Page 20 of The Best Friend and the Shortstop

“I’m fucking blowing it,” he mumbles against my skin.

“You’re not, Alex. I promise you. You’re not.” Even though I’m not sure that’s true, it’s what he needs to hear. And it’s the only way he can pull himself out of this. He needs me, his best friend. And that’s what I’ll be.

6

alex

I wanted to wallow, but Nikki insisted I follow the routine. Wednesday night fish fry at Patty’s is a meal never to be missed. It doesn’t hurt that it’s all you can eat for nine-ninety-nine. Plus, it’s baseball tradition. The guys always go. And if I start to pull away from the team, I’m only going to make myself look more pathetic. Like I don’t have this under control.

But I don’t. And I can’t seem to find my way back.

Today was a whole new level of being in my own head. It’s as if Chase, the young arm we recruited over break, knew all my weaknesses. I couldn’t get a handle on his routine. It didn’t help that I was the first guy he faced, but then when I watched him pitch to the other guys—to Edwin—it was like they got something entirely different.

I shake my head and remind myself of Nikki’s words. For now, we focus on dinner, darts, and dancing. I can go back to obsessing in the morning. I promised her I’d do my best.

Nikki sets a pitcher on the table and I push her basket of fish and chips toward her. Cole slips into one of our open seats.

“Got room for this meathead?” He gestures over his shoulder to Cutter McCreary. I smirk and stand to give him a bro hug. Cutter and I went through Tiff freshman orientation together. He’s a good guy, even though he’s a hockey player. The hockey team at this school gets treated like royalty. Pisses a lot of us other athletes off.

“Man, what’s up? Last time I saw you, hmm”—I hold my finger to my chin, playing it up—“I think Laney Price hated your ass.” I poke at his ribs and the fucker actually blushes.

“Yeah, well. I bet if you asked her, there are still days she hates me,” he laughs out. I chuckle with him.

His girlfriend might be the best athlete this school has ever seen, and she’s fierce in general. When the hockey team took over the women’s locker space, Laney led the battle to make sure the hockey program, and mostly its captain, Cutter, suffered. How the hell the two of them ended up being campus it couple after all that baffles me.

Cutter pushes around me, effectively knocking me onto my ass on my stool, so he can give Nikki a proper hug. She slides off her stool and licks the fish fry grease from her fingertips then leaps at him, casting her arms around his neck as he lifts her up and swings her around. It’s nothing new for them—they’ve been friends since orientation too—but for some reason, the sight of his hands on her shoulder blades has me running hot.

“Where is Laney?” I blurt out. I force an overly large smile on my face, but Cole coughs out a laugh because nothing gets by him.

“She’s getting extra reps. Her draft is soon,” Cutter says, dropping Nikki back down to earth as if he’s a Hemsworth brother. He pulls a free stool over to our table and holds up a hand, which immediately ushers a server to our table with a pitcher in hand.

Fucking hockey dudes, man.

I pour my beer then tip back my mug, guzzling down a third of it to wash away this weird jealous wave smacking into my chest. Gazing over the rim of my glass, I lock eyes with Brayden, who is staring hard at our table, clearly nursing a jealous wave of his own. Shit, I’m no better than he is.

Without thinking, I hook my foot around the leg of Nikki’s stool and scoot her close enough for me to put my hand on her knee. She coughs out a whoa from the not-so-gentle motion.

“You got something,” I say, running the side of my finger along her cheek. Her eyes dim and then flit toward Cole. There’s nothing on her face, but Brayden sure didn’t like watching me touch her.

“Got it,” I say, giving her a quick smile. Her brow furrows, so I nod over her shoulder. She twists her head, her hair dragging along her shoulders as she glances at where Brayden sits with some of the other pitchers, including the guy who wiped the floor with me today.

“Ah,” she says, swiveling back to face me. Her hair gets caught in the collar of her sweatshirt, so I slip my hand around her neck and pull it free. I leave my hand on her skin, my thumb grazing the top of her spine. Her skin is so hot. And soft.

Cole coughs, and I shake my head and pull my hand away.

“Sorry, you were going to hang yourself with that head of hair,” I say.

She gives me a sideways look and mutters out, “Okay,” before pulling her beanie from her back pocket and tugging it down on the top of her head. I smirk at her attempt to hide herself. She’s always done that, but I don’t think it has the same effect she thinks it does.

Nik has always been able to pull off hats. Ballcaps, cowboy hats, those giant sun-stoppers the old ladies wear near our hometown senior center. Hell, she even looks good in visors. But beanies are definitely her vibe. She has this tough chick thing going, which I know carries plenty of legitimacy.

The table is quiet for about five minutes while we all devour the greasiest food this side of the Mississippi. I’m not even certain there’s actual fish in these things. I’m not sure it matters with the amount of batter, salt and Patty’s special seasoning. It’s a good thing this is only on the menu once a week.

“What do you say, Alex? You game?” Brayden has worked his way into our tight circle, palming a set of darts in both hands.

“Shouldn’t you be resting that thing?” I say, motioning to his right arm.

He smirks.

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