Page 38 of The Best Friend and the Shortstop

“Hey, didn’t you two date a while back?” Alex shifts his weight so he’s leaning into the counter across from me but his eyes never leave Brayden’s face.

“And on that note . . .” I say, rounding the counter and patting Alex on the upper back as I pass.

I weave my way back through the living room to the media center set up in the corner. Because I did, in fact, date Brayden for a little while, I’m familiar with his pad. Little has changed over the last couple years, and the computer set-up is basically the same. Unfortunately, so is his music library.

“Ugh,” I huff out, logging in to my cloud so I can pull some of my new favorites together and get a house beat going.

“Hey, sorry. I maybe got a little?—”

“Alpha?” I lift my brow as I glance up at Alex. He swallows sheepishly.

“Yeah.” His voice is meek, which is sort of cute.

“It’s fine. But for the record, I don’t really want to be weaponized and used in whatever this beef is you have going on with Brayden. And ah!” I hold up my hand before he speaks, and Alex stops with his mouth open. “Before you say that there is no beef, check yourself. There’s beef. I smell it. Everyone smells it. And you, Alex Mendoza, are going to explain it to me later.”

I give him a tightlipped grin as he breathes in slowly through his nose and eventually nods.

“I am,” he says.

“Hey, A! You loan me some cash? We’re getting a game going,” Cole hollers from the kitchen.

Alex’s eyes flutter closed and I laugh, then pat him in the center of the chest. He could pay his tuition off of the amount of money he’s loaned Cole over the years.

“Yeah, I’ll spot you. Deal me in too.” He shakes his head as he opens his eyes to mine.

“Go have fun. I’m in my happy place,” I say, pressing play without looking to kick off one of my new audio discoveries. Her name is Eloki, and her sound has this way of transporting me into an underground speakeasy where girls smoke foot-long cigarettes and men walk around with Zippo lighters. She’s smooth and unique. Brilliant.

“This is good,” Alex says, pointing up as he leans in for a kiss. I smirk, unable to stop my mind from recalling him saying those very same words in this same exact room three years ago.

“I know,” I say, closing the gap between us to peck his lips.

I catch a few eyes on us as he walks away, a couple of girl whispering in the corner then immediately taking to their phones to investigate or spread the gossip. Rather than dwell on their opinions, I lose myself in my passion, moving from song to song and garnering a small audience of my own.

Two hours pass in a blink. I’m a little lightheaded, partly from the blue screen light, I’m sure, but I also think I might be a tad dehydrated. I didn’t drink much at the game, and the wind tends to suck the moisture out of all living things.

The stakes in the poker game must be getting pretty serious because at least half the party is gathered around the card table in the dim kitchen. I push my way through the crowd to get to the fridge and grab a cold bottle of water. I knock about half of it back before leaning my elbows on the counter to join the others in watching the intense showdown happening between Alex and the rest of the table. His tongue pushed against the inside of his cheek, his smile is off-center and hard to discern. His drunken eyes are heavy, and his blinking is slow. I’m the only one in this room who knows he’s bluffing. I’m sure of it. As good as he is at masking his emotions, I can see the cracks. He’s had three, maybe four beers since he sat down to play. And the man can hold a lot more.

This look? It’s calculated.

“Well? You calling or what?” he says, lifting a brow as he flattens his cards face down on the table and takes a long swig from his beer. His eyes reach me mid-drink, and I tilt my head slightly, hazing my eyes with suspicion. His body shakes with the smallest laugh. He knows I’ve caught him.

“Where’s my lucky charm?” he calls, stretching his arm out toward me then waving me in.

“I’m comfy right here,” I say, a little in protest.

What started as pretend flirting and vague shows of affection seems to have gotten the intended results. Brayden is definitely paying a lot more attention to me. And when his focus isn’t on me, I feel like it’s somehow tethered to me. Like right now, as he stares hard at Alex’s face from the other side of the table. Sure, this is a poker duel. But also, is it for the girl? Is this a gunfight at dawn?

“Aww, come on, Nik. I need you to tell me what you think about my cards.” Alex’s eyes lock on mine, and I see right through the haze into him. Something is different tonight.

“Fine,” I huff, capping my water and bringing it with me to stand behind him. I begin to hunch down, but Alex turns to the side, offering me his lap instead. My heart thumps once and only once, loud and heavy.

“Okay,” I say in a nervous whisper. His hand slides around my bare midriff until his thumb hooks through the belt loop on my jeans.

This is not the first time I’ve sat on Alex’s lap. There were plenty of times I had to get a boost to see a movie or share a seat in his dad’s pickup truck when he unsafely buckled both of us in one seat. And in high school, there was the time we had to smash balloons on each other’s laps for class wars. I blushed then. But now? I’m on fucking fire.

Alex tilts his hand up enough for me to get a glimpse of his bullshit cards. I don’t flinch, and I’m careful not to blink too fast or too slow. But I do utter, “I knew it,” then turn to match his smirk.

“Knew what?” Brayden asks.

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