Page 7 of The Best Friend and the Shortstop

“Not even going to stop to say hi?” He was always overly charming to the point of cheesy. It’s why I wasn’t so upset when we broke up. Not that I should have been dating him to begin with. It was our freshman year, and I was pissed off that Alex was spending so much time hooking up with Alicia that I tried to redirect my affection to Brayden. It was a major fail. And not only because I wasn’t really invested in our relationship. Brayden’s a pitcher, which comes with a certain level of narcissism. While he was dating me, he was also very much dating himself. In fact, I think he prefers himself over just about anyone. Even now, I’m guessing.

“Oh, sorry. I wasn’t really paying attention. But yes, hi, Brayden. Good to see you,” I say, accepting his gesture for a hug. His long arms wrap around me and I feel smothered. My gaze strains to make eye contact with Alex, and our eyes meet.

“One second,” I mouth. Alex gives me a quick nod, his eyes squinting a little. Does he not like that I’m hugging Brayden? Maybe this confession mission will work out after all.

“I should . . .” I start, nodding down the line toward Alex.

“Oh, yeah. Hey, let’s catch up sometime,” he says, letting his hands drop back into his pockets. I nod and smile while my inner voice explains that we just did catch up and that’s enough.

I work my way through the tight space over a few more sets of knees and thighs until I’m able to flop down into the space next to Alex.

“You get Omar his cheesecake?” my friend asks.

I breathe out a short laugh and nod with tight lips. He thinks I lost a bet over some residence hall survey.

“I may have had a little myself.” I shrug with one shoulder, giving him a guilty smirk.

Alex leans in and lowers his brow, and my chest and neck fire up.

“You have a little something else with your dessert?” His brow ticks up on one side.

Shit. I should have snagged some mouthwash from Omar.

I hold up my fingers in a pinch.

“A little wine, maybe.” A lot of wine, probably.

Alex chuckles, his body vibrating with his laughter against my side. At least being this close helps me avoid direct eye contact and hopefully blocks his view of my flushed skin. I might be buzzed, but my cheeks are pink for a whole different reason.

“Hey, can we talk?—”

“I wanted to tell you something I’ve been feeling?—”

We talk over one another, something we’ve done for years, but the timing feels less amusing now. We both laugh nervously and insist the other person goes first, but of course, there’s no way I’m dropping my truth bomb before he says what he needs to say.

“Don’t make me pinch your nipple,” I threaten, getting a snort-laugh from his teammate Cole on the other side of him. “Hush your mouth or I pinch yours too!” I press my thumb and index finger together and twist to emphasize my threat, but Cole simply waggles his brows and asks if I promise.

I roll my eyes and block my view of Cole behind Alex’s bicep.

“I’ll go first just to avoid having to watch Cole get off on letting you pinch his nipples,” Alex chuckles. I shove his side, my movement a little bit playful and a little irritable at the same time. This whole thing is going badly.

Alex’s body lifts with an inhale and I find myself joining him. When he exhales, however, I hold my breath in, waiting.

“About today, at the school. The whole thing with my dad.” He exaggerates his last two words in that sarcastic tone he uses when he’s uncomfortable. I slowly release my breath through my nose. This is an important share for him. I wish it wasn’t happening here, but I’ve prodded him over it for too long to ask him to wait.

“Yeah,” I hum, leaning into him so he can feel my weight, my comfort. It’s so crowded in here it almost feels intimate. No one would be able to hear us without physically leaning in. And I’m definitely buzzed enough to throat punch one of his teammates.

“Last summer, before I left for the summer league, I found out some pretty shitty stuff . . . about my dad.” His chin tucks to his shoulder and his eyes drop to meet mine. My stomach sinks with worry and I gulp the air. His dad is sick.

“Oh, Alex.” I instinctively wrap my hand around his forearm.

“No, not . . . not what you’re thinking,” he stops me. His hand covers mine, and I dissolve into my surroundings, my ears full, my heart pounding. I’m a mixed bag of emotions, but above it all I have to force myself to be present for my friend.

“My parents are separated. My mom . . . she doesn’t want anyone to know, though. Because you know how our town is.”

I suck in a sharp breath and nod. Odell is big enough to have the kind of people who love to spread rumors. And his mom, Marie, is a teacher at the high school where his dad is a coach. And they exist together, day in, day out. Still. Oh, man.

I nod.

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