15. Chandler

FIFTEEN

chandler

My hand swept across the cool, empty sheets, feeling for Boston. Disappointed, I looked around the room until I spotted a tray on the dresser with breakfast—bacon, eggs, and toast looking more perfect than I could have managed. There, propped against a glass of orange juice, was a note.

Practice early, didn't want to wake you. P.S. You snore, but it's cute. -B

I couldn't help the laugh that escaped me. “I do not snore,” I said quietly to myself.

I pulled the tray onto my lap as I sat on my bed. I replayed last night with each bite, a smile lingering on my lips until realization dawned. Willow.

Willow must have seen Boston—or heard him—this morning. What is she thinking right now?

I stepped out of my room, the morning sun casting a soft glow across the hallway. I blinked away the remnants of sleep and found Willow entrenched in a fortress of paperwork. She glanced up at me, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Well, look who it is," she drawled, arching an eyebrow. “How’s your ankle?”

"Feeling so much better today. Just needed a little rest," I replied.

"Good, good. And you wanna tell me why a super hot six-foot-five Blue Devil was doing our dishes this morning?”

My cheeks flushed. "He... uh, he may have made me breakfast," I muttered, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

Willow's smirk deepened. "Oh, breakfast? Is that what we're calling it?" The corners of her mouth danced upwards in amusement, as if she knew good and well there was more to the story than I was willing to admit.

I tried to change the subject, nodding towards the sea of binders and papers she was working on. "What are you doing with all of this?" I asked, hoping to divert her attention from the details of my night.

She shrugged nonchalantly, though her eyes remained bright with curiosity. "Oh, you know, more organizing for the committee."

I leaned against the door frame, watching her shuffle through some forms. "You're sure doing a lot for them this summer, Will."

"I know," she sighed, a determined glint in her eye. "If I want to get a job on the coaching staff, first step is impressing my dad, which means being an outstanding committee member. So I have to do whatever it takes."

"Alright, pass me a stack," I said, reaching for a chunk of the paperwork that littered the living room floor. Plopping down cross-legged beside her, I began to sort through the binders.

"Okay, details, please!" Willow leaned in, anticipation wafting from her in waves.

"Willow," I chastised gently, but couldn’t hold back a grin, "ladies don't kiss and tell."

"Who says anything about talking?" she shot back playfully. "Can ladies blink? Blink twice if you hooked up."

Suppressing a laugh, I smirked and blinked twice.

Willow squealed, clapping her hands together. "I knew it! But what kind of hookup? You didn't go all the way—I know you would have told me immediately."

"Your confidence in our friendship is touching," I teased before her next words stopped me.

"Wait a minute..." she narrowed her eyes in suspicion. "Did Caroline's message inspire something? Blink twice if it did."

Rolling my eyes for effect, I blinked twice again with a mix of giddiness and embarrassment.

"OMG! Was she right?" Willow’s voice hit a pitch that could shatter glass.

"Shh!" I hissed, even as I snickered. "She was so right!"

We erupted into laughter, the sound filling the room and bouncing off the walls. Our giggles subsided as we continued flipping through the pages.

I wasn’t sure how much time had passed by the time the last of the binders snapped shut with a definitive thud. Willow pushed back her chair, stretching her arms above her head.

"Alright, girly," she said with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "Let's get ready. We have a committee meeting to attend."

I groaned theatrically, tossing a binder on top of the pile. "Oh great, that means an hour of Caroline talking, followed by bathroom duty."

Willow giggled. "She's been on one this summer—but don't let her get to you."

"I'll do my best,” I replied, rolling my eyes for emphasis.

We parted, going into our rooms to get ready for the day before making our way to the Blue Devils’ clubhouse.

When we arrived, Caroline was pacing the front of the room, clipboard clutched tight in her grip as she scribbled notes. The other committee members were seated in a semi-circle, their attention split between idle chatter and Caroline.

"Let’s take a seat in the back," Willow whispered, nodding towards the unclaimed chairs.

"Deal," I agreed, as we settled in.

"Okay," Caroline began, tapping her pen against the clipboard to get the room’s attention. "This week we have a big game against the Comets, and this weekend is the big away tournament. We always bring home the 'W', so I assume we'll do the same this year. We’ll have a dinner prepared for the players before the Comets game. We will also be booking the rooms—two players per room, two committee members per room—and we need to put an itinerary together for the tournament—planning all meals and any work on orders sent from the coaching staff, so let's get on it."

