Page 50 of One Timer With A Wingman

“Yeah, fine. I’m looking forward to seeing you guys tomorrow,” I say to her.

“We can drive you back to campus after the game. I want us to spend time together,” she says.

“That sounds great,” I reply. I want to spend as much time with her as possible.

We end the call, and I head out to my afternoon classes. By four thirty I’m debating if I should text Briar again. How often should I be checking in with her?

I don’t want to be annoying, but I send her a quick text.

Me:Do you want to grab a bite to eat?

I see the balls rolling and I appreciate her fast responses. She isn’t playing games. I appreciate it.

Briar:I’m working at Black Jack’s. I start my shift in half an hour.

Me:Okay

I head back to the house to drop off my things. Most of the guys aren’t back yet. I head into the kitchen where Finn is cooking dinner.

“What’s up?” he asks.

Finn is a stand-up guy. He’s responsible and he is a leader in every aspect. A part of me feels like I need advice about Briar, but I don’t want to betray her trust. He’s also dating Charlie, who is one of Briar’s best friends.

“Not much,” I say.

“I’m making some salmon and salsa. I know it isn’t your favorite, but Charlie wanted to try it,” he explains.

“That’s cool. I’ll head over to Black Jack’s and grab a bite,” I tell him.

“If you need to talk, I’m here,” he offers as he cuts into a mango, probably for the salsa.

“Thanks, bro.” I leave the kitchen and grab my jacket. I call an Uber and head over to Black Jack’s.

I don’t see Briar right away. Levi spots me and asks me to sit in his section. “Bro, I want to sit in Briar’s section,” I tell him.

“Oh, are you still into her?” he asks quietly.

“Kind of,” I say since I don’t have something better. Truth is, I am into Briar, but I can’t think about that now with this whole pregnancy thing.

“Gotcha. I’ll take you to her section,” he offers.

“Thanks,” I say, and I walk over to sit at a high booth that is a two seater.

I spot Briar walking toward me from the kitchen area. When she walks up to the table, her smile falls.

“What are you doing here?” she asks.

“I came to eat dinner,” I tell her.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to come off. . .rude or anything,” she says.

“That’s okay,” I assure.

“What can I get you?”

“I’ll have the half rotisserie chicken with roasted potatoes and grilled vegetables,” I order.

“Anything to drink?”

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