Page 82 of End Game

“It’s where Barrett grew up. He spent a lot of time with me in Amherst, but during football season, I would visit him in Winchester.”

Trey clears his throat. “Yeah. What’s his deal?”

“Who? Barrett?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s my best friend.”

“But you just transferred in a few weeks ago. How do you have a best friend already?”

I roll my eyes. “We’ve been friends for fourteen years.”

“Oh.”

“I was recruited by Newton back in high school, but I chose to go to USC. He came here. We’ve kept in touch, and now that we’re here together, it’s better than ever.”

And it is. Barrett and I see each other nearly every day, whether it’s for breakfast with his roommates or lunch between classes or dinner after practice. We’ll hang out and watch Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy! with Wes and the guys. On the weekends we’ve both been home, we’ve gone out to parties and drank and danced together.

And now we’re starting to sleep together, too. I thought it would be weird. I thought it would be awkward. But aside from that very first day when I freaked out after having a sex dream about my best friend, it hasn’t been. I have adapted to this, too, as I’ve adapted to everything else that’s come my way.

“This really isn’t working out, is it?” Trey says.

“What do you mean?” So maybe it isn’t just me.

“Neither of us are into this the way we should be.”

I let out a sigh of relief—and maybe that should tell me.

“It’s not you, it’s me,” I tell him, and he laughs a little sadly.

“No, it’s me.”

“It’s both of us,” I offer, and he cracks a smile. “I’m sorry. I—”

“There’s nothing to apologize for. Sometimes it just doesn’t work out. Nobody is at fault.”

Still, I feel like part of this is my fault. I haven’t exactly been enthusiastic about him. I’m holding him at arm’s length, both now and during the bowling adventure.

“You should give your friend a shot.”

I blink at him. “What?”

“Your friend. Barney.”

“Barrett?”

“Yeah, him,” Trey says, curling his lip in distaste. He clears his throat. “He has feelings for you.”

“What? No.”

He shakes his head, like I’m the world’s biggest idiot. “Yeah, he does.”

“We’re just friends.”

“Well, he wants to be more.”

I stare at him, disbelieving. There’s a reason we’ve never crossed that strict line. No matter how much I’ve wanted it in the past, the fact that he’s shown absolutely no interest in me means that I will never pursue this.