Page 9 of End Game

“What?”

“Nothing,” Greg says, looking between me and Diana with a smirk on his face. “It’s just nice seeing you two together.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You seem happier when she’s around.” He nods to Diana. “He was downright miserable to be around when you weren’t here.”

Dee laughs. “We’ve been friends forever. This is the first time we’ll get to actually spend time together in—years. We’ve never lived in the same place before.”

Friends. My stomach clenches. We’ve been friends for fourteen years, since we met at that Chinese camp in the mountains. I’ve gone to her school dances and her soccer tournaments. She’s come to my birthday parties and met my crotchety old grandmother. We’re fully enmeshed in one another’s lives, despite the distance that’s separated us for the entirety of our friendship.

It was almost easier knowing she was on the other side of the country. There was less temptation there. There was less risk of blowing up both of our lives.

I don’t want to be just friends with Diana. I don’t know how to be satisfied with being just her friend anymore. And now seeing her every day… I’m sure we’re going to have meals together. We’re going to hang out after classes. We’ll go to parties. It’s not like I can avoid her indefinitely.

I don’t want to avoid her. I want to spend all my time with her, even when we both have other things going on and can’t spare the time. I want to love her the way she deserves to be loved.

But I don’t want to sacrifice our friendship for a fling. And that’s all it could be. She’s not ready for the type of relationship I want with her, the forever kind of thing that doesn’t end.

Because I know her. I know what we could have. Our friendship has always had this effortless ebb and flow to it. Being with her makes me happy. My day is always better when I get to talk to her. And now we actually get to spend time together in person? It’s an exquisite kind of hell.

I love her, but I can’t have her. I have to keep my distance. And it fucking sucks that she’s finally here, finally within my reach, and still so far away.

I’m used to the situation. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.

But she came here. She made the decision to leave it all behind and come home, to come back to me.

When we make it back to her house, all the lights are still off. I guess her roommates aren’t back yet. Her keycard gets her access to the house and to her bedroom, and when she flicks on the light, I’m greeted with the chaos that is moving day.

I’ve been on campus all summer, training for football, and I was lucky enough to stay in the same house as I was in last school year, so I didn’t even have to move at the end of term. This is the second year we have the same group of guys in the house. I like them, for all their peculiarities. Miles and his quiet moods. Tucker and his peanut butter sandwiches. Wes and his book obsession. Amir and his tea. Greg and his man bun.

Diana’s floor is covered in open suitcases and boxes, clothes strewn everywhere. I knew what I was getting myself into. So I crack my knuckles and plop myself down on the floor.

“I’ll fold, you put away?” I ask, lifting the first t-shirt I come across.

“Um, sure.”

Folding the first shirt, I pass it over to her, and I reach for the second. We make quick work of a plastic tub, and I move on to the open suitcase. Workout leggings. Okay, I can do this.

Beneath the leggings are a mess of frilly underthings. My face heats. I’ve given a lot of thought to what kind of underwear Diana wears over the years, but I’ve never seen it up close and personal.

Her eyes fall to the pile of satin and lace. “I’ll take care of that,” she says. She grabs the entire stack in one arm and throws it into the top drawer of her dresser.

A satin leopard print thong falls to my knee. Pinching the thin strap between my thick fingers, I lift it into the air.

“You forgot one.”

Face flaming, she snatches it from my grasp and shoves the drawer closed. “I think that’s enough helping,” she says.

“Really?” I gave her an innocent smile. “I’m having a blast.”

“I’m sure you are,” she mutters.

Am I attracted to this woman? Yes. Of course I am. Do I also enjoy needling her? Yes. Of course I do. Her embarrassment over such a common article of clothing makes me smile, and when she catches sight of it, her frustration with me only grows. Discreetly, I adjust myself to hide my own growing frustration.

“I’ll deal with it tomorrow,” Diana decides. She tosses her phone onto the bed. “Want to watch a movie?”

“Sure.”