9. Nikki

9

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What was notweird in the heat of the moment is very much weird in the light of day.

I feel Alex get up from the bed. I could pretend to be asleep and miss all of this awkwardness, but we're going to have to go through it at some point. And last night, our connection, the heat, the way he wanted me the way I've always wanted him—I can't pretend that wasn't real.

"Hey," I say, my morning voice still a bit ragged.

Alex straightens his back and pulls up his sweatpants before glancing over his shoulder. His smile seems delayed. He swallows hard.

"Hi. I didn't mean to wake you," he says in a hushed tone. He leans over the bed, lifts my head and presses a kiss to the top, in the middle of my messy nest of hair. It's chaste. Friendly.

"It's okay. I have to work on a project in the sound lab before your game, so I need to be up too." I slip from my covers. Alex turns back around, apparently to give me privacy.

My turn to swallow hard. I guess we're not so bold during the day. I snag my T-shirt from the floor and slip it over my head, then work my fingers through my hair.

"I was thinking I should get in early, take extra rounds in the cages. You know, impress Coach?" His eye contact with me is minimal, and it makes my chest burn.

"Oh, yeah. That's . . . yeah. Good idea." I turn to find something to busy myself with on my dresser. I settle on my hair band and tilt my head to one side as I gather up my hair to tie it atop my head. Alex is completely dressed, wallet and keys in hand, by the time I face him again.

"You'll be there, yeah?" He chews at his bottom lip.

"Of course," I say, stopping myself mid-step toward him. My shoulders drop, and I look to at my floor.

"Hey, no," Alex says, closing the distance between us.

He tips my chin up and meets my gaze. My eyes are teary and I'm embarrassed by it, but fuck, man! How can I not feel terrified right now? I wrap my hands around his wrists and he cradles my face and runs his thumbs across my damp cheeks. I sniffle. Stupid emotions.

"We'll talk about this when I'm not running off to a game. Give it the attention it deserves. Do it right." He drops his chin a touch and levels me with his serious face. This is the way he looked at me when we were kids and I was afraid of something. He'd pull me aside and talk away my fears. I hope he can do that now. Still.

I know I should wait for when we have the time, but my gut won't let me keep my mouth shut.

"Do you regret it?"

His eyes flinch—only for a heartbeat, but it happens. I feel it sit heavy in my gut. But before I can call it out, he leans in and presses his lips to mine, the kiss soft, chaste, but very much tender.

"Never," he says, then heads out with his duffle bag and my heart.

* * *

I havean hour to kill before Alex's game. I don't want to get there too early and be forced to spend more time with Alicia than necessary. If she even shows up again.

There is a tiny smug part of me that hopes she'll see me and just know—that glow about me, is that a thing? But I'm still twisted about how abruptly he left. And I wonder if he would have said anything at all if I hadn't caught him.

Shaking my morning off, I bury myself in the sound lab and my project for my film and sound class. I've been recasting a soundtrack over a classic movie, changing the feel of specific scenes and turning the story into something else entirely. It's a pretty cool assignment, but for some reason the gothic moodiness I've been trying to get just right isn't translating at all.

I slip my headphones down and scan the lab for our student assistant.

"Hey, Chris? Can you give this a listen and tell me what I'm doing wrong?"

"Sure," he says, practically skipping over. He's a grad student in his thirties, and I truly have never met a person who loves their job more. He's also really good. Especially on film work.

He rolls a spare chair over and unplugs my headphones, scanning the visuals on my sound then dragging the player back to the beginning of this section. He presses play then sits back, holding his chin with his palm as he studies the screen.

"Do you mean to have that constant tone in there?" He leans forward and turns down some of the midrange dials on my mixer.

"I . . . I'm not sure." I actually didn't hear them.

I watch the screen as he drags the player back and replays the section we just heard. It sounds exactly the same to me.

"There, yeah. I think you've got it. Pretty cool, Nikki!" He gets up from his chair and I smile and mutter, "Thanks."

My gaze flashes back to the screen, and I twist the dials like I had them before, then lower them again. I shake my head, confused as to why I'm not hearing the same thing Chris seemed to. I pull my headphones back on and run through the same fifteen seconds over and over, never once hearing the difference.

An uneasiness takes over, and I'm not sure if my ears are ringing because of stress or because of the onslaught of decibels. I'm usually pretty careful when I work. I've never been one to blast my music in my ear, and I'm not a fan of the thumping in the car. Too much bass washes out the good stuff. But I did hit a lot of live shows last month, and I do gravitate toward the stages—and the speakers. Maybe I just need to give my ears a rest. I bet that's why I had that bout of vertigo.

I pack up my workstation and take my backpack to my room to drop it off before Alex's game. He hasn't brought up the party tonight, the one Brayden mentioned, so I'm not sure whether he's going to want to go or if he'd rather spend time alone. There's a lot up in the air about us, and it was good that he acknowledged we need to talk about what happened. But shouldn't it be easy to talk about?

