Page 22 of Best Things in Life

That his smile is tentative gives me hope and when she returns her hand immediately to the top of the table and her attention to the food and Emily, my hope escalates in the form of dick escalation. I’m way too fucking easy. She’s not paying a damn bit of attention to me, but the mere fact that I know she’s putting on an act for me gets me excited. Did I think for a minute I might be attracted to Summer? She could be a sack of potatoes—albeit hot ones—sitting next to me for all the desire she inspires.

Summer spends the meal talking more to the lacrosse guy than me, and I talk mostly to Dooley while sneaking glances past him to spy on Sarina. Yeah, I’m that pathetic. I don’t think I was this ridiculous in seventh grade before I worked up the nerve to ask her out. P.S. she doesn’t know there was ever a time I wasn’t a thousand percent sure of myself. Until now.

Thank fuck we’re not sitting with Sarina and Bigs at the game. Dools is sitting with me and Summer, and Emily is sitting with them. It’s like Bigs and I’ve split up the family in a custody battle over the rift in our friendship.

Is Sarina worth killing half my friendships over? Is she worth fucking up the hockey team for? Wiping my mouth and throwing the napkin onto my plate in surrender, I dart my eyes in her direction and then fuck it, I stare openly at her mouth as she pops in a piece of bacon. Fuck, yeah, she’s worth it. Only she could make eating bacon look so sexy as she licks her lips, her expression pure enjoyment, relishing every morsel the way she lives life in general.

Not that she’s adventurous—except maybe in bed—because she’s not. She’s a homebody, but she goes all out with decorating and she’s a family-oriented girl to the max, making the most of her relationships with every single family member, especially her Zia Rosaria who was an old woman when I first met her when I was fifteen—what, six years ago? Shit she must be in her late eighties by now.

Sarina’s eyes flicker when they land on mine and I don’t look away. She stops chewing for a beat, her expression surprised and screaming WTF, but she quickly gets back into the game and leans into Bigs, petting his bicep. I keep my eyes on her, waiting her out because she’ll mess up and show her true feelings.

Mistake. Because Bigs turns to her and kisses her temple then whispers something that makes her smile one of those you naughty boy smiles. And it’s too late to look away, but I do when Summer nudges my knee with hers under the table. Summer gets my attention, but not in the way I wish she did—not wish, the way I need any girl other than Sarina to get my attention. Because even though I know she’s not as interested in Bigs as she’s trying to act—and it is an act—she’s still far less interested in me than him and willing to go to a lot of trouble to prove it.

* * *

Before the first quarter of the football game ends I have three wishes I’d sacrifice my firstborn to have granted. First, I wish our seats were further away from Sarina and Bigs because I have a perfect view of them down a few rows and to the right. Second, I wish the game was more competitive because we’re already dominating the poor suckers on the other side fourteen to zip.

Third, I wish Sarina looked happy, or at least not so miserable. Because she has no idea I’m watching her and Bigs and no idea I can see every unguarded frown, eye roll, and unguarded vulnerable lost expression she wears as she gazes at the field pretending to watch the game.

“I can’t stand it,” I mutter out loud and stand.

“Can’t stand what?” Summer says, looking up at me. Lucky for her she has Dooley to watch the game with because I’ve been miserable company.

“Myself,” I say for lack of a better explanation, but when I glance back at Bigs and Sarina, I give away my problem. Not that Summer isn’t a smart enough girl to figure it out eventually. Bigs gets up from his seat, leaving Sarina behind, and starts walking up the steps to the concession area.

“Don’t do it,” Summer says. “Don’t go over there.” She puts a hand on mine and I turn to her.

“I’m not going near Sarina. I need to stretch my legs.” When I head up the stairs rather than down, she nods, satisfied that I’m not lying. Her mistake. I wasn’t lying, but I certainly wasn’t telling her the whole truth. Because it’s Bigs I want to see. To confront.

But when he sees me, he smiles, a natural easy grin, and he looks like his old self, the pre-Sarina guy I used to hang out with. Whatever pent-up anger I had at him deflates, or it turns inward because let’s face it, I am the problem.

“Easy game,” he says. “Too easy. I think we’re going to take off early.”

“It’s not even half time. You never did like football, did you?”

He laughs, shaking his head, because he’s only here out of respect for Bane and the other house guys. That’s what kind of guy he is.

“Don’t tell Bane,” he says, chastened.

“Don’t worry. With any luck, they’ll take him out at the half and put in his backup.” He fist-bumps my shoulder, his smile in place, and makes his way back to his seat. I stand for a minute, gathering up my guilty conscience and swallowing it, wishing life was as easy as football.

Because even if he’s not right for Sarina, and can’t make her happy, it’s not his fault, is it? I’m the asshole and I should let their relationship take its natural course.

Except that if I do that, then it’ll crash and burn and two people I care about—yes, I care about both Sarina and fucking Bigs—will end up bloodied and hurt, it’ll be like seeing a train wreck coming and doing nothing to stop it.

Except if I do try to stop the train wreck, we’ll all crash and burn. Me included. And will I get the girl? Maybe. Maybe not. But I’d have a chance because after this year, I’ll be gone and she could still be limping along with Bigs, thinking I never cared. Not knowing how much I do fucking care.

I don’t know if I’m the kind of guy who can stand by and let things go. I never have been.

Chapter 9

NATE

It takes me longer than it should to dress for the homecoming dance because all the working out makes it tough to button my shirt collar. In the end, I leave the top button unbuttoned and let the black tie hold my collar in place. Looking like a disreputable version of James Bond, I grab my keys and hammer down the stairs, my dress shoes making a racket compared to my sneakers. Bane stands at the bottom in the entry hall, about to leave, but he waits for me. Fuck. Nothing against him, not really, but I know whatever he has to say isn’t going to be good.

“Glad you decided to go tonight,” he says. I nod, knowing there’s more coming. “Bigs left early to pick up Sarina.” Absorbing the sting, I nod again.

“Then we ought to get going,” I say. “Can’t have Bigs repping BMOC House on his own. It’ll ruin us.” He chortles and I push past him but he grabs my arm, stopping me.