Chapter Six
Saint
After dinner, I thought the night was winding down. But when we wait for our cars outside, Presley holds up her arm to get our attention.
“You all ready for our next stop?”
I narrow my eyes. “There’s more?”
“Yes,” she says, wiggling her brows.
“What did you do?” I sling my arm around her shoulders.
“It’s a surprise.”
“You’re really not gonna tell me?” I pull her in tighter.
When her driver pulls up, my car behind hers, she points to the door. “You’re riding with me. I don’t need you ruining the surprise by following me too aggressively.”
Liam drives my car, following behind us. And Aston follows Liam with Brody.
The drive takes less than ten minutes, and we park in front of an old movie theater, which is oddly conveniently close, that usually showcases classics and cult favorites.
There’s a marquee that has likely been refurbished in recent years that reads:
PRIVATE SCREENING:
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SAINT!
Under that, it says:
VENOM
I stare out the window, and I’m speechless.
Presley shifts in her seat, excited. “Your favorite.”
I look over at her.
I laugh because she looks like a little kid instead of a thirty-year-old woman. “You rented out an entire theater to watch Venom?”
She shrugs. “Alie helped. And you should be grateful that Liam stepped in and vetoed the symbiote masks that Aston wanted us all to wear.”
“I’m annoyed that I missed that conversation.” I chuckle.
Her smile widens.
I have to look away before I do something embarrassing, like admit this is my favorite birthday ever.
We walk inside, and the theater smells like popcorn and musty carpet. Even though we have the entire theater to ourselves, our group sits together in the center row.
Brody brought in enough candy that Presley reprimands him for all the sugar. Aston won’t shut up, and Liam threatens to move him three rows away. Alie falls asleep on Liam’s shoulder fifteen minutes in and jerks awake every time her head slips off.
Presley sits next to me again.
The screen flashes white and blue across her face, and I watch her out of the corner of my eye.
She notices and mutters, “Watch your movie.”
“You rented a theater for this. For me.”
She looks at me just long enough for me to catch her wink.
When the movie ends, everyone hugs and says one last, “Happy birthday.”
Alie gives me a quick squeeze. Liam leans in and taps his shoulder against mine. Aston tries to give me the shirt with my face on it, but I refuse.
“I’ll take that,” Brody says.
“If Saint doesn’t want it, I’m keeping this beauty. You’ll never know when I’ll break it out. It’ll be like a Christmas surprise.” He points a finger at me, winks, and smiles.
This kid.
“Griff, you wanna give me a ride back to Jersey?” Brody asks him.
“I gotchu.” Aston taps his knuckles against Brody’s.
“I’ll take Presley home,” I say to her sister. “You and Pitz can take the car back to the penthouse.”
Presley and Alie’s parents live in a fancy building, in the penthouse. Alie also lives in the building, but on a different floor. Presley has her own place elsewhere, but often stays at her parents' or sister’s when she’s in the city.
“Thanks, man. We have a night alone, since Sera is with the Grants.” He fist bumps me, smirking.
“And with that news that no one needed to know … we’ll head out. Night, everyone!” Alie blushes, and waves, and Liam leads her away with his hand on her lower back, chuckling.
It’s just the two of us now. The city is quieter than it was, the streetlights glowing against the sidewalk. The late summer air is warm to me, but Presley crosses her arms like she’s chilled.
I hold the door open for her, then move around to the driver’s side.
“You want to go to your place, right? Not your parents’?”
She nods. “Yeah, I’m beat. I want to sleep in my own bed tonight.”
“You got it.”
The drive to her condo is twenty minutes, but we fill the silence with easy conversation and recaps of our favorite scenes from the movie.
I find a spot within easy walking distance to her building.
She turns to me. “You could have just dropped me at the door. You didn’t have to park.”
I point to my chest. “It’s like you don’t know me at all. I’m not letting you walk up to your place by yourself.”
She laughs. “I assure you, my building is very safe.”
I know it is. It’s one of the nicest buildings in Manhattan, but that’s not the point. I’m a gentleman.
