Chapter 36
brANDON
The locker room buzzes with pre-game energy.
Cleats clack against tile, equipment managers shout instructions, and there’s a steady thump of hip-hop from someone’s portable speaker.
I sit at my locker, staring blankly at the floor as I mechanically tape my wrists, my mind a thousand miles away from today’s game.
“Earth to Brandon,” Chris says, snapping his fingers in front of my face. “You planning on joining us in reality anytime soon?”
I blink, looking up to find the guys gathered around my locker, all in various states of game preparation. “Sorry,” I mutter, tearing off the athletic tape with more force than necessary. “Just focused on the game.”
Damon snorts. “Bullshit. You haven’t heard a word Coach said in the last twenty minutes.”
“Something’s up,” West observes quietly, his eyes narrowing as he studies my face. “This about your arrangement with Tatum?”
At the sound of her name, my hands still. It’s the day after I returned from Thanksgiving at her parents’ house, one day since that night by the fire, twenty-four hours of pretending everything is normal while my mind replays every second of what happened between us.
It was different, wasn’t it?
“So?” Chris prods, lowering his voice as he glances around to make sure no one’s listening. “How was the holiday? Did you tell her yet?”
I drop the tape and drag both hands through my hair. “I’m so fucked, guys.”
“That bad, huh?” Jace asks, dropping onto the bench beside me.
“No. That good.” I close my eyes, exhaling slowly. “It was . . . different this time. The trip home, everything was different.”
West crouches down to my level, tipping his chin. “Different how?”
“I can’t explain it. The way she looked at me, the way she touched me.
It wasn’t like it’s been before.” I shake my head, struggling to put into words what I felt.
“We were at her parents’ house, and it was like we were .
. . I don’t know, a real couple. I’m pretty sure her mom noticed it, too.
I saw her giving me the eye and watching us the whole time I was there. ”
“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 being just friends once.
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.”