“So, what’s the problem?” Damon asks with a frown.
“The problem is, I don’t know if I’m just seeing what I want to see, and if I tell her how I feel, and I’m wrong—if she doesn’t feel the same way—I might lose her completely.”
I stare at my hands, remembering how they felt tangled in her hair, tracing the curves of her body, holding her close in the darkness of her childhood bedroom. It felt real. It felt like more than our arrangement. And maybe I’m reading too much into it, but she didn’t mention beingjust friendsonce. Not when I held her hand under the table during dinner. Not when I kissed her in front of the fireplace. Not when we made love in her bed, slow and tender in a way that left me shaken to my core. And after, when I held her in my arms, I could have sworn she was about to say something profound before she caught herself.
“I’m done,” I say suddenly, standing up from the bench.
The guys exchange glances, clearly confused by my abrupt shift.
“Done with what? The conversation? The game?” Chris asks, gesturing toward my state of undress.
“Done waiting for her feelings to catch up.” My voice is steady now, resolution burning through the fog of uncertainty that’s clouded my judgment for too long. “Done with this friends with benefits bullshit. I’m telling her how I feel. Tonight. And if it means I lose her, so be it.”
“Is this one of those things where you say you’re going to tell her how you feel and then you don’t?” Jace asks, clearly skeptical. Not that I blame him; I’ve drop the ball too many times to count.
“Nope.” I resume taping my wrists with renewed purpose. “After the game, I’m going straight to her place and laying it all out there.”
West claps my shoulder, a rare smile crossing his face. “Fucking finally.”
Chapter 37
TATUM
The crowd’s roar fades to white noise as I watch Brandon intercept the ball, his powerful legs eating up the field. All the intimacy we’ve shared since I broke up with Ethan and a day of wrestling with my feelings hadn’t prepared me for this—the way my heart hammers against my ribs when he scores, how my voice goes raw from screaming his number.
“Number twenty-seven is so freaking hot,” the blonde sitting below me squeals.
I glance to the row in front of me, where a group of girls dressed head-to-toe in Griffins gear wave a glitter-covered sign with Brandon’s jersey number painted inside a giant heart.
“God, I know.” The brunette—who’s completely Brandon’s type—flips her perfect curls over her shoulder. “He’s in my economics class. Always sits in the back, but trust me, those eyes don’t miss anything.”
I grip my seat, knuckles whitening as I try to focus on the game rather than their conversation.
“After the game, I’m asking him out,” she continues, and my stomach clenches like I’ve been sucker-punched.
It shouldn’t matter.
I have zero claim on him. After all, Brandon and I are just friends. Friends who occasionally sleep together. He’s a friend who makes me feel things I’ve never felt with anyone else. A friend who . . . who I’m stupidly, hopelessly in love with.
An hour later, AAU declares victory, and I lose the trio of girls in the crowd of students spilling from the stadium, and I’m relieved to get away from their fawning.
I wait for Brandon by his car, the cool metal against my back doing little to calm my nerves. The parking lot buzzes with post-victory energy, but all I can think about is how to tell my best friend I love him without destroying everything.
That’s when I see him coming through the gates, head down, with a gear bag in hand. Moonlight casts his face in shadows, emphasizing the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his lips, and his aristocratic nose. He’s so beautiful it hurts, so when I see the brunette from the stands emerge from the side of the building, sign tucked under her arm, my stomach drops.
Her smile is dazzling, confident in a way I’m not, and when she calls his name, even from a distance, I can see the way Brandon smiles back—that easy grin that makes my knees weak. He leans in close to hear something she says, his hand briefly touching her shoulder, and something inside me crumbles.
What am I thinking? Girls like her throw themselves at Brandon and his teammates every single day. Chris, Jace, and Damon are taken, completely committed to their relationships, so rejecting them is easy. But to Brandon, I’m just Tatum—his buddy, his confidant, and study partner. And now, his convenient hookup.
The realization cuts deep, leaving me raw.
I straighten my shoulders when he finally spots me and heads over, the brunette trailing behind with stars in her eyes.
“There you are!” Brandon’s smile is genuine, his eyes bright from the win.
“Sorry, just hiding out,” I say with forced cheerfulness. “I needed a break from the crowd to clear my head. Great game, though.”
My gaze flickers to the brunette who passes, offering Brandon a meaningful glance as she joins her friends a couple rows down, and I can’t help but wonder if he made plans to meet her later. After all, nowhere in our arrangement did I mention exclusivity.
