I’m walking a very fine line because I absolutely do care about Gretchen in a way that means I will always look out and want the best for her. If I tell Drew I’m attracted to her, it’s over. He won’t see past that one singular statement, regardless of how genuine I may be about everything else.
“Which means?”
“It means I care about her well-being. I’ll look out for her. I’d step in to protect her if she needed me to.”
He looks back to the window. A heavy pause fills the room to the point of torture. He coolly breaks the silence by blurting out, “Why do I wanna punch that floppy-haired kid in the face?”
“Right?”
“I do trust you,” Drew says, eyes back on me.
I ignore every implication and unspoken demand that comes with that trust because what alternative response is there? “Youcantrust me.”
“Yeah, I know,” he mutters. He turns to leave and I follow a step behind, trying to quiet every intrusive thought that threatens to destroy the best friendship I’ve ever had.
Abruptly, he turns back to face me, the movement skittering me to a stop. “Promise me,” he pleads.
“Promise what?”
“Promise me that I can trust you.”
A little voice in my head screamsred flag, red flag. I squash it to smithereens as I look my best friend dead in the eye. “I promise.”
It’sour last night in Bloomington before Drew and I head to Chicago for good. We’ll spend the next few days moving into our shared apartment before I start my new graphic design job at Driskill Marketing Group and Drew prepares to begin law school.
Our old high school football crew swarms the high-top table as the waitress drops off another round of tequila shots. They’re tossed back in a matter of seconds. Looks like I’m the designated driver tonight because we’re not even an hour in and Drew’s already tipsy.
“Will you be able to get me out of parking tickets?” Henley asks, eyes wide with excitement.
“Or you could just park legally,” I say.
“Yes, but what’s the point of having friends in high places, Vining, if not to skirt the law?”
Drew clumsily drops his pool cue to the table. He locks Henley in an intense gaze. One hand on his chest, the other aloft in a three fingered salute, he says, “Scout’s honor, my man. I got your back.”
“My guys!” a deep voice calls from behind. We all turn to see McDormand, former defensive lineman, saunter in.
Bro handshakes and back slaps are exchanged all around and we spend the next hour catching up over trays of hot wings and a bounty of alcohol.
Drew and I regale the group with tales of our college escapades as “campus football heroes.” Their words, not mine. And it mostly applies to Drew since my injury freshman year took me out of the game for good.
I point out as much, but Drew claps me on the back and says, “Don’t be fooled, yaguys,” he slurs, words fused together. “Vining here got more action than allofus combined.”
Stifling a smile, I roll my eyes as I tip back my glass of water…because my best friend is trashed.
“Speaking of action,” McDormand interjects with a slimy look that puts my spidey senses on alert. “I saw your sister lifeguarding at the pool downtown, Fisher.”
Drew’s jaw tics, nostrils flaring.
Never one to read the room, McDormand presses on. “She grew up to be a sexy little thing, didn’t she?”
“The fuck did you say?” Drew shouts, stumbling to his feet as Henley launches forward to hold him back.
Call it jealousy or keeping a promise, but I’m instantly chest to chest with the lineman. “I suggest you shut your mouth before it gets you in trouble.”
Hands raised in surrender, he steps back.
“You keep your eyes off my sister! She’s sixteen,” Drew seethes, voice low and menacing.
