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The echoes of chants and cheers bounce through the air, the excitement a live entity as stragglers drink beer in the crowd, waiting for the team to exit the locker rooms.
The cheerleader’s stand to one side, chattering amongst themselves as we pass, and I recognize the blonde in the center, her uniform fitting her sculpted frame like a glove. It’s the same girl Maverick had under his arm the other day when he walked into the dorm party at Redders. She smiles brightly, tipping her head back as one of her teammates makes her laugh.
When a roar sounds from behind us, she takes off at a light jog, heading toward the commotion. For some stupid reason, my eyes follow her, watching as she launches into Maverick’s arm. He catches her with ease, whispering something into her ear as he swings her around before dropping her back to her feet.
The only thing missing from that exchange is a forehead kiss—otherwise it’s an exact replica of every game I ever went to of his . . . only it was me he’d direct that smile at. Me he’d lift into his arms and laugh as I congratulated him.
“Time to go,” I say to Maisie, grabbing her hand and pulling her to where my car is parked while I try to stem the nausea settling in my stomach.
It has nothing to do with Maverick holding another girl. Absolutely nothing. What he does and who he does it with is none of my business.
Sliding into the driver’s seat, I bring the engine to life, waiting for Maisie to clip her belt before reversing from the spot, though I don’t get far.
Slamming my breaks on, I slap my hands over the wheel, a harsh intake of breath as a body stands right by my car.
“What the fuck, Nashville?” I shout as I roll my window down. He saunters around the car, a smug smirk on his face as he leans against my door.
“You didn’t hear me calling you, so what was I meant to do?”
“Not try and get me to run you over, you maniac,” I snap, narrowing my eyes on him. Maisie chuckles beside me, earning herself a death glare as my head turns in her direction.
“What?” She shrugs, flicking her gaze to Nash. “I’m starting to like him. He’s effective, if nothing else.”
“Oh, baby, I’ll show you effective.”
“Is that supposed to be a pickup line?” I scoff, my glare bouncing between them like a Ping-Pong ball. I rub my temple, massaging the start of a headache. “Real smooth, dude. Now, can you stop eye-fucking my friend for a moment and tell me what you decided was so important to nearly get flattened for?”
“Huh?” he asks, never taking his eyes off Maisie. I whack him upside the head, bringing his attention to me on a wince.
“What do you want, Nash?”
“Oh, right.” He chuckles, running his palm through his damp hair. “You should come have a drink with us.”
“That would be a hard pass.” I start to reverse out again, stopping only when he flings the back door open and hops inside. “Seriously, dude. Go away.”
“I wanna hang out, like old times, Baby Bea.” He bats his eyelashes at me in the rearview mirror, softening his brown eyes until he looks positively pathetic.
“Yeah, that’s not going to work on me, Nashville,” I tell him, finally reversing out of the space and starting toward the main road. He wants to lock himself in my car, he can come along for the ride. “I grew immune to your puppy-dog eyes when I was twelve and you used them on me to convince me that putting a tarantula in Willow’s bed was the best idea ever.”
“Hey!” I flick my eyes to the mirror, and his shoulders shake as he laughs silently. “It was the best idea. It’s not my fault you two decided to have a sleepover that night and it ended up crawling over you because you forgot it was there. It was only meant to torture Willow.”
Shaking my head, I hold my breath, letting the emotions pass over me at the mention of my ex-best friend. Willow and I haven’t spoken in two years, and while I understand why, it doesn’t lessen the sting whenever I think of her.
“You know you have to drive me to the party now,” Nash chirps, propping his head over the center.
“Fine, I’ll take you to your stupid party, but we’re going to the grocery store first.”
“Fine by me,” he chirps, plugging the address he needs into Maisie’s phone so she can guide me when we’re done. “I love grocery stores. They’re my favorite places in the world.”
Shaking my head, I bite my tongue to stop the laughter from falling from my lips. No matter what situation you put Nash in, he always comes out swinging.
It takes us well over an hour to grab the essentials, and after a little while, I half expect Nash to grumble and complain, but he doesn’t. He just chatters while pushing the cart for us before handing over his card at the checkout.
“For your cab services,” he tells me when I try to nudge him out of the way, and really, who am I to complain about free snacks?
By the time my car is rolling into a quiet suburb, the smile on my face is wide and real and my laughter isn’t forced.
“This one?” Maisie asks when the GPS rings. Pulling up to an unsuspecting town house, I let my engine idle, pushing the stick into neutral. “Looks like no one’s home, dude.”
