“No apology necessary,” I say, grinning. “Nice to know that I don’t look disgusting.”
She rolls her eyes at me, smiling. “Blake, you never look disgusting.”
I quirk an eyebrow. “Really? Not even when I’m drenched in sweat after a game?”
She shakes her head. “Nope. You always look good.”
“Always?”
She blushes. “Always.”
An excited feeling sparks through my chest. I think we’re flirting. I like it.
“We should get going. Coach will be pissed if we’re late,” Nick says to all of us.
We head out of the house and order a rideshare to the restaurant. The seven of us split up into two separate cars.
I hold out my hand to help Briar into our car, since she’s wearing heels and I don’t want her to trip. We sit together in the backseat, quietly listening to the music the driver plays.
Every so often, we look at each other and smile. A giddy feeling sprouts up in my chest. It feels like nerves and excitement tangled together.
Briar and I have hung out a million times over the years, but it’s never felt likethis. It feels like I’m on a date. Except this isn’t a date. Yeah, we’re flirting a little, but we haven’t crossed any lines. She’s still my best friend. And as much as I like that we’re being so flirty right now, I don’t want to make her uncomfortable.
I’ll just follow her lead tonight. If she wants to keep being flirty, I will. If she dials things back to strictly friendly, that’s okay too. Whatever she wants, I’ll do it.
Twenty minutes later, the cars pull up to the front of Seb’on, a fancy French restaurant in the Cherry Creek neighborhood of Denver.
We walk into the spacious, dimly lit restaurant. It’s a rectangular dining space with an open kitchen in the middle. It’s all stainless steel and shiny appliances. A dozen people in white jackets move around the space. Everyone is slicing, plating, and cooking.
“It smells so good in here,” Briar says.
“Yeah. Way better than when I cook, right?”
She chuckles. “You’re not a bad cook, Blake.”
“You’re too nice. The only thing I manage to not burn whenever I try to cook is grilled cheese.”
“I love your grilled cheese. You know it’s my favorite.”
I can’t help but smile. We sit down at a long table in the middle of the dining space. They must have put all the tables in the restaurant together because the rest of the space is empty.
When we sit, servers surround us to fill our water glasses. Anna, who’s sitting across from us, pulls Briar into a conversation.
Nick, who’s sitting next to me, elbows me.
“You’re staring,” he says.
I frown. “I’m not staring at you.”
He rolls his eyes. “At Briar.”
“Oh.” I clear my throat.
He just laughs. “You’re so into her.”
I sigh and take another sip of water. “Is it that obvious?”
“Yup.”