“I know it is, but I want to make sure you get in there safely. Humor me.”
She smiles, then we exit the car and walk toward her building.
“Did you have a good birthday?” She asks.
I look over at her. “One of the best I’ve ever had.”
Her face softens. “Good. I’m glad.”
“Other than the insulting cake and Aston’s T-shirt, it truly was perfect.”
“Oh, come on. You know they were both funny.”
I tilt my head back and forth. “Yeah, maybe.”
We both laugh.
“The movie was awesome. Thank you for doing that.”
“I thought so too. And you’re welcome.”
“You remember small details that only a long-term friendship can know.”
She glances at me, then forward again. “Yeah, I remember everything.”
That’s the problem. So do I.
I remember my twenty-first birthday in college, her sitting on the hood of my car while I sobered up. She stole half my fries and brought me water.
I remember my twenty-second birthday, when I was in another city for training and she mailed me a handwritten card with a joke so dumb that I kept it in my drawer for three years. Unfortunately, it got lost in one of my moves.
For my twenty-third, she bought us tickets to see Garth Brooks live. We sang at the top of our lungs and couldn’t talk for days after.
At twenty-five, she called me at midnight because she said birthdays needed to start with someone you cared about.
Then, when I turned twenty-eight, we ate takeout on her living room floor, and she stuck a candle in a carton of lo mein because she’d forgotten to get a cake.
The pact hangs between us like a secret.
But now, here we are. Thirty.
She opens the building door, and we catch the elevator before the doors close.
“You didn’t have to walk me up. Seriously.”
“I know I didn’t have to. I like knowing you’re in your space safely.”
Her smile is small. “So stubborn and protective.”
“With you, always.” I wink.
We exit the elevator, and when we reach her door, she takes out her keys.
Sometimes I hate how much I want to touch her.
“Hey.” I place a hand on her shoulder. “Thank you.”
“I’m happy to do it. You’re my best friend.” She shrugs. “And you deserve to be celebrated.”
I clear my throat. “You’ve been here for a lot of birthdays.”
She smiles softly. “And so have you with me.”
“Twenty-one, you stole my fries.”
“You were in a fragile state and not eating them.”
“Twenty-three, we saw Garth.”
“I still have my ticket stub. That was one of the best concerts ever.”
“Twenty-five, you called me at midnight.”
“You were alone in Denver.”
“Twenty-eight, lo mein cake.”
She throws her head back and laughs. “That was innovative.”
“It was creative—that’s for sure.”
“Well, I’m just glad I’ve gotten to share all these birthdays with my best friend.”
Here’s that word again. Best friend.
It’s the safest lie we tell.
“Yeah,” I say. “Me too.”
Her gaze holds mine for a minute, and I wonder if she’s thinking about thirty and the pact.
Neither of us has said anything because it wasn’t supposed to matter.
And I won’t say it now.
Instead, I step closer and wrap my arms around her.
She melts into me, like she always does, but she never lets herself hang on too long. Her arms slide around my waist, and her cheek rests against my chest.
I close my eyes for a minute and breathe her in.
She tilts her face up, and I press my lips to her cheek. It’s simple and barely anything. But I feel her still. Feel the catch in her breath against my neck.
I’ve kissed her cheek before. Usually quick and teasing.
This isn’t teasing. This is slower.
And maybe a little too close to the corner of her mouth.
When I pull back, her eyes are on mine.
I can see the heat in her stare, and I know she’s as affected as I am. Then I see the shield slip into place.
“Happy birthday,” she says, calmly.
I smile in response and step back before I lose control and ruin everything.
“Thanks. Lock the door behind you.”
“I always do,” she says, rolling her eyes.
She unlocks the door and steps inside, then turns to face me again.
“Night, Saint.”
“Night, Doc.”
The door closes quietly, and I stand there just for a minute until I hear the lock slide into place.
Thirty.
One preseason game.
One excellent birthday celebration.
One promise left unspoken.
And one woman I’ve spent over a decade pretending she’s just my friend.