"Sounds thrilling," I drawled, giving Willow a knowing smirk, the sarcasm clear only to her.

"Shh," she chastised playfully. "I say we push for Italian."

"Alright, I think that covers the essentials," Caroline concluded, silencing the whispers of side conversations. There was a pause as she scanned the room, stopping on Willow and me at the back before a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "Oh, and before we begin, congratulations to Willow for winning the Devils’ Day Out prize."

A ripple of polite applause that barely counted as clapping fluttered through the room and Willow smiled proudly. "Thank you, thank you," she chimed. "And I must say, I'm especially delighted because I'll be sharing the suite with Chandler."

"Can’t wait," I said, returning her smile with one of my own.

"Let’s get it going, the work won't do itself." Caroline clapped once before making her way to a desk, clipboard still clutched firmly under her arm.

I leaned closer to Willow, our shoulders brushing lightly. "So, what’s this weekend's tournament about?"

“It’s the annual pitch invitational. We hosted it last year, but this year it’s a couple hours away," she whispered back, her excitement palpable. "It’s much more exciting when we get to travel. Run around the hotel, get into some trouble."

"Trouble is the last thing I need," I responded, but a hotel suite with robes and an oversized bathtub didn’t sound too bad.

Willow leaned in, the mischievous twinkle never leaving her eyes. "Speaking of trouble," she began, teasingly tucking a strand of her curly blonde hair behind her ear. "It's dollar beer night at Gin & Jerry’s tonight. The team usually goes. Feel up to it? Or did you have too wild of a night last night?" Her smile was infectious, the corners of her mouth curling up in anticipation.

I laughed lightly, rolling my eyes. "I think I can manage that," I said. The thought of another night out with the team—and one person in particular—made me a little more excited than I cared to admit.

"Am I interrupting something?" The question popped our bubble. Caroline stood there, eyebrows arched, looking at us impatiently.

We both flashed our best attempt at genuine smiles. "Not at all," Willow said.

"Good." Caroline didn't seem convinced, but she pressed on regardless. "You two are in charge of laundry duty. You need to wash, iron, and hang the away jerseys in each boy's game outfit bag." Her tone left no room for argument—an order, not a request.

"Isn't there a team manager for this kind of stuff?" Willow's bubbly personality never wavered, even as she was questioning the fairness of the task.

"Nope, maybe when you're on the coaching staff one day, you can see about figuring that out," Caroline retorted, giving a sly smirk.

"Maybe I will," Willow shot back, undeterred by the challenge.

The washing machines hummed a rhythm in the background as Willow and I tackled laundry duty. Steam from the iron mingled with the scent of detergent as we pressed each jersey completely wrinkle-free, since, according to Caroline, wrinkles would tarnish the team's image on game day.

"Hey, Will," I ventured hesitantly, breaking the silence. "Question."

"Answer," she quipped without missing a beat, her eyes never leaving the shirt she was ironing.

I took a deep breath, the words tumbling out almost of their own accord. "What was your first time like?"

Willow paused, the iron hovering above the fabric as a smile played upon her lips. "Eh, the typical story. Prom night." She carefully placed the iron down and hung the jersey with practiced ease. "My boyfriend and I had been together three years, and then we went to different colleges after that."

"Did you both decide it was going to happen that night? Did you have to convince him?"

"Umm, yeah, we both agreed, but it was a disaster. There should be at least one member of the party who knows what they’re doing. That bear could not find the cave, if you know what I mean." A knowing look was in her eyes. "Why? Are you thinking about it?"

I nodded, pressing my lips together as I passed her another jersey to iron, thinking about how I might see it happening for myself. What that night might look like—who I’d want it to be with.

"I mean, yeah," I began, the hum of the washing machines filling the silence. "I'm in my second year of college, and basically the only one who hasn't had sex." I fidgeted with the hem of another jersey, a blush creeping onto my cheeks. "I could see it being with Boston. I trust him, and we've known each other forever."

"I love that for you," Willow mused, her lips curling into an impish grin. "If you’re ready. I’d just talk to him about it."