"Gah! Stop obsessing, Nikki!" I scold myself. I switch out my sweatshirt for my usual black hoodie then slip back into my lucky Alex jersey. I managed to rinse out the smudges from his eye black. I'm smirking to myself when a light knock at my door pushes it the rest of the way open. For a second, my heart leaps at the thought that it's Alex somehow. Minutes before his game. Rushed over here to kiss me and say he loves me.

"Hey, Nik. Seats for three today?" Omar says.

I shake off my crazy thoughts and try to hide my embarrassed laugh, turning to the side and focusing on the buttons of Alex's jersey.

"Three, huh? Does this mean I finally get to meet your hottie lacrosse boy—" My mouth hangs open in a giant O as the moment my head snaps up, Omar's, well, we don't know what to call him yet, is standing in the middle of my room with his hand out for a shake.

"Oh, my God." I squeeze my eyes shut and slowly cover my face with my palm.

"Is that what he calls me?" Brian whispers, a hint of humor in his tone.

I spread my fingers to peek through them and nod.

"Yes," I admit.

"Nicole Thomas, you traitor!" Omar shouts from the doorway.

Brian laughs hard while I take his hand. Omar's cheeks turn a cherry red.

"Nice to meet you, Brian." I make it a point to clearly say his name.

"And you are Nikki," he says.

I nod.

"It's nice to meet Omar's pushy friend," he says as our hands part.

"Pushy?" I jut my neck forward to catch Omar's eyes.

He shrugs.

"What? You're pushy! And stubborn. And a total hopeless romantic," he adds that last part in with a roll of his eyes.

"Maybe not entirely hopeless," I let slip out.

"Oh, now, what is this?" Omar's eyebrows rise about seventy inches—okay, maybe three. My pulse picks up as I mentally replay what happened in this room twelve hours ago. I audibly breathe out, which my friend naturally picks up on and starts to fan himself.

"You've got stories and I need them," he says.

"Me, too. Even though we just met. I need them," Brian adds.

My shoulders shirk up, and I feel the blush creeping up my chest and neck.

"Maybe let me sort it out for myself first? I'm not entirely sure what to make of my last twenty-four hours," I say, giving my friend something but far from everything.

"Mmm, okay. Clock is ticking on details though. Now, let's get your ass to the game before that man of your dreams has a meltdown because you aren't there," Omar says.

Brian's eyebrow quirks; he's clearly intrigued.

"He won't have a meltdown," I add as I walk out my door. "He's my best friend, and I don't miss his games."

"She hasn't missed one—ever," Omar adds.

I eye him over Brian's shoulder, and he holds out his palms. Damn him for being right.

"This friend of yours must be special," Brian says, as if he doesn't already know everything Omar has surely told him. The two of them have been "talking," as Omar likes to call it, since the basketball game dare. It's been roughly a week, and I know that new relationships are filled with butterflies and excitement, but there's something truly compatible about these two. I see it in how they walk together, the way Omar elbows him in jest and the way Brian responds, squeezing Omar's shoulders both playfully and affectionately. They're rather perfect.

God, maybe the two of them can sort out the entirety of my love life without me and then I can just pop back in when everything's fixed.

As is my curse, we get to the stadium and find my seat once again occupied by Alicia. She only has one friend with her today, and not the one I was chatting with. I'm rather relieved, actually, because there won't be any familiarity between me and this other girl.

"So, are we sitting elsewhere?" Omar asks, cupping his mouth as if that somehow turns his voice into a whisper.

"No, I'm a big girl," I say, beelining toward my row. I stop by Alicia's knee.

"Mind?" I gesture to the open row beside her.

She sighs but stands, clutching her phone to her bare midriff as she lets me pass. It's chilly out again, not the weather for a half-cut sweatshirt like she's wearing. I'm not stupid. And I've been the girl who tries to catch Alex's eye more than once. But I'm the one who had him on his knees last night, so as I hoped I would, I pass by her with a smug smile. It lasts until I reach my seat and the thought that he's been on his knees for her sets in.

"You okay? You look ill," Omar says, never missing a beat.

"Oh, yeah. Actually, I need to make an appointment. I've had this ear thing," I say, shifting in my seat to pull out my phone.

I built in a buffer today, moving about four seats down from Alicia but still in the right area so Alex can spot me. I scan the field for him and catch him warming up with Cole in the outfield.

My mom texted me the insurance information yesterday, so I memorize the number I need to input and open the student health app to make an appointment. I find one open slot for Monday and grab it, hoping they'll be able to get me some drops or an antibiotic and clear up whatever's going on.

I didn't realize before just how much my ears have been ringing, but after Chris sampled my mix and made those changes, I started to pay attention. They haven't stopped ringing since then, and it's been an hour. And I kind of feel it's been this way for weeks.

Satisfied that I'm taking action, I put my phone away and turn my attention to the field. Alex is jogging toward us, picking up his stretching bands from the grass, then his glove. His head bops up and his eyes spot me instantly. He touches the brim of his hat, like a cowboy says hello, but I know that little gesture is for me. And I let it paint a smile on my lips as I sink back into my seat and wait for my man to break out of his slump.

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