can't be bothered to be here. I like that. I'd rather them be dicks than all pompous and arrogant like they are at the high-end places. Snooty and fake as shit.

But people pay for that kind of bullshit.

Me? Pull the pole out of your ass, serve me a great meal, and keep the chatting to a bare fucking minimum.

Lucas balks a little when the server, a girl probably about twenty or so with red and purple streaked hair, a nose ring, and two full arm sleeves of tats tosses our menus on the table.

"Drinks?" she snaps.

He looks at me, his jaw dropping. It's so cute, the way he's horrified at her behavior.

And Buster's isn't cheap, either. You don't get top-of-the-line service, but like I said, the meal is out of this world, and you pay a crap ton for it.

"Yeah, two Blue Moons on draft." I smirk as he drops into his chair.

"Water for me," Lucas adds.

I lift an eyebrow. "We're on suspension."

He shrugs. "I try not to drink during the week."

"Wow. You're even worse than Tom Brady used to be. What time do you go to bed at night? Right after Wheel of Fortune?"

He looks down at the table. "Bedtime is nine o'clock."

"Shit, why so late? Do you stay up knitting after dinner so you can digest before hitting the sack?"

Pink dots pop in his cheeks. He runs his finger along the cracked wood grain of the table. "Nope. It's usually homework and studying after dinner."

My brows furrow. "Didn't you just graduate?"

"Not me. It's my brother and sister's homework."

The waitress comes back and puts both beers in front of me and Lucas's water next to him. "I'll be back to take your food order in a minute." Her expression is complete disinterest, tone bored as hell. If she realizes who we are, she doesn't give a damn enough to acknowledge us. Which is just fine by me.

I hand Lucas one of the beers. "This is for you. So stop being a Boy Scout and drink the damn thing."

He reaches for it and my fingers brush against his. The sharp jolt that follows makes me damn near close to dropping the glass.

His green eyes level me with a heated stare and I know he felt it, too.

Shit. I need a segue fast.

"You spend a lot of time with your brother and sister?"

He nods, now running his finger up and down the outside of the glass. "They live with me."

"Not with your parents?"

Lucas is quiet for a minute. "My parents died years ago, before I started college. I'd been recruited to play at LSU, but after they died, I decided to stay local to keep the kids' lives as normal as possible."

"I'm sorry." I pick up my glass and take a long gulp. "I didn't mean to give you shit about your bedtime. I didn't know your deal."

His lips twist the slightest bit. "Yeah, well, I don't really tell many people. And it's not like you've really been open enough for me to want to share."

Ouch. He's right, but still.

I lean forward. "The way I see it is we all have baggage, you know? I guess I don't usually ask personal questions because I don't want to have the same questions asked of me."

"So you're hiding stuff, too?"

I hold up my glass. "I already told you, what you see is what you get with me."

Lucas slowly raises his glass to his lips and takes a long sip like he's in complete conflict with himself. It's almost as if he's afraid for the beer to hit his tongue but his lips are battling against him for a taste.

I want to tell him to just give in to it, but something stops me.

Maybe because he can turn that whole thing on me and say the same.

Maybe there's a tiny part of me that actually does want to give in, but the same war rages inside, keeping me from what I crave.

Christ, this was such a bad idea.

"I don't believe you. Is it about your brother?"

I recoil, my eyes popping open wide. "What did you say?"

"Oh, so that struck a chord, huh?"

I grip my beer glass tight, my fingers slipping on the condensation droplets clinging to the outside of the glass.

"I was always curious to know how it'd be, having an older brother in the league."

I expel a long, unsteady breath. Of course, he means Bryce. He couldn't know about Kyle or the dark secret I've been keeping for all these years, the baggage I won't ever pass on to anyone else.

The server comes back right then, thank fuck.

"What can I get for you?" She snaps her gum and toys with the torn hem of her t-shirt.

"Two steakhouse burgers rare, one with Swiss cheese and well-done bacon, one with cheddar, lettuce, and tomato. Two sides of steakhouse fries with hot buffalo sauce on the side." I pause for a second. "And a house salad."

"Dressing?"

I shake my head.

She turns to Lucas but he's still gaping at me. "Third lunch?"

"Yup."

He looks up at her. "I'll just take the grilled chicken and a?—"

"Wait, no way. Fuck that." I point at the menu. "Try again."

He glares at me. "Unlike you, one lunch works for me, and I've already eaten it."

"I don't care. You haven't lived till you've tasted the steakhouse burger."

Lucas's lips tighten. "Fine," he says in a tense voice. "But just the burger. Medium rare. No bun. And no fries."

"So… just the meat?" The server's eyebrows waggle at him.

"Just the meat," he seethes, thrusting the menu at her.

I chuckle. "You're a football player. Didn't anyone ever tell you you're supposed to eat a lot? You know, for energy, protein, that kind of stuff?"

"You eat like that all the time?"

"Nah. I'm good during the season."

His eyes look damn close to popping out of his skull at that.

"I'm kidding. Kind of." I drum my fingertips on the side of my glass and take a quick gulp, hoping he forgot his last question.

"So what's it like with Bryce?"

Dammit. Of course, he didn't forget.

"Let's see." I grab a breadstick from the basket and tap it against my bread plate. "He's a Heisman trophy winner, pretty much started throwing perfect spirals on his way out of the womb. He"s smart, funny, and an overall fucking fantastic guy who'd give anyone the shirt off his back."

Whoa, that came out with a trace of toxic.

Damn beer.

"Wow." Lucas takes a mini sip of his beer.

"Yeah, imagine living life at the bottom of the pedestal," I grunt.

"I get it. Family stuff is never easy." He sighs. "I've got my own issues, too. Brother and sister relationships can be really hard. I've got an older brother, too. And it's… bad."

"Bad like he wants to throttle you because you eat like a chick fasting before prom?"

A stricken look pinches his features. "No, bad like he's pretty much gone. I go for months without talking to him, wondering if he's even alive. After my parents died, he took off. Every time I see him, he needs money, is drunk, high, or both."

"Shit," I mutter. "I'm sorry. I had no idea."

"No, you didn't. I wanted you to open up to me about something, anything. And you made a joke. It was tasteless, yeah, but still a joke." Lucas forces a smile. "So I guess I shouldn't get pissed off at you. I got what I asked for, right?"

"That makes you damn easy to please." I can't help the grin from stretching across my face.

"Depends."

I hold up a hand and laugh. "I don't think I wanna hear your terms."

"Don't you?" Lucas leans forward, his eyes glowing with heat, the same heat that snakes through my insides like wildfire. "Because something tells me you just might."