Chapter 2 #2
Alex—the Wednesday Adams of our crew—eyed the rainbow sprinkles as if they’d infect her.
Kat tugged playfully on her braid. “They won’t bite.”
The six of us were a bit of an odd group, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I loved my teammates like my siblings. I was a fish out of water in my family, but the Baes accepted me no matter what.
We’d put up the net and started running drills when Oscar finally showed. He’d abandoned his fancy suit for shorts and a razorback tank that showed off his long limbs. He still wore his designer shades, though, and his hair—wavy to my curls—was styled back.
“Yes! Now we can play three-on-three.” I fist-bumped Brian.
“Good of you to make time for us in your demanding schedule, esquire.” Lucas gave a mock salute.
“I’m only going to be able to stay for an hour or so,” Oscar said, grinning. “I made up an excuse to take a long lunch, but I do have to actually work today, unlike you assholes.”
“Yeah, yeah. Let’s not waste time then.” Brian shooed Oscar onto our makeshift court.
Kat, Brian, and I ended up on one side, with Lucas, Alex, and Oscar on the other. We played six-on-six against other teams in the league, but we tried to change the matchups as much as possible when we practiced so that we’d all be able to read each other.
Physical activity was calming, even when my lungs were burning, and my muscles were spent.
My mind never felt as still as when I was in motion.
There was no way I could have worked a desk job like Oscar, even if I’d been academically inclined.
I needed to feel the fresh air and be on my feet, or my mind would swallow me whole.
I threw myself into the volleyball game like an enthusiastic puppy, and even though I was mediocre, I liked to think I’d get an A for effort.
The hour Oscar granted us went by way too fast. Despite collective peer pressure, he ended up going back to work.
Lucas was the next to peel off after receiving a text from his husband, and Kat called it a day so she could shower and get ready for her evening shift at the bar.
Once we’d packed up the net, Alex and I helped Brian carry everything back to his Jeep.
“I’m starving.” I slammed the trunk shut. “Dinner?”
“Can’t,” Brian said. “I work early tomorrow, but there is a place near here that does really good quinoa bowls. You should check it out.”
“Has anyone ever told you that for a meathead, you sure do eat like a rabbit?”
“That’s how you keep the muscle definition, baby.” Brian teased back, lifting his shirt to flex his abs. Between volleyball and the gym, I could keep in pretty good shape, but I was not willing to sacrifice my sweet tooth on the altar of a six-pack.
I laughed and reached in to tickle him, and he shrieked before escaping to the safety of his vehicle.
Once Alex and I sat down with our bowls, hers with salmon and mine with shredded beef, I had to admit defeat. “Don’t tell Brian, but he was right. These are delicious.”
“Your secret is safe with me.” Alex rolled her eyes.
I joked that Alex was my platonic goth girlfriend—we could not be more different when it came to our aesthetics.
She was always in black, even in the heat of the LA summers.
Always put on Chelsea Wolfe whenever I handed her the aux.
Always told the darkest jokes. Meanwhile, my friends told me I had chaotic golden retriever energy.
“I meant to ask how things went with that gorgeous woman you were talking to at the bar last weekend,” she said. “The one with the neck tattoos?”
“She was stunning.” I shrugged. “But I wasn’t feeling it. I got her number, though.”
“No?” she said, raising a single manicured eyebrow.
I laughed, and my mind drifted to Taylor. “I guess I didn’t feel the spark?”
Alex gave me a skeptical look. “Are you asking me or telling me?”
“I dunno. I’m not sure what was missing.” And thirty was looming like a final exam I hadn’t studied for. “But my mom’s been threatening to set me up on dates if I don’t settle down soon, and I’m starting to think she’s serious.”
“There’s no rush to have everything figured out.” Her eyes narrowed. “You have a job you like and awesome friends—that’s not nothing in this economy.”
I hummed as I considered her words. “You’re right. What I’m doing now is a lot of fun. I’m sure things will work out the way they’re supposed to.”
“You know I’ll support you, whatever you decide.” She smiled slyly. “And if you want to hook your best friend up with that smoke show from the bar, I’ll gladly take her off your hands.”
“What a martyr.” I laughed, steering the conversation to the upcoming volleyball tournament and away from these strange feelings of dissatisfaction.
So many people had told me I wasn’t cut out for a serious relationship that, even though I was tired of the hookup culture, I wasn’t sure I could pull it off.
I was the good-time guy—the fun one—my ex, Maria’s, voice echoing in my head every time I let myself entertain delusions about happily ever afters.
No matter how much I wanted one.
No-strings was rejection-proof, and whether it happened with my new Highway Hottie or someone else didn’t matter.
If I said it enough, maybe I would believe it.