“What do you mean,no?I thought you were panicking about her finding out before we told her?”
“I was panicking. But now that I know she’s totally in the dark, we’re going to have to work extra hard tonight. Maybe weshould practice a few times before we get there, so we’re warmed up.”
“Practice?” My throat suddenly feels tight.
“I can’t handle any more surprises tonight, Bren. And Eli’s showing up late, which gives us time to rehearse.”
I’ve always known that Scarlett hates surprises. She doesn’t like surprise birthday parties, or surprise gifts, or surprise announcements on—you guessed it—Facebook. So the least I can do is make her feel comfortable.
She taps the sticky note with her finger. “Ooo, this next one is good. I got it from a Reddit board.”
“You crowdsource your dating advice? That’s like asking random people at a gas station for relationship help.”
“Listen, they had some helpful suggestions. Like you putting your hand protectively on my back. Or leaning into you as I laugh at your jokes.Oh, wait. Coaches don’t make jokes, so that won’t work.”
I turn to her. “I’d like to think I have a little sense of humor left.”
“You do. Otherwise we couldn’t be friends.”
“We’re friends?” I ask, and this time I’m not joking. There’s been such a weird tension between us since that kiss. And I made it worse by avoiding her when I returned to Sully’s Beach. Since I’ve been back, we’re friendly to each other, but always in this polite, formal way. Not likerealfriends.
“Of course we are, Bren.”
I study her face to see if she’s kidding. “I thought you agreed to the wedding date to get the vendor contract?”
She frowns. “Not completely. I owe you for what you did for Eli. And, it’s what friends do.”
There it is again, that word I’ve come to hate:friends.
I should be glad she’s even offering that. I just need to remember that’s all this is—a chance to rebuild something we lost, without making the same mistake twice.
I let myself want her once. No way I’m doing that again. Thismight be the closest I get to having her back in my life, and that has to be enough.
She plays with the strap of her bag, like she’s considering something. “I was serious about that practice idea. Maybe we should test it out.”
“Now?”
“Yes,we need to look as natural as possible.”
“Okay.” I swallow, suddenly feeling like I’m thirteen and don’t have a clue how to even talk to a girl. “What do I do first?”
“Maybe touch my shoulder?”
My heart starts racing in my chest as I slide my hand toward her, because this touch is different.
This is Scarlett Rossi, the girl I kissed when I was eighteen. I still remember the exact moment I knew I was in trouble. She’d swiped my baseball cap and put it on, grinning at me like she’d won something. Right then, looking at her in my things, I realized that I was never going to want anyone the way I wanted her. All these years later, I’m not sure that’s ever changed. Which is exactly the problem.
I try to think of it like a coach would, something casual and platonic. Like slapping one of my players on the shoulder and saying, “Good game.”But the moment my fingers make contact with the soft skin of her arm, all my thoughts start spinning like a tumbleweed.
“Your hand feels wooden,” she says, frowning. “And why are your palms so dry? Don’t you own lotion?”
It snaps me right out of the moment. “Listen,” I say, pulling back. “I’m trying to drive and practice at the same time. It’s harder than it looks.”
“Well, try to make it more natural. Like this.” She scoots closer and leans her shoulder into my arm, which makes me swerve across the center line. Apparently, my brain can’t concentrate on driving while having Scarlett close to me at the same time.
“Brendan!” she yelps as I course-correct back to our lane. “This is exactly why we need to practice!”
“I think we’ve practiced enough.” I grip the steering wheel, just to keep my hand from straying to her shoulder again.