Page 22 of The Best Friend and the Shortstop

I glare at him as he walks by, a deep chuckle emanating from his throat that I think is just for me.

“What’s with the nicknames?”

Brayden rocks back a step and leans in, his eyes glancing to Nikki briefly, then back to me.

“My cousin told me your dad calls you by them.” His lip ticks up on one side, and I’d swear I smell smoke pouring from his breath like some sort of demon. Fucking asshole.

“You know what?” I suck my lips in tight and glance to Nikki, who is sitting with her arms crossed over her chest, clearly pissed that I let this go this far. That I am about to make her a bet. That’s not what friends do to friends. And it’s not what I do to Nik.

I toss the darts on the table and turn to look Brayden in the eyes.

“I’m out.” I wipe my hands of him, literally, and saunter back to the table where Cole and Cutter are looking on. I have a keen feeling my teammate is filling him in on the backstory to the extent he knows it.

I slide back onto my stool and top off my beer with what’s left in the pitcher.

“Hey,” Cutter says, reaching over the table toward me with a fist. I stare at it for a few seconds then pound it with my own.

“It’s not easy being the bigger man,” he says, and I smile to myself as I take a long sip from my beer.

“Thanks,” I say with a nod as I put the mug back down.

“It pays off, though,” Cutter adds, leaning in and glancing over my shoulder.

I spin around to see Nikki making her way back to us, her walk slow and purposeful. She’s swaying her hips exaggeratingly, and I smile on one side. She’s cute when she’s trying to cheer me up. I also wouldn’t hold it against her if she hauled back and socked me in the jaw for that little display back there.

“I told Brayden I got to pick the winner,” she says, sliding her now empty mug on the table before taking my hand.

“You sure I deserve to win anything?”

I let her lead me out to the dance floor where some of the older folks are two-stepping. I’m not very good at this type of dancing, but maybe I deserve to fumble my way around the dance floor as punishment.

I thread my fingers with Nikki’s and she turns into me, my hand resting at her hip. I look down to study my feet as I take a deep breath, but Nikki reaches for my chin and tips my gaze back up to hers.

“Uh uh,” she says.

My brow pulls in.

“Deal was, I pick the song,” she says, a devious smirk slowly taking up the real estate of her face.

Just then, the music changes over to the next pick, and the rawest, nastiest, thrasher-fest of a metal song pours out of Patty’s speakers. Nikki holds up her pinky and index finger then begins to head bang, her beanie flopping to the floor while her wild hair flings around her face.

My head falls back as I howl with laughter, then join my friend for the world’s smallest mosh pit. I even let her rush at me and smash into my ribs a few times before catching her on the last one and steadying our worlds for a beat.

“You’re going to hurt yourself,” I laugh out.

She shakes her head then brings her hands up, pushing her fingertips into her temples. She grimaces but turns it into a relenting smile, finally resting both hands on my shoulders.

“Yeah, alright. That was maybe a bit much.”

I rock us to whatever beat I can find, the floor cleared from the audio assault Nikki unleashed.

“I can’t believe that was even an option on the jukebox,” I say through a soft laugh.

Nikki steps in close, her cheek resting on the center of my chest, and I drop my hands down to her waist.

“I know all the deep cuts on that thing,” she says.

“Of course you do.”

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