Page 76 of End Game

“What do you want to watch?”

“I don’t really care.”

He laughs. “Okay, so then I’ll pick.”

Climbing onto his bed, he slips his legs beneath the covers and picks up the remote to start scrolling through the movie catalog. I veto his first seven suggestions before he lands on something I can reasonably tolerate, an action movie featuring a Korean-American actress in the lead role. The reviews are mostly focused on her “unparalleled sensuality” and not on her actual acting abilities.

The movie is… not terrible. After the first five minutes, I slide under the covers, too, and Barrett curls his arm around me. Slowly, slowly, slowly I shift closer, until my cheek is resting on his chest. His propensity for cuddling is new, but I can’t deny how much I like it. It’s like having all the good parts of a boyfriend—someone to cuddle with, someone to watch movies and do things with, someone to come to my games and hang out with my parents—without the benefit of sex. If he told me now to drop trou… well, it would irrevocably change our friendship. But I can’t say I wouldn’t at least be tempted.

The last time I had a crush on my best friend, I was a sixteen year old kid. Before that, I was a child, navigating crushes and puberty for the first time. Over the years, we’ve done pretty much everything together. But we’ve never crossed that line.

Now I’m starting to wonder what would happen if we did. Would it be awkward? Would it be as comfortably familiar as our friendship? Does he even want the same things I’m wanting?

I wake up disoriented, which is never good. I’m not in my bedroom at my parents’ house or at the soccer house. It takes me a moment to realize I’m in Barrett’s room, and the heavy arm around my waist must be his. Next to me, his body is thick and warm, lulling me back to sleep. It’s only the urgency of my bladder that keeps me awake.

Sliding slowly out of bed, I make my way to the attached bathroom and take care of essential business. It’s later than I expected. I slept so soundly, I was able to sleep in an extra hour and a half past my regular wake up time. I guess my body needed the rest, even if I wasn’t consciously aware of it.

Barrett wakes up as I’m pulling on my second boot.

“Come back to bed,” he says, his face creased with pillowcase lines.

“I’ve got to go.”

“Noooooo.”

“I have to get ready for my game.”

He flops back against the pillows with a sigh. “If you have to.”

A grown man pouting shouldn’t be so adorable, but somehow, because it’s him, it is. It tugs on my heartstrings and my stomach flips. For half a second, I debate crawling into the bed with him, until the reality of our situation hits me again.

We’re friends. We’ve been sleeping together, but only to sleep. Climbing into bed with him now in the bright light of day is a whole other thing.

“I’ll see you in a few hours,” I remind him.

He grabs my hand as I’m walking by his side of the bed. With a sharp tug, he pulls me onto the bed and wraps his arms around me.

“Good morning, Dee,” he says, burying his face in my rat’s nest masquerading as hair.

“Morning, Bare. How did you sleep?”

He must be sore. He played phenomenally, but there were a few tackles in the second quarter that looked like they hurt. He’s probably bruised black and blue from head to toe.

He groans. “Great. You?”

“You’re not the worst guy to have ever shared a bed with,” I tease, and he releases me so fast I almost have whiplash. I clear my throat. “Thanks for letting me crash here.”

“Of course. You’re always welcome here,” he says, sidestepping the not funny joke entirely.

“Thanks.” I struggle to get up off the bed. “I’ll see you later,” I promise.

“Count on it.” He sinks back against his pillows again.

“Go back to sleep.”

“No, I’m up. I need to get up.” Barrett makes no move to actually get out of bed, though.

“Okay. Cool. Well, I’ll see you in a few hours.”