“What? Nate come–”
“If you don’t take this as seriously as if he were anyone else! I…swear to me, Xan. Swear that this is serious to you!”
“I swear.” I glare back at him, irked—not just by Nate, but by myself, too. If it were anyone else, I wouldn’t have to justify my interest. Not to Nate, and not to my conscience either. But as it is, I have to look at this differently. I’m not going out with Nicholas van der Hoff, the guy I shouted at and argued with every chance I got, who I told to quit bitching or quit hockey altogether.
No. I’m going out with Nicko, who I feel like I have only met a few weeks ago. Getting to know a version of him I had never allowed myself to see.
Something in my eyes or voice must have convinced Nate, because he backs off a few steps, his brows relaxing again, even if his hands remain firmly planted on his hips.
“Good,” he says, then takes a deep breath. “What are you going to wear?” It sounds and feels like a peace offering, and I gladly take it.
“Dark jeans and the button–”
“No.”
“No?”
“No, you absolutely cannot wear anything with buttons on a date with my brother.” Nate rolls his eyes like that should be obvious. I tilt my head to get him to elaborate.
“Oh, Christ. Really, Xan? Have youseenhow Nicko dresses?” Nate pushes himself up from his desk to wander over to my wardrobe, pulling out clothes as he keeps talking.
“The day he leaves his sweatpants at home is the day hell freezes over. Plus, he barely has anything that isn’t sweatpants or a Badgers hoodie. Trust me, I’ve had to deal with it for two weeks!” He leans around the opened doors, holding up a sweater I’m pretty sure hasn’t seen the light of day for at least a year.
I shake my head and thankfully he does too, unceremoniously dropping it to the ground. I bite my tongue and stop myself from bending down to grab it. Tidying up before Nate is done is pointless.
“Usually, I don’t think about the clothes he hason,” I say quietly, prompting Nate to stick his head out again, eyes narrowed. Quickly, I raise my hands.
“Sorry!”
“You better be.” He emerges with another sweater, a blue one that I wear often during spring and fall. I frown, but take it anyway. It’s soft and comfortable, but not exactly fit for a date. The collar is worn out, and the sleeves have always been too long. Still, I hang it over the rail of my bed.
“Jeans are fine, but wear the black ones. They like…hug your…legs,” Nate continues his instruction, flapping one hand in my direction while still digging around in my wardrobe.
When he finally reemerges, he glares at me as he presses the pants into my hands but then doesn’t let go.
“Just to clarify: If you hurt my brother, I’ll mess you up, Xan.”
I take the threat with a quiet nod. I still haven’t decided whether or not Nicko is an asshole, but I don’t want to intentionally hurt him.
“What if your brother hurts me?” I tilt my head with a tentative smile.
Nate huffs out something like a chuckle.
“I’ll mess both of you up then!” he promises with a snort, reaching out to punch my shoulder.
Two hours later, my resolution to my best friend is put to the test by Nicko himself. After picking me up, he drives us into the city, parking at one of the large shopping centers. The arcade I drag him into isn’t actually old, but made up to lay claim to all the nostalgia its games and badly-patterned carpets promise. Despite Nicko proclaiming that he never plays any games, he has obliterated me in every single thing I picked out.
And now he’s about to smoke me in air hockey too.
“What the hell!” I laugh when he smacks the round plastic disc hard enough to make me wince, smashing it into my goal.
“You should know that I can beat you at any kind of hockey, Hart!”
“Not yet!” I point at the flashing countdown that tells me I have thirty seconds left to make five points. Across the table, green eyes flash at the challenge.
I manage two points, but with three seconds on the clock, Nicko makes another goal. I lean down to grin at him over the table.
“Rematch?”
