Page 19 of Just for the Plot

“I don’t know, feels comical to me.”

“You’re a dick.”

“Come on, it’s not like I’d make a move on her or anything, especially knowing your reaction to her whenever she texts you. My question to you is: Why are you telling me this?”

Annoyed, I say, “Because she asked if you were single and I told her that you were seeing someone, and I was thinking about asking her to meet me at Maritime after the game for a few drinks and since I know you frequent there, I didn’t want it to be…well, awkward.”

“Because you want all of the attention on you.”

“Pretty much.”

He slowly nods. “Let me ask you this, are you going to make a move on her?”

“I don’t know,” I say, pushing my hand through my thick hair, feeling weird that I’m not wearing a baseball cap. “I mean, I want to, and I feel like the stars are aligned for that to happen.”

“So what’s the hesitation?”

“For one, she’s my sister’s best friend. She’s known me since I was sixteen, she’s eight years older than me, and I think she still sees me as a gangly teenager.”

“Eight years older?” Nolan asks, a raise to his brow. “Dude, that’s hot. What I wouldn’t give for an older woman.” He grips the steering wheel tighter. “If it doesn’t work out for you, do you think I can give it a go?”

“No,” I say through clenched teeth, causing him to laugh.

“I’m just kidding. I won’t hit on her. Instead, I’ll be your wingman, talk you up, help her see that you’re a mature man now, no longer a teenager.”

“I don’t need you to do that.”

He pats my leg. “Trust me, from the way your cheeks redden when you talk about her, you do. Listen, tonight, we’ll tag team, watch me work my magic. You’ll be going home with her tonight, and not for her to sleep on the couch, but to sleep in your bed.”

“Are you sweating?” Nolan asks.

“What? No.”

“You’re glistening.”

“Where?” I ask, panic filling me. Bower will be here any second and the last thing I want is for her to walk up to me while I’m a sweaty mess.

“Nose,” Nolan says and hands me a napkin.

I quickly wipe at my nose. “That better?”

“No, you need another swipe.”

“Seriously?” I swipe again and he shakes his head. So I swipe again and again until I see a smile tug at the corner of his lips. My worried expression falls as I crumple the napkin and chuck it at his face. “Asshole.”

He lets out a laugh and then shoves my shoulder. “Relax, fucker. You’re coming off a hell of a win, hitting in the winning run for the team. You’re surrounded by people who worship you, you have a beer in hand, and the girl you want to bone is on her way to hang out with you.”

“I don’t want to just bone her,” I say, needing to clarify that, because I want so much more with her.

“Either way, you’re in a good spot.” He grips my shoulder and squeezesit.

When we arrived at Maritime, we headed straight to the back where the bar holds a sitting area for us. Old worn-leather couches form a large square with an equally sized wooden coffee table in the middle. There are curtains on two sides of the space, offering us a little privacy, but it’s open in the front, giving us a view of the general public. Old fishing gear recycled from ocean cleanups hangs from the ceiling and the walls,ranging from broken lobster cages, to sun-soaked buoys, to fishing nets. It’s eclectic and reminds me of those bars you see in New York that are decked out in Christmas decorations, but instead of wreaths and baubles, it’s thick ropes and nets.

“Just…just be cool, okay?” I ask.

“This is not my first time helping a friend score. I got this in the bag.”

He says that just as I catch sight of Bower walking through the bar, glancing around, looking for me.