Page 33 of The Best Friend and the Shortstop

I spread my fingers to peek through them and nod.

“Yes,” I admit.

“Nicole Thomas, you traitor!” Omar shouts from the doorway.

Brian laughs hard while I take his hand. Omar’s cheeks turn a cherry red.

“Nice to meet you, Brian.” I make it a point to clearly say his name.

“And you are Nikki,” he says.

I nod.

“It’s nice to meet Omar’s pushy friend,” he says as our hands part.

“Pushy?” I jut my neck forward to catch Omar’s eyes.

He shrugs.

“What? You’re pushy! And stubborn. And a total hopeless romantic,” he adds that last part in with a roll of his eyes.

“Maybe not entirely hopeless,” I let slip out.

“Oh, now, what is this?” Omar’s eyebrows rise about seventy inches—okay, maybe three. My pulse picks up as I mentally replay what happened in this room twelve hours ago. I audibly breathe out, which my friend naturally picks up on and starts to fan himself.

“You’ve got stories and I need them,” he says.

“Me, too. Even though we just met. I need them,” Brian adds.

My shoulders shirk up, and I feel the blush creeping up my chest and neck.

“Maybe let me sort it out for myself first? I’m not entirely sure what to make of my last twenty-four hours,” I say, giving my friend something but far from everything.

“Mmm, okay. Clock is ticking on details though. Now, let’s get your ass to the game before that man of your dreams has a meltdown because you aren’t there,” Omar says.

Brian’s eyebrow quirks; he’s clearly intrigued.

“He won’t have a meltdown,” I add as I walk out my door. “He’s my best friend, and I don’t miss his games.”

“She hasn’t missed one—ever,” Omar adds.

I eye him over Brian’s shoulder, and he holds out his palms. Damn him for being right.

“This friend of yours must be special,” Brian says, as if he doesn’t already know everything Omar has surely told him. The two of them have been “talking,” as Omar likes to call it, since the basketball game dare. It’s been roughly a week, and I know that new relationships are filled with butterflies and excitement, but there’s something truly compatible about these two. I see it in how they walk together, the way Omar elbows him in jest and the way Brian responds, squeezing Omar’s shoulders both playfully and affectionately. They’re rather perfect.

God, maybe the two of them can sort out the entirety of my love life without me and then I can just pop back in when everything’s fixed.

As is my curse, we get to the stadium and find my seat once again occupied by Alicia. She only has one friend with her today, and not the one I was chatting with. I’m rather relieved, actually, because there won’t be any familiarity between me and this other girl.

“So, are we sitting elsewhere?” Omar asks, cupping his mouth as if that somehow turns his voice into a whisper.

“No, I’m a big girl,” I say, beelining toward my row. I stop by Alicia’s knee.

“Mind?” I gesture to the open row beside her.

She sighs but stands, clutching her phone to her bare midriff as she lets me pass. It’s chilly out again, not the weather for a half-cut sweatshirt like she’s wearing. I’m not stupid. And I’ve been the girl who tries to catch Alex’s eye more than once. But I’m the one who had him on his knees last night, so as I hoped I would, I pass by her with a smug smile. It lasts until I reach my seat and the thought that he’s been on his knees for her sets in.

“You okay? You look ill,” Omar says, never missing a beat.

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