"That’s the problem," I sighed, imagining how long it would take me to persuade Boston that I was ready. “Since he’s known me my whole life, and because he’s Parker's best friend, he’s so protective. I feel like he’d never believe me.”

"Okay, I have an idea." Willow's eyes sparkled with mischief, and suddenly I was all ears.

"What?"

She leaned in closer, as if sharing a secret. "What kind of underwear are you wearing right now?"

"Umm, black lacey ones?" I replied, unsure where this was headed.

"Perfect. Take them off. Right now."

"Are you serious?" My voice pitched high with disbelief.

"Dead serious. Do it, right now," she urged, nodding towards the privacy of our corner in the laundry room.

With a nervous laugh, I complied, pulling my oversized t-shirt down to cover me as best as it could. I shimmied out of my shorts, and I let my underwear slide down to the floor before stepping out of them. Quickly, I redressed in just the shorts, the absence of my underwear feeling a bit bizarre.

"Okay, what now?" I whispered, still half convinced we were about to be caught in the most absurd act of our entire friendship.

"See that outfit bag over there? The one with number 29 on it?" Willow pointed to Boston's gear, hanging on the team rack nearby.

"Y—yes?"

"Put them inside the bag so he finds them. Then, send him a text on the first day of the tournament—before they get to the locker room. Tell him that you left him a present in his locker, and you want 'it' to happen this weekend." She paused, her expression serious but her eyes dancing. "I'm telling you, no man can resist a cute pair of panties. And this weekend will be the perfect time. Anytime we go out of town we all end up room swapping. There will be a way to get you two together without anyone knowing."

I stared at her. The audacity of her plan was ridiculous, crazy–absolutely unlike me, yet... There was a part of me that wanted to entertain it because for one, I had already taken off my underwear, and two, Willow was so excited about it, I couldn’t possibly back out.

"Here goes nothing," I whispered, more to myself than Willow. With a tiny act of rebellion that sent adrenaline coursing through my veins, I unzipped Boston's game attire bag, slipped the black lace inside, and zipped it back up. It was done. A tiny thrill shot through me thinking about Boston, about what he’d think when he found them.

Later that night, Willow and I carved a path through a sea of bodies, the dim glow of neon signs washing over the crowded Gin and Jerry’s. The smell of spilled beer and raucous laughter filled the air, pulling me further into the night. We found ourselves a spot at the bar, elbows resting on the sticky surface, waiting for the bartender who was a flurry of motion at the far end.

"Think he'll notice us before we turn thirty?" Willow quipped, her blonde hair sparkling beneath the overhead lights.

"Maybe if you show more cleavage," I joked, still focused on the busy bartender.

Reese slid in casually beside us, leaning against the bar as we waited.

"Ladies," Reese said, voice smooth as silk. "Looking good tonight."

The clink of glasses drew our attention as the bartender slid two tall drinks in front of us. Willow and I exchanged a glance, both knowing we hadn’t ordered them. Two Jack and Cokes—a choice neither of us would normally select.

"Compliments of the gentlemen in the back," the bartender said with a conspiratorial wink, nodding toward a dimly lit area of the crowded bar.

We leaned back, craning our necks and shifting our bodies, but we couldn’t make out the faces of our anonymous admirers.

"Is this part of your plan?" Reese interrupted, amused.

I turned to find him leaning casually against the bar, his green eyes glinting mischievously.

"Why yes, it is!" I replied confidently. "Hot girl summer, open for business."

Willow chuckled beside me, as she nodded in agreement. We raised the glasses, ready to toast to our unexpected fortune.

"Sorry about that," the bartender interrupted, his hand closing over mine to still the ascent of my drink. "The guys who sent these said they were meant for the other two girls over there." He gestured apologetically to a pair of women chatting animatedly on our left.

Reese's smirk widened, the corners of his mouth playing at that familiar edge of arrogance and allure as he picked up a frosted beer bottle another bartender had slid to him. "So much for a hot girl summer," he quipped, the words laced with that carefree taunt that always seemed to find its way under my skin.

He laughed as he dropped a twenty dollar bill on the counter then stepped away toward the pool table, the dim lights casting his tattoos in an amber glow.

