Page 58 of Night Shift

“I know. That’s why he called. He was worried he fucked it up. Wanted to know if he was supposed to get you flowers or not, or if that was coming on too strong.”

The mental image of Vincent sprinting across campus, phone to his ear as he frantically consults his friends on how to woo a girl—how to woo me—hits me like a punch to the sternum. It leaves me winded. It ruins me.

“So, the whole thing about getting him laid for his birthday?” I ask, voice hoarse. “That was just some wholesome fun, then? A little team bonding?”

Jabari winces.

“That one’s on me,” he admits, fidgeting with an elastic bracelet on his wrist. “I was just excited for him. He’s been so miserable this season, with his wrist and everything, and he’s always had our backs . . .” Jabari pauses, and we’re both thinking of the point guard Vincent knocked out in the middle of a game. “I thought all of us should have his back for once. He always does shit for us. I wanted to return the favor. Help him be selfish for once.”

I think of what Vincent said in his bedroom, about being bad at asking for what he wants.

“By getting him laid?” I ask.

“By getting him the girl.”

“The girl, or a girl?” It’s my insecurity talking. The words taste sour and shriveled in my mouth, but it feels good to get them out, even if Jabari will think less of me.

He shakes his head. “You were it, Kendall. You’re the only one.”

Past tense. Present tense. Which is it?

“Is he . . .” I swallow hard. “Is he mad at me?”

I hate that those words actually left my mouth. They’re so immature. So middle school. But then Jabari shakes his head again, and the tightest of the knots that have been in my chest all week finally tugs free. I’m glad I asked. Communication is brutal, and maybe I’m worse at it than I thought I was, but God, it’s worth it.

“He’s mad at what went down,” Jabari says, “but I don’t think he’s mad at you. If that makes sense. He told me what you said after he asked you to come to the bar with us. First off—brutal. But personally, I thought you caught on to the fact that we were all trying to get him alone with you all night and it creeped you out. But Vinny took it a little more personal than that. Said something about knowing he wouldn’t be good enough for you.”

All the talk about romance novels, dukes and billionaires, and my high expectations. Vincent wasn’t teasing me for the fun of getting me flustered and outraged. He was genuinely concerned he wouldn’t measure up for me.

“That’s quite literally the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” I say.

Jabari nods. “I told you. He’s new to this. And he’s a sensitive little shit.”

I groan and slump back on the bench. Campus is growing darker and grayer. I feel a tiny, cold drop of misty rain land on my cheek but don’t make a move to wipe it away.

“Why does he think he wouldn’t be good enough?” I ask.

Because, contrary to what Nina said, I know I’m exactly like other girls—just on the introverted and anxious end of the spectrum. It’s not like I’m extraordinary.

Jabari shrugs. “Ask him. I mean, I could tell you he hasn’t fucking shut up about you and your damn poetry, but you probably want to hear all that from him. Besides, it’s not my job to win you back. That’s on Vincent. I’m just here to tell you I’m sorry, and that I really like you and your roommates”—he almost stumbles over that last word—“and that I’ll hate myself for the rest of my life if I’m part of the reason you guys didn’t work. I scared you off. I know I did. I got too excited, and I was only thinking about my boy, and I didn’t let you know what was up.”

“I get that, though,” I say very quietly. “My friends were doing the same thing.”

“I still can’t stand that I fucked it up, though. Vincent’s the one who usually kills the vibe. Not me. I’m the life of the fucking party, okay?”

I croak out a laugh.

“He didn’t hook up with anyone at the bar, then?” I ask, picking at a hangnail and refusing to meet Jabari’s eyes. “I was the only birthday action he got?”

Jabari’s quiet for a moment.

When I glance up, he’s staring at me with wide eyes.

“Y’all hooked up?”

The surprise on his face is so genuine that I have to admit that maybe—just maybe—I was wrong. Maybe Vincent didn’t tell anyone about what happened in his bedroom. Maybe he kept his promise to me.

“Shit,” Jabari says, voicing my exact thoughts as we look out across the park. Then, louder: “Shit. Well, that explains why he was such a fucking bummer after—wait, wait. Hold up. When we came up to his room to get him, were you . . .”

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