As we emerge from the stall, I find us face to face with Kara just as she’s slipping her phone back into her purse. I don’t have time to worry about that now though. “Thanks for…” Spying? Eavesdropping? Sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong? “Checking up on her.”
“Believe me, it was my pleasure,” she says with a glint in her eyes that gives me a weird feeling. Sort of like when you’re watching a movie and suddenly the camera zooms in with the slow, dramati
c music and you think, Oh damn! That person’s bad! Inevitably someone always tries to claim they knew it all along. You knew nothing, Sandra.
Kara turns and opens the door for us to walk through. Once out of the bathroom, I head to the VIP lounge, and thankfully Kara can’t follow us.
Bree lays her head on my chest as we walk and breathes deep. “You smell sooooo good. Even your sweat smells good. How do you do that?”
I smile down at her, wishing she actually meant that compliment. “You’re drunk. That’s how.”
The guys help me get Bree outside and away from prying eyes by creating a barrier around us as we walk. Jamal puffs up like a peacock, winking and flirting with everyone he passes. It’s the perfect distraction from the droopy Bree hanging off my side.
In the parking lot, I’m getting ready to pour her into my truck when she whips around to the guys with a sudden alertness. It’s her second wind, and I know what’s coming. It happens every time, but usually I’m the only one around to witness it. “You guys are coming back to Nathan’s place, right?! I have something soooo fun we can do!”
I give the guys a look that says, Say no. But of course they always give Bree everything she wants because she’s impossible to say no to, and they all agree with gusto.
And that’s how my running back, wide receiver, tight end, and left tackle all wind up at my place, getting our toenails painted in the team’s colors by Bree. We’re all lined up on the couch and arm chairs, pants rolled up while Bree hovers over each of our feet in assembly-line fashion, painting our nails with the same meticulous attention someone would use while disarming a bomb. I imagine it’s because focusing on toes is difficult when the room is spinning. Bree is nothing but joy and smiles the whole time though, telling us this will give us extra good luck and making each of us pinky promise not to take it off before the next game.
When she comes over to lock our pinkies together, she leans over me then accidentally topples into my lap. My stomach dips with her face so close to mine. Her eyes look intently into mine. I’ve never had her in my lap before, and I can’t believe how right it feels. Every inch of me tingles with awareness, and I begin mentally mapping out every way she fits perfectly in my arms. My mind growls. It’s angry that now I have to know what she looks like naked and how she feels pressing against me. Torture.
Suddenly, all eyes in the room are on us, and I clear my throat. “Time to put you to bed, I think.”
Bree’s eyes are hazy, and instead of putting up a fight about me making her sleep here, she curls up against my chest, putting her head in the crook of my neck. “Can’t walk. Too tired,” she admits.
I stand with her in my arms and take her back to her room to the quiet snickers and chuckles of the guys around me like they are in junior high.
“Lovesick puppy,” Jamal says as I pass by him, and I flip him the bird from behind Bree’s back, hoping she didn’t hear his comment, or at least won’t remember it tomorrow.
After I get her in bed, I don’t let myself linger. I tuck her in, turn off the lights, and shut the door behind me, not letting myself have one backward glance. The only way our friendship has been remotely successful in its platonic state is because of my acquired ability to keep moving. For instance, if I walk into the kitchen and see Bree leaning over the counter with her butt looking way too good, I don’t linger and look. Keep moving. If I walk by Bree and we accidentally bump into each other, I don’t stop and lock my arms around her. Nope. Keep moving. If we’re up late at night and I’m tempted to tell her I worship the ground she walks on—keep moving.
So I don’t look back tonight at the sight of her passed out against the pillow with her wild hair swirling around her. I keep moving back into the living room and straight into the sight of my friends, lined up on the couch, brows lifted and arms folded. It looks like an intervention.
“What’s with the mom vibes?” I ask, frozen at the threshold. I’m not sure I want to go in there.
Lawrence is the first to speak. It’s hard to take him seriously with his silver and black sparkle nail polish. “It’s time, man.”
My eyebrows rise. “That’s cryptic and ominous.”
Jamal smacks Lawrence in the chest. “This is why we didn’t want you to be the one to deliver the opening line.” He shakes his head. “He was supposed to say, It’s time to get your girl. He said it all wrong. It was going to be great.”
I try to hide my grin. “Do you want me to go out and come back in? We can start over.”
“Nah, moment’s over,” Jamal pouts. He hates when someone ruins his special moments. And there are many.
I’m already turning around. “No, it’s not. Come on, I’ll run it again. Let’s do it.” I leave the room, coming back in a moment later like someone trying to pretend they don’t know about the surprise party they accidentally learned about three weeks ago.
Lawrence is on his game this time. “It’s time to get your girl, man.”
A little bit of the spark has left Jamal’s eye, but it’s clear there’s a part of him that still wants to play this out. “And we’re gonna help you do it,” he finally adds in his commercial voice. Honestly, the impression was made.
I puff out a breath. “That was worth it, guys. Well done. I have chill bumps.” I appreciate what they’re trying to do, I really do, but it’s not gonna happen. “The problem is, Bree’s not into me like that.”
They all collectively shoot out a laugh. Price is the one to speak up first while dabbing his big toe to make sure the polish is dry before putting his sock back on. “Yeah. Women always curl up to me like a baby cub when they’re not into me. Whatever man. Get your head out of your ass. That woman is in love with you.”
I glance back toward Bree’s room. I want to believe them, but it’s too hard. We’ve had so many years to overcome the friend zone, and she’s never done anything about it. Any time I get close, she puts up an extra firm force field that pushes me back. “I’m telling you—she doesn’t want anything more than friendship.”
“Or maybe she’s just scared,” says Jamal, standing from the couch and rolling his pant legs down.