20. I’m not a dude.
20
"I’m not a dude."
Aaron Miles
I sneak a glance at Marissa, and she steals my breath away, as always. It’s amazing how she still manages to do that after I’ve known her for so long. But the way she looks right now, relaxing on the couch, her hair cascading down one side of her face, is a thing of beauty. She’s not aware I’m looking, too focused on her phone.
“So, yeah. I think that was pretty cool,” Beaumont says.
“Definitely,” Hawthorne adds.
Beaumont snaps his fingers in front of my face. “Did you even li sten to a word I just said?”
“Easy, Frenchie Boy,” I say, turning back to him. “What was it about? The latest romance novel you read?”
Hawthorne chuckles, and Beaumont just shakes his head.
I’m a big reader—thrillers mostly—and so is Beaumont, but Hayley got him into romance. That’s earned him quite a few teasing remarks in and out of the locker room.
“Very funny.”
“Carry on.” I smirk, and this time, I really do my best to listen to him. But with Marissa in the room, focusing is always a challenge.
“You know,” Beaumont says when Hawthorne leaves, his voice dropping an octave. “You might make fun of me for reading romance, but it’s helped me read people and relationships better. And you, my dude, are hopelessly in love with your best friend.”
I snap my head back toward him. “What did you just say?”
His hazel eyes gleam. “Don’t even try to deny it,” he says, keeping his voice low. “I’ve known for a while now. To any romance reader in the room, it’s pretty obvious.”
A wild laugh bellows out of me. I open my mouth, wanting to tell him he’s wrong, but I can’t bring myself to deny it anymore. “Well, crap.”
He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. Coach’s daughter. Best friend. Two very popular tropes in the sports romance subgenre, but I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes, pal.”
“Thanks for the pep talk. It’s so good talking to you.”
He bellows a laugh. “Sorry. But you should talk to her. Nothing good comes from withholding your feelings. Just look at me and Hayley. She wanted nothing to do with me, but I put myself out there relentlessly, and it worked, man. It worked . Heck, I’m still surprised it did, but I felt a lot better afterwards.”
Hayley might have been immune to Beaumont’s charm in the beginning, but his odds still looked a lot better than mine. Or the way my face will look after Coach rearranges it, which will happen the moment he hears about my feelings for his daughter. “Thanks, man,” I say instead, knowing he’s just trying to help.
He slaps my back. “You should pick up a few romance novels from time to time. I can send you recs. I have the perfect friends-to-lovers romance for you.”
I laugh, shaking my head. Talk about unrealistic tropes.
The chatter picks up as Alice and Hayley bring Deacon his birthday cake. It’s a two-tier white chocolate cake decorated with forests, mountains, and a lake. Deacon is a big outdoors guy and still struggles with living in the city, so it fits perfectly. The two candles on top read “3” and “5,” and we all gather around to sing to him, which, judging by the scowl on his face, he’s enjoying thoroughly. Guess why Wilcott is closest to Deacon? Grumps tend to stick together. I wonder what they talk about. I bet they mostly just brood in silence.
Next, we all give him our gifts. A handful of funny items, a few NSFW goodies, and some memorabilia and posters for his bar.
We blast the music louder, and a few of the guys crank out their best dance moves, including Beaumont and Adler, who are living it up. I glance around to find Marissa, since we always have a blast on the dance floor, but she’s not here.
Finally, I spot her in the backroom, leaning against the wall, massaging her temples.
“Hey,” I say, sauntering over to her. “Are you alright?”
“Aaron!” she mumbles, almost falling down. I catch her just in time, and she bursts into giggles. “You saved me. You’re here.”
“I’m here,” I say, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Are you okay?”
“I am now. Just so tired. So tired.”
I frown, looking around. “We should go home.”
“Marissa,” Beth calls, coming over with a large glass of water. “Oh, hey Aaron. I don't know what's wrong with her, she's a little loopy.”
