Page 23 of Best Things in Life

“Look, I know this hasn’t been easy for you, but it’s for the best.”

“What are you, my Dad?” I tug my arm away from him and reach for the door.

“I told Bigs he could have Sarina stay over tonight.” He pauses and I turn to look at him, fighting the cold rage that shoots through my veins. It’s not his fault. I don’t know who I’m talking about, Bigs or Bane. Either way…

“It was only right,” he says. “All the guys are having girls over. You need to keep your cool about Sarina. Let them have… whatever they have in peace. They’re going to stay at BMOC House tonight and you need to deal with it or sleep somewhere else.”

Mouth clamped closed, I salute him, then turn and trot to my car. Shit.

When I pick up Summer I let her know the news about Bigs and Sarina staying at BMOC House.

“Don’t worry, this doesn’t mean I’m fishing for an invitation to stay with you.”

She shakes her head and scoffs. “No kidding.” She lets out a sigh. “So they’re really a legit couple. Because I thought maybe they were missing something.”

“Not necessarily legit,” I say. I tells her about the shouting match they had last night. “I think you’re right. They don’t belong together. They have no spark between them.” If I say it often enough maybe I’ll convince myself. But I’m not sure anymore if it’s true. Or even if it matters.

“I want to believe their fight means something,” Summer says, “but couples fight all the time.” She shrugs. “My parents for instance, but they’re truly blissfully married.” She pauses. “I hate to say it, but maybe the fight means there really is a spark between them that we don’t know about.” She looks down. “Maybe I need to start looking elsewhere.” I shift in my seat uncomfortably because I hope she’s not thinking of me.

“Not you—I mean you’re a great guy and all, but—”

“No need to go into morbid detail.” I chuckle with relief. “I know what you mean. About trying to find someone else.”

“It’s hard when I don’t know anyone, out of all the people I know, who interests me like that.”

“Don’t worry, my little Philly cheesesteak, you’re a delicious package and you’ll find a guy—or he’ll find you—when you least expect it. I’m sure of it.” And I am. She laughs and pats my thigh and the remarkable lack of response in my normally indiscriminate dick has me worried. What if Sarina’s blocking me from feeling anything? What if I can’t find anyone else?

My chances of finding a Sarina replacement look like seriously long odds, but then I’m not in a hurry, am I? I have hockey to keep me happy. Especially when I get to the NHL. There’ll be plenty of time after my career is established to worry about complicating my life with finding… another Sarina. Someone who I want to be part of my life forever, someone who I feel connected to like we share the same heartbeat, whose hurts I feel as keenly as my own, whose triumphs I need as much as my own, who—fuck. Don’t go there.

We get to the dance fashionably late and I parade by Coach to make sure he sees me then find Bane at the BMOC table. After a brief hello, noting Bigs and Sarina aren’t sitting with our crowd, I stand against the wall behind the table like a certified wallflower and the opposite of who I am. After a while, Summer is happy to float around and I get us some drinks. Mostly I dish with Dooley and he gets me caught up on all the campus gossip, some of which includes me.

“If you’re not serious with Summer, I can spread the word that you’re available to have your broken heart mended by some lucky—”

“Fuck no. It’s bad enough there’s a rumor that I have a broken heart. But let’s make the best of it. I’ll use it as my excuse not to date this year—at least not until hockey is over. I need to concentrate on having my best season.”

“And becoming a monk will help you to do that how?” Dools arches one brow like no one else I’ve ever seen and I laugh.

“Not a monk, but I need to keep things casual. And spontaneous. No fixing up, no expectations. Expectations only get a guy in trouble, Dools.”

When Summer comes back to the table, we dance because even unofficial dates deserve some attention. I’ve had enough alcohol and pent-up energy from standing around trying to blend into the background that when we hit the dance floor I clear a space and let it rip, showing off my moves and gathering a crowd of fans. Not the first time I show off and won’t be the last. Summer’s a good sport and when she’s ready for a break I follow her reluctantly back to the table. Bigs and Sarina are there, so I take my time, stopping to joke with friends and some strangers too. But I watch her because fuck me, I’m hopeless.

She looks either unhappy or bored and I move closer, angling myself so I can stare at her over some dude’s shoulder—a hockey fan I don’t mind joking with—without her or anyone else noticing.

Yes, I’m a pathetic ex who’s becoming obsessed and I’m the one who broke it off and that was three years ago and I’ve been fine until now. What’s different besides Bigs? Seeing the misery in her eyes, the longing clear as day, the sadness in quiet moments where she lets her guard down. Like right now. Fuck.

Bigs is too busy talking to the guys to notice she’s bored to tears, or maybe she looks like she wants to cry because she’s with him. Bigs stands, says something to her, and she nods absently, but then looks irritated when he leaves the table. She’s definitely not having a good time. Even my whiskey-addled brain can see that. Bigs heads toward the hall, right past where I happen to be standing.

“Excuse me, I gotta see someone,” I say to the dude who’s still laughing at whatever the hell I just said, and I move.

Catching up with Bigs in the hallway outside the men’s room, I corner him in an alcove because I have some sick compulsion to call him out on not living up to Sarina’s expectations. I can’t stand to see the misery in her eyes and I know I’ve caused some of it, but Bigs has too. I stop him.

“What’s with you? Why aren’t you paying more attention to Sarina? She’s—”

“Leave me alone. She’s my girl and I’ll deal with her.”

“You’re doing a fuck-up job of it, Bigs. She should be smiling. This is her favorite song. You should be dancing—”

“Do not fucking tell me what to fucking do.” He grinds out the words and gets in my face, but there’s no way in hell I’m backing down.