Page 12 of Best Things in Life

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At the game I have to watch Bigs and Sarina together and by the end of the half I want to punch someone real bad. The only relief from the torture so far is when Bigs tries to buy her a hot dog and she fake gags. I laugh out loud because I know she hates them.

“She’ll have a slice of pizza or fries, Bigs,” I say under my breath. “Or a bag of beer nuts.” I produce a bag from my jacket pocket and try to give it to him, but he pushes it away. “I’m trying to help—”

“Forget it. I’ll handle it.” He gives me a look like he feels sorry for me and it doesn’t feel good. “You need to get over her, Nate.”

“What the fuck?” I whisper shout and Sarina turns her head, arching her brow, looking between me and Bigs. “Fuck you,” I say because I am over her. “She’s all yours.” I toss the bag of beer nuts onto her lap. I see her eyes flicker surprise and she looks at me unguarded for a fraction and her mouth opens, the words on the tip of her tongue before she closes it. But I read her face. You remembered. You asshole. Because she’d be impressed and still hate me. Bigs frowns.

“Damn it Nate.” He growls under his breath. “I’ll take care of Sarina.”

“You’re welcome,” I say and he shakes his head. He doesn’t believe that I’m over her and I can’t stand his sympathy because I don’t need it.

Am I over her? Fuck. I don’t know. I only know everything in me is driven to thinking about her, I’m obsessed with gaining her trust, her affection. Not to mention those dreams about her hot body undermine won’t stop’. It’s an insanely destructive obsession because the most important hockey season of my life is only two weeks away.

I watch as she shares some beer nuts with Bigs and he kisses her. On the fucking lips. I should turn away from the euphemistic car crash, but I’m a sick bastard apparently, given to self-torture now.

Like thinking about Bigsby going home with Sarina tonight and sleeping with her drives a spike through my heart and I visibly flinch as I finally turn away to watch the game. But I don't see a thing and my chest is boa-constrictor tight so I can hardly breathe.

Rolling my shoulders, I try and talk myself down off the ledge. I know—intellectually—that they’ve slept together before and that I can’t keep them apart. They’re a couple and that’s what couples do.

And that’s what makes me most insane, most desperate of all.

I nudge Dooley.

I whisper low out of the corner of my mouth. “We can’t let them stay together tonight.” His eyebrows disappear into his hat.

“You’re crazier than I thought—and by crazy, I mean still fucking madly over the moon in love.” Dooley whispers this with his fucking annoying Cheshire cat smile splitting his face like he knows my big secret. Fuck. I don’t want him to be right. I’m not in love with her. Hell, I should have been over Sarina three years—two years ago. I was over her. I’ve had plenty of girlfriends since. No one special, sure, but that’s by design because hockey is first, damn it. I snort at Dooley because it’s the best I can do. He shakes his head.

Trying to keep my eyes on the marching band and away from the affectionate couple is a chore that has my shoulders knotted like that boa constrictor has moved in permanently and replaced all my muscles.

“I’m headed for the refreshment stand to get something Sarina will truly appreciate,” Bigs says pointedly, aiming his triumphant smile at me. He stands, with a hand still touching Sarina as if he can’t let go. I glance at her to find her eyes on me. They’re off-guard, the anger absent and her vulnerability showing—for a split second. Then she turns away and I’m left with a pit in my belly. I shake my head in response to whatever else Bigs says and watch him walk away. The one thought large in my mind is that he’s a stupid son of a bitch leaving Sarina with me. It doesn’t matter if we have the entire stadium chaperoning, it was a fucking stupid move.

Dooley waves Summer Philbin over as soon as Bigs is out of sight, but I turn my attention to Sarina, who pretends I’m not here and gets busy looking through her small bag, as if it holds some powerful talisman to keep her safe from me. She’s only one seat away and I can feel her energy like waves of need wrapping their tendrils around my heart—and my balls—tugging me close.

“Hi guys,” Summer says. I look up to see her shiny smile aimed at Sarina. Then she turns to Dooley. “Where’s Bigs? Didn’t he come to the game with you?” Dooley nods and Sarina pays closer attention to her, giving Summer the up and down assessment of a potential rival.

“I hear he has a new girlfriend,” she says to me, pretending to be clueless. She’s a decent actress, because the last thing anyone would accuse Summer of is being clueless. In fact, she’s one of the sharpest knives in the SPU drawer of girls.

“That would be me,” Sarina says, sitting up straight. Summer looks her over, unintimidated, and smiles. Then she reaches out to shake Sarina’s hand and I sit back holding my breath. These two ladies are fire-breathers and I don’t want to go up in flames.

“This is Sarina Torini,” I finally say, “an old friend of mine.” I can’t resist mentioning our connection and feel a tweak of satisfaction when Sarina tosses me a hot glare. “Sarina, this is Summer Philbin, big shot at the St. Paul U TV station and all-around nut-crusher on campus.”

“Hey, what are you saying?” Summer takes Bigsby’s seat between me and Sarina, tight smile in place, proving my point about nut-crushing.

“See what I mean?” I say to Sarina, gesturing to where Summer is sitting. “She’s busting my balls as we speak.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Nate. Sarina’s Bigsby’s girlfriend, right?” She looks between us as if she’s unaware of the intense pull between me and Sarina, but I don’t know how that would be possible. I can feel Dooley watching my back and I hope he plans to warn me before Bigs gets back in sight.

“Don’t mind him,” Sarina says and I can tell something’s coming, can tell that I’m not going to like the next words that come out of her mouth, but I’m helpless to stop her. “We had a … thing in high school when we were just babies and he’s the kind of guy who thinks he owns a girl once he pops her cherry.”

Summer’s eyes flicker with surprise and her mouth opens but shuts immediately, and she turns to me. I smile as my gut sizzles with unholy need rippling up and I swear it takes a mountain of willpower not to grab Sarina right now and take her under the bleachers. Except we’re not in high school, there are no bleachers, and most importantly, she’s not mine. No matter what my gut, my cock, and my heart are telling me, no matter if my soul is screaming otherwise, she’s no longer mine. I have no right—worse—I have an obligation to leave her be, to let Bigs have her.

But only as long as Bigs is who she wants.

“It’s true,” I hear myself say, my voice seriously compromised to barely above a whisper. Summer nods imperceptibly and I can see her sharp mind working as her eyes hold mine in empathy. Dangerously close to sympathy. That’s the last thing I need—Summer Philbin feeling sorry for me.

“But that was a long time ago,” I say, putting on my most irreverent grin, “and with a little therapy, a few metric tons of whiskey, and winning the Frozen Four championship this season, I should get over it.” I’m trying to be funny and Summer gets it. But when I look at Sarina, she’s not happy, not the way she should be with my capitulation, with me baring my soul even if I’m trying to joke about it.