Page 90 of End Game

Despite the pouring rain, Barrett is waiting for me. My heart warms with deep-rooted affection for him. His own bus pulled in only a bit ago—he has his duffel bag with him, sitting in a puddle not covered by his umbrella. He stands apart from the crowd of boyfriends and girlfriends who have come to greet us. There are usually five or six people who come to meet their partners off the bus, but he always stands off to the side, not part of the group.

Emma shoots me a knowing look. “He’s back.”

I don’t bother to hide my smile. “Is he?”

“So when are you two going to make it official?”

“What do you mean?”

She rolls her eyes. “He’s clearly in love with you.”

“He’s my best friend.”

“Yeah, and he’s in love with you, too. He’s been here to meet every single bus, and he comes to all of our home games,” she points out.

“So?”

“So you need to make it official and take him off the market, before someone else tries to snatch him up.” She looks pointedly over at Johanna, whose mouth is downturned in a frown. “You know there are other people out there who would beat you up to get a chance with him.”

“Yeah.”

For all my waffling about, I don’t want anyone else to have him, either. I want him all to myself. I just don’t know what that means for us.

When we step off the bus, Barrett grins at me. He steps forward and holds the umbrella up to provide me cover.

“Hey. How was your flight?”

“Not bad. Your trip?”

He gives me a crooked smile. “Not bad.”

We stare at each other for a moment before a shout behind me catches my attention. I step forward, so I’m fully covered by the umbrella, and then I wrap my arms around his neck in a quick hug.

“What do you have planned for tonight?” he asks casually.

“Um, nothing much. You?” It’s a Sunday night. I need to get ready for the week ahead, get a good night’s sleep.

“There’s a party at the gymnastics house. Greg is seeing one of the girls this week. You in?”

I can’t tell if this is another one of his “dates” or if he’s truly asking me as a friend.

Either way: yeah, I’m in.

“Sure. I need to head home first and shower.”

He laughs. “Like the rain isn’t enough?”

“I should probably wash my hair if we’re going out.”

“Fair.” He knows how much I hate washing my hair—if I am choosing to wash it, that must mean it really needs to be washed. “Pick you up at your place at nine?”

“I’ll be ready,” I promise.

He shoots me a grin that reverberates right through me. “It’s a plan.”

I’m almost disappointed he didn’t call it a date, which is absolutely ridiculous. We’re not dating. We’re not together. We’re friends, best friends. That’s all we’ve ever been, and all we’ll ever be.

I don’t have an umbrella, and I wasn’t expecting rain, so I flip up my hood on my sweatshirt (definitely not waterproof) and leave the safe space he’s created for us. I grab my overnight bag from beneath the bus and sling it over my shoulder.