"Lovely," I murmured to myself, cheeks warming with a mix of embarrassment and irritation. “And how did he get a drink before us?” I asked Willow.

"Baseball perks," Willow said, rolling her eyes. "They know their orders and they hardly wait."

"Must be nice," I said with a touch of envy.

"Still," Willow continued with a huff, "that bartender is a jerk. He could have at least let us keep the drinks he already gave to us."

"Agreed," I nodded, wishing Reese hadn’t just witnessed the mix-up.

After what felt like an eternity of being ignored, we got our drinks. Then we made our way over to the pool tables where the real action was.

The click and clatter of billiard balls filled the air, mixing with the music pulsing through the bar. My gaze landed on Boston mid-shot. His focus was intense, his athletic form bending gracefully over the table. Then his piercing blue eyes caught mine, and time seemed to slow as he shot me a wink, hit the ball, and sank it into the corner pocket.

"Looks like someone's happy to see you," Willow teased, nudging me with her elbow.

"Or maybe he's just proud of his shot," I deflected, feeling a blush creep up my cheeks.

"Right," Willow drawled, clearly not buying it. "Because Boston winks at everyone when he plays pool."

"Shut up," I retorted, taking a sip of my drink to hide my smile. Boston had always been my crush growing up. It was comforting when he was around—but lately I was feeling new, different things about him.

We leaned against the high table near the pool area, watching the game unfold. Boston was clearly in his element, surrounded by teammates. And yet, his glances kept finding their way back to me, each one sending a thrill down my spine.

"Go talk to him," Willow nudged, her tone laced with encouragement.

"Okay, okay," I said, taking a deep breath and steadying myself for the encounter. With each step closer to where he stood, the sounds of clinking glasses and boisterous laughter seemed to fade into the background.

Boston stepped away from the pool table to set his pool stick back, his look of concentration giving way to a warm smile as he noticed my approach.

"Hey," I said, hoping my voice didn't betray the nervous flutter in my stomach. "Thanks for breakfast this morning."

"It was nothing," Boston replied with a shrug. "Had to make sure you started the day off right."

"So thoughtful," I commented, my heart rate picking up at the proximity. "So, Willow caught you, huh?"

"Yeah, I was so quiet, too." He smiled, running a hand through his wavy hair. "I was slipping the last pot away when her door opened up. Just gave her a smile and said I was on my way out."

"Smooth," I teased, a playful smirk tugging at my lips.

"Always," he retorted. "Getting caught was worth it. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about last night. Practice was almost impossible to get through."

I inched a bit closer to him, feeling the heat from his gaze. "Which parts were you thinking about?" I asked, with a smile. "Please do share."

Boston's eyes darkened, a playful yet cautious smirk forming on his lips. "Don't make me say it," he warned, biting his lip. "Your brother's right over there."

I leaned in, my shoulder brushing against his arm. "What? You don’t think he’d approve?"

Boston's eyes flickered toward where Parker stood nearby, surrounded by teammates, before they rested back on me. A half-smile curved his lips, a familiar playful glint lighting up his icy blue eyes. He spoke so quietly I could barely catch the words over the conversations and music playing. "Probably not."

Then, as if moved by an impulse hidden beneath his casual stance, he reached out ever so slightly. His pinky trailed over mine before they locked—intertwined for a brief moment, a gentle touch that sent a surge of heat through my body. It was our own private exchange, hidden from the view of others, but it spoke volumes.

He paused, a shadow of seriousness crossing his face. "But I should probably talk to him soon... let him know how I'm feeling about you." His voice was steady, but I caught the slightest glimpse of something deeper, possibly apprehension—or maybe hope.

My breath hitched, and for a moment the noise of the bar faded into a distant murmur. That small gesture, the brush of his skin against mine, had sparked a tiny flutter in my chest. It was cute, it was thrilling, and it was reassuring. He had just confessed to having feelings for me, strong enough feelings to make him want to have a conversation with Parker.

"Hey, Chan, is flannel still in?" Parker asked, interrupting our conversation, his towering frame suddenly casting a shadow over me.

I looked up, smirking. "No, Parker, not for you," I joked, knowing full well that it looked fine on him.

"Damnit," he sighed, defeated. Before I could further indulge in Parker's attire, Willow and Bailey approached with their own agenda.