Maybe that’s messed up. I don’t know. I just feel like I’m going a little crazy sometimes. I’ve never been affected like this before, always able to turn my feelings off at will. But could this mean that this is something different, something more? I have a few things holding me back from pulling the trigger on whatever these emotions are inside of me.
First, she’s my roommate, and she pays for half of the rent. It’s been nice to have that burden gone since rent in Nashville is so damn high. Yeah, my parents have money and even offered to help me out. I just don’t want to have to rely on them. But even I know that’s a weak excuse. I don’t want to lose her.
What if I’m wrong, and this isn’t anything different? My feelings that I think I have might sputter out a short time into a relationship with her, and then where will I be? Paying full rent again. Alone. Facing my right-hand dates for the foreseeable future.
Second, she hasn’t given me any indication that she’s even interested in me. Sometimes, I think she shoots a lingering glance my way or that I see heat in her eyes when she’s looking at me, but it’s never there long, and then I trick myself into believing it.
Can I project my feelings onto her? Don’t people see what they want to see sometimes? All the time?
Maybe I’m looking at the situation through rose-colored glasses, and I need to be set straight. That’s where the guys come in. They won’t put up with the bullshit I’m trying to sell myself.
I pat my pocket and make sure I have my wallet before locking my truck and heading into Frank’s, our favorite sports bar. The guys are already there, seated at a high-top in the bar area, and finally, Craig spots me, lifting a hand in greeting before leaning back over to hear what Ezra is saying.
“Ben,” Mason says, slapping me on the back. “How’s it going?”
“It’s going. Y’all already order?”
“Yep, got appetizers coming. You’re in charge of your own drink.”
“Thank God,” I say with a chuckle.
I remember the time the guys ordered before I got there and put pepper in my dark beer. I almost choked and died. Not even joking.
“Who’s playing?” I glance up at the many TV screens mounted to every wall in the place streaming the pre-season games.
“Jets and Browns. My money is on the Jets.” Craig takes a swig of beer and tilts his chair a little. “God, it feels good to get out of the house.”
“Hear, hear,” Mason says, and Ezra echoes him.
They expectantly look at me, and I give them a grin and a shrug.
“Can’t help that y’all settled down and can’t do anything now,” I say, and they scowl at me.
The waitress appears with the first round of food, setting down a basket of loaded nachos and three different flavors of wings.
“Thanks, Caroline,” Craig says, and I arch an eyebrow.
“Sure thing. Can I get you anything?” She turns to me.
“Old-fashioned, thanks,” I say, and she nods, walking back toward the bar.
“She’s family,” Craig says, digging into the nachos. “Old-fashioned, huh?”
I give a noncommittal grunt, and the guys’ attention swings from the TV to me. Sometimes, we’re worse than women about gossip.
“Who is she?” Ezra asks, swiping a wing through the container of ranch in front of him.
“Who’s who?” I feign ignorance.
I’m in a quandary now. I can’t come out and say it’s Pepper, not with Mason sitting right here. That’s a good way for him to want to settle this in a gentlemen’s duel, and seeing as I’m taller and more built than him, I’d hate to have to kick his ass.
Ezra points his beer bottle at me. “The girl who’s causing you to drink liquor on boys’ beer night.”
“Boys’ beer night?” I feel my mouth gape. “That’s what you’ve named it?”
“It’s what Hanna named it, and it kind of stuck.”
Hanna is Ezra’s wife. Best friends with Mason’s wife, Jules, so now, they’re kind of like family.
I clear my throat. “How is Hanna? And the kids?”
“Shit! Dammit, go. Go!” Ezra yells at the TV before swinging his attention back to me. “Sorry, what? Oh, Hanna is good. Livie is a little diva, and Luke is into everything. Toddlers, man.”
I wouldn’t know.
“So, anyway, who is she?”
So much for them dropping it.
“She’s no one,” I say, looking up as Caroline finally sets my drink in front of me. I lift it to my mouth and take a long pull. The tartness hitting my tongue is a welcome taste. I take another right after. I don’t drink often, so even after just the first few sips, the buzz coursing through me is strong.
“So, there is a she?” Craig leans in, pulled into the conversation by the promise of gossip in the air.
These guys must be really bored if they find my life interesting.
“I didn’t say that,” I protest, knowing it’s a lost cause. “Fine, there is someone, but I think she just wants to be friends.”
Ezra leans in, a smirk on his face. “So did Hanna. But I talked her out of it, and look where we are now,” he says, spreading his arms out wide, almost slapping someone walking by our table.
“I haven’t really talked to her about it,” I admit, taking another long pull. At this rate, I’ll be under the table by the time we leave. I set my drink down and decide to take it a bit slower.
“Then, how do you know she just wants to be friends?” Mason raises his eyebrow as he lifts his water to his mouth. He’s been sober ever since he went off the rails after his grams died.
I feel like a deer in headlights, like Mason will know the truth if he looks at me a beat too long, so I lift my drink to my mouth again, draining it. So much for
