Page 17 of The Best Friend and the Shortstop

We lie in quiet for several seconds, eyes locked. It’s strange how it’s both easy and uncomfortable at the same time.

“I should go,” I finally let out.

“You can stay. If . . . if you’re tired, I mean. Just get up early.” Her shoulder quirks up a tick along with one side of her mouth. I’ve slept in the same bed with her, this bed even, so many times—watching a movie, studying for finals, listening while she works on a mix—but this tightness in my chest feels like a warning. If I stay here, those thoughts might get messy, and I might do something stupid.

“I should go,” I repeat, giving her a soft smile as I sit up and lean toward her to kiss the side of her head. My lips tingle despite having kissed her like that—exactly like that—a week ago.

Her lopsided smile is locked in place as I stand, but her eyes aren’t smiling. She knows I need to leave. To protect us.

I make my way to her door and crack it open before pausing and looking back. She’s still lying in the same position, expression frozen in time.

“Hey, live batting practice tomorrow. Brayden’s throwing a session. Maybe to me, who knows. You coming? You can cheer for both of us, I mean. Me a little louder, of course.”

Her mouth curves a tiny bit more.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

She blinks slowly, and for a flash of a second I play out a world where I drop the door shut again and rush to the bed, caging her under my body and between my arms. I clear it away immediately. I open the door wider instead, and glance at her over my shoulder as I leave.

“Good night, Nik.”

5

nikki

I didn’t sleep at all, basically. And since I turned in my accounting assignment on time, I feel that warrants me skipping today’s lecture and taking it easy until Alex has batting practice. My professor posts his lectures in our group chat anyhow, so I can catch up later. Or maybe have Alex show me how to do whatever the project is. Of course, that’s what led to me not sleeping in the first place, so I’m not so sure that’s a sustainable plan.

I don’t think I care, though. Because last night, there was something there between us that I haven’t felt since we were forced to kiss our freshman year. There was this tug, and I know I didn’t imagine it. I’m sure it’s the reason Alex left so fast. Usually he sticks around and watches viral videos with me or plows through whatever leftovers I have stashed away in my fridge.

Damn, do I wish I wasn’t a chickenshit and had the guts to go for it with him. To say it once out loud. To just ask him to kiss me, one more time, for real. Just to see.

I wonder what he would have done if I just went ahead and kissed him. We were close enough.

Of course, what would happen if he stopped me and told me I was making a mistake? That . . . that would destroy me. I’d lose hope, sure, but also . . . I’d lose Alex.

“Gah!” I groan, pushing my headphones from my ears and rolling to my back. I reach to the side and push my laptop shut. I’ve been working on this new mix since about three in the morning, and I’m not sure what’s wrong with it. No matter how much I mess with the midrange, it still sounds off. Everything I try sounds the same, and it’s stuck in this flat place where nothing stands out. I need this sound to more than stand out; I need it to bully its way into the ears of every sound manager I send it to so I can land an apprenticeship in the next six months.

The familiar slow knock on my door is a good excuse to put the headphones away. I begged Omar to come with me to watch Alex hit today. I think the only reason he agreed is because the lacrosse field is right next to the baseball stadium.

“Come in,” I say, bending down with my head between my legs so I can scan the floor under my bed for my sneakers. There’s a chill in the air today, despite the sun. It sucks that baseball season in the Midwest starts under the constant threat of snow, but the cold has never bothered Alex. He says he prefers to play in it, but I don’t know—I see the pictures of spring ball in Arizona and Florida and it looks pretty nice.

“You trying a new stretch out or something?” Omar says just as I spot my right sneaker hidden behind a sweatshirt under my bed.

“Navigating my mess,” I say, bringing my head up and flinging my hair back. The room swirls for a few seconds and I pinch the bridge of my nose.

“You planning on navigating that mess?” Omar motions to my head and I pat my hands on either side to see if he’s just teasing me. My fingers get snarled in tangles.

“Well, shit,” I grumble, slipping my shoes on then moving to my vanity to force my hairbrush through some serious bedhead.

“I’m assuming that isn’t sex hair?” he teases.

I give him a middle finger with my free hand while brushing with the other.

I work out most of the snarls and compromise with my favorite dark blue beanie. I snag the matching sweatshirt from the floor and shove my phone and keys into my pockets before holding my arms out for Omar to give me a quick once over.

“Hot,” he says, and I’m not sure whether he’s teasing or being sincere. I scowl at him as I pass, deciding he’s likely ribbing me.

“Hey, I’m sure that look is hot to some people,” he laughs out.

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