Page 6 of The Best Friend and the Shortstop

I don’t bother taking my bite. Here comes my lecture.

“You did have the entire weekend. And, as you mentioned, Alex was at your house basically the entire time.” He quirks a brow as he swallows his bite and drops his hand from masking his righteous grin.

“No more cheesecake for you,” I say, slapping the lid back on our treat and getting to my feet. I’m a little tipsy from the cheap wine and manage to stumble back a step but quickly right myself.

Omar gets up and sucks the last remnants of cake from his fork before tossing it in the trash.

“That’s fine. I’m watching my figure,” he jokes, patting his extremely taut stomach. I give him side eyes and murmur, “Asshole” under my breath. He chuckles.

Omar and I have been friends for two years, since we both applied to be RAs and went through the training together, which isn’t much more than CPR, first aid, and a lecture on reminding students not to have open flames in their rooms. He’s a nursing major, and the most eligible gay man on Tiff’s campus. He is also terrified of rejection since a bad breakup freshman year, so while he has plenty of advice for me on the dating front, he’s no better at taking leaps of faith than I am.

“What if I make you a deal?” I say, sliding the cheesecake box into the only open space in Omar’s mini fridge.

“I like deals. I mean, this last one got me free cheesecake, so . . .” He opens his palms and smirks. I grimace.

“Okay, Mr. Know-It-All.” I might be a little more than just tipsy. But that’s fine. My point will still be made.

“If I spill my guts to Alex, you have to ask out that lacrosse player I know you have been pining after at the gym.” I cross my arms over my chest and jut out my hip, proud of my new little all-in gamble.

Omar chews at the inside of his cheek, the nervous side of him making his eyes flinch a tick. “Pining after?”

“Oh, whatever! I was trying to be classy about it, but fine—lusting after. And don’t you deny it!” I point a finger at him and I swear his cheeks are pink.

“Oh, I’m not denying it. I just think I’m more up for this than you are,” he challenges back, running a hand through his curly black hair. His gaze settles on mine, waiting for my next move.

I pull my phone from the back pocket of my jeans to check the time, chewing on my tongue while I consider the opportunity. It’s probably halftime for the playoff basketball game going on in the gym right now, and most of our school’s athletes are there supporting. Alex is, and I’d bet Brian, the hot lacrosse guy, is too. My skin buzzes with nervous energy, but if I don’t do this now, I will only sober up and put it off for, well, probably forever.

“Fine. Let’s see who’s up for it. We’re going to the game. Get your shoes on.” I kick his sneakers toward him while I sink my phone back into my pocket.

Omar drops his chin to his chest, staring at his shoes for a few seconds before shaking with a silent laugh.

“Alright, you’re on, Nik. I hope you’re ready.” He slips one foot into a shoe, then bends down to pull the heel back for the second.

I swallow hard when he’s not looking, the weight of my gauntlet hitting me. My skin is hot, which is partly from the wine, but also from panic. Shit! I’m doing this.

While Omar brushes his teeth, I grab a water bottle from his fridge and swish to rinse out my mouth, then crowd in next to him to spit it out in his sink. I tug the tie from my hair and run my fingers through it a few times to work out the kink. I look like I’ve been drinking box wine in a dorm room for the last hour so I splash water on my face and pat my skin dry with a towel, then pile my hair back up on top of my head in a cute messy bun. At least, I think it’s cute. I’m not sure my opinion can be trusted right now.

“Let’s do this,” Omar says, holding the door open for me.

“Let’s,” I agree, giving him a hard brush against the chest as I pass him and head into the hall. It’s bravado, but faking it has gotten me through tough spots before. Most of my successful job interviews were for things I wasn’t qualified for but went in bold. I had zero soundboard experience when I applied for the Tiff broadcast truck. Now I run that thing.

Our dorm attaches to the gym through a tunnel, a convenient feature when it’s snowing outside, but less so when one is hoping for this trip to take more time. We’re standing in front of the crowded stands in minutes, and my pits are dripping with sweat. Omar, however, seems cool as can be.

“You find your guy?” I say, stepping up on my toes and shouting toward his ear. It’s roaring in here, the game tight and our girls having just scored on a fast break. Omar scans the seats for a few seconds while I do the same.

“Got him,” he finally says, nodding up toward the right hand corner where a few of the lacrosse players have gathered. “You?”

I spot Alex almost instantly. I’ve always been able to find him in crowds. I pretend, though, panning over the stands until acting as though I just found him. “Ah, yes. In the very middle. Of course.”

Of course. Right in the middle of everyone.

My legs are trembling, and the thought that I might biff it on my way up the stands doesn’t feel so far-fetched.

“Alright. It’s on,” Omar says, holding out his palm for me to shake. I grasp his hand and we both nod. He turns and heads up the stands to his target. I guess that makes this an official deal. Or maybe not. Maybe I walk up there and sit next to Alex and relish in the fact I did my friend Omar a solid and got him to take a shot at romance.

It’s too loud in here for me to call an audible, and I stand out by hovering in front of the people seated courtside. With a massive deep breath, I ball my fists in my front pockets and focus on putting one foot in front of the other until I’m a few steps from Alex’s row. We make eye contact and he nods for me to shimmy over the long legs of his teammates to take the spot next to him.

“Excuse me,” I say, not realizing that the first set of legs I need to navigate past belong to my ex, Brayden.

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