My heartbeat accelerates. Is it something she drank or ate? I know there was no alchohol in the drinks I served her, I made sure of that myself. I know she can't handle alcohol too well. “Is she drunk?” I ask, just in case.
Beth shakes her head. “No, we stuck to lemonade.”
I glance at Marissa, who is now half-asleep. “Did she say anything to you? Should we take her to the hospital?”
“No, I don't know,” Beth says, a hint of panic in her voice. “She was fine, she just said she had a migraine. She took—” She grabs Marissa's bag and rummages through it. “Oh no,” she says, glancing at two packages in her hands.
“What is it?” I ask, pulse quickening.
She smiles. “It's fine. I think she just took some melatonin instead of ibuprofen.” She shows me both packages which kind of look the same.
I let out a sigh of relief and look at Marissa, who's eyelids keep fluttering close. “You really need to organize your bag better, Martin.”
She looks up at me. “You know. I both love it and hate it when you call me ‘Martin.’”
“Is that so?” I chuckle, glancing at Beth, whose cheeks are now as red as her lip gloss.
“Uh-huh.” She nods, laying a hand on my torso. “It’s like I’m part of the team, and I love it. But it’s also like you see me as one of your dude-bros. I’m not a dude, Aaron,” she says, her light blue eyes locked on me. I can tell she wants to give me an angry look, but she can’t, and it’s adorable.
I repress my laughter and hold her hand so she’ll stand still. “I know.”
“Um, maybe I should take her home,” Beth says quickly, taking Marissa’s hand. “I’m heading out anyway since I’m opening tomorrow.”
“Don’t worry. I can take her home.”
Beth’s face tightens, and I’m not sure why she’s fighting me on this. It’s my home, after all. She offers a smile. “Stay. Enjoy your night. I’ll make sure she gets home okay.”
“It’s fine.” I nod firmly. “I’ll take her now. We can drop you off on the way, if you want? I have my car, and I haven’t had anything to drink.”
She twists her mouth, then nods. “Okay. I’ll go grab our coats.”
The ride home is eventful, to say the least. Weirdly, Marissa is even more chatty when she's sleepy, and she cracks a lot more jokes. Beth seems exasperated, whispering to her to stop talking and be quiet, but Marissa isn’t having it. She tells us all about her online dating experience, and that almost sends us into the ditch a couple times.
Finally, we reach the apartment Beth shares with Lucas Rogers, and she throws Marissa one last worried look before waving us goodbye.
I wait until Beth is safely inside. I know Rogers is at an away game tonight.
Once the door swings closed, Marissa and I drive home, and as soon as we enter the living room, she falls flat on the couch. “I’m so tired,” she says, her voice muffled by the pillow. “Why am I so tired?”
I chuckle, sitting next to her. “Melatonin works. Come here. I’ll get you to bed.”
She takes my hand, but instead of standing up, she pulls me toward her, taking me by surprise. Giggling, she settles her head on my lap, and my hand naturally falls to her hair.
“I’m so lucky to have you, Aaron,” she says, adjusting her head.
“Me too,” I breathe out.
“You’re so ni ce to me. Why aren’t all guys like you? We should clone you.”
I swallow hard, my heart booming. “I don’t think it’s a thing yet.”
“Well, it should be,” she whispers. “And when it is, you should be the first cloned human.”
“I’ll put myself on the list,” I say, caressing her soft hair.
She flips over so the back of her head is on my lap, her eyes latched onto me. She grazes her finger along my jaw, giving me goosebumps. “You’re the perfect man, Aaron Miles.”
My pulse accelerates as if I’m in the middle of a hockey game, maybe even more so.
“Always there to cheer me up,” she continues, “and take care of me. You’re loyal and cute. Like a puppy.” Her eyes flutter closed, and my heart crashes onto the ice, skates carving into it, sticks finishing it off.
I don’t answer, because I can’t. My throat constricts until I’m struggling for air.
Seconds later, she’s sound asleep. As for me, I’ve just taken the worst beating of my life.