11. Nikki

11

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Okay.So maybe it is weird.

And perhaps Alex hasn't spent years thinking about this version of us the way I have.

But we're here now. I guess I'm simply more prepared and know what I want. And as far as I know, my family isn't breaking up while my dream threatens to slip away.

We hold hands in the car, and I expect him to shift us back into old Alex and Nikki when we walk through the door of Brayden's house. But instead, he swings his arm around me and pulls me in close, kissing the top of my head.

I blink up at him and he smirks, lifting a shoulder.

"Effort," he says.

"That's all I ask for." For now.

I let Alex lead me through what is already a fairly crowded living room. Half of his teammates are piled on the oversized sectional, some sitting on the back, all playing some video game with an obscene amount of graphic blood.

I nudge Alex's side with my elbow and he utters, "Rage issues. All of them, pitchers."

I laugh quietly but stop suddenly when Alex and I literally run into Brayden. His cologne is taking center stage tonight, and I wriggle my nose trying not to sneeze.

"You made it," he says, lifting an arm to hug me. He stops short, though, when he realizes Alex's arm is already there.

"Oh," he says, his eyes blinking rapidly a few times as his brow lifts.

"Yeah, oh," Alex says, and I can't help but note the smug tone.

"Alright, well, I'm going to get a drink. And then if it's all right with the host, I'd like to get some tunes going?" I glance between the two of them, neither of them looking down at me and both wearing the same expression, like a mask made of bravado and dares.

"Sure. That'd be great, Nik. You pick the vibe," Brayden says, his mouth spending extra time on that last word.

I roll my eyes at their pissing contest and head into the kitchen, where I find Cole doing his best to entertain a girl who towers over him. Clearly one of Laney's teammates.

"Hey, Nikki can tell you. She was at the game. Nik, tell Aria about my diving catch today." Cole slips behind me then thrusts me forward with his hands on my shoulders. I sigh but I like Cole, so I'll build him up if he thinks that's what he needs.

"Yeah, it was pretttttty awesome. Saved the game, basically." I tilt my head and shrug on one side to sell it, then immediately turn my attention to the cooler filled with ice and beer.

"Mind grabbing me one?" Brayden says, his chin hovering over my shoulder.

I dig my hand into the ice and lift up a cold bottle, stopping myself from swinging my arm just a little too far and popping him in the nose. His quiet laugh sends his breath snaking over my skin.

He pulls off the cap then touches the chilled side of the glass to my shoulder. I feel it through the cotton of my T-shirt.

"You take this one," he says, shifting to cut off my exit.

My mouth hangs open for a second while I weigh the best words to use, and in that split second, my eyes lock with Alex's from the other room. I swear I can see his pupils dilating, even from several feet away. His jaw is clenched, and his mouth a straight line. Seeing him look so possessive feels good.

"Actually"—I turn into Brayden enough that my elbow pushes into his diaphragm. He takes a tiny step back—"I'm the driver tonight. Gotta make sure our all-star gets home safe, you know?" I reach into the nearby fridge and pull out a water bottle before nodding toward Alex, who is now only a few steps away.

"All-star, huh? Not if you keep up those numbers. Right, Alex?" Brayden takes a long, purposeful sip of his beer as his gaze dims on Alex's face.

"Hey, didn't you two date a while back?" Alex shifts his weight so he's leaning into the counter across from me but his eyes never leave Brayden's face.

"And on that note . . ." I say, rounding the counter and patting Alex on the upper back as I pass.

I weave my way back through the living room to the media center set up in the corner. Because I did, in fact, date Brayden for a little while, I'm familiar with his pad. Little has changed over the last couple years, and the computer set-up is basically the same. Unfortunately, so is his music library.

"Ugh," I huff out, logging in to my cloud so I can pull some of my new favorites together and get a house beat going.

"Hey, sorry. I maybe got a little?—"

"Alpha?" I lift my brow as I glance up at Alex. He swallows sheepishly.

"Yeah." His voice is meek, which is sort of cute.

"It's fine. But for the record, I don't really want to be weaponized and used in whatever this beef is you have going on with Brayden. And ah!" I hold up my hand before he speaks, and Alex stops with his mouth open. "Before you say that there is no beef, check yourself. There's beef. I smell it. Everyone smells it. And you, Alex Mendoza, are going to explain it to me later."

I give him a tightlipped grin as he breathes in slowly through his nose and eventually nods.

"I am," he says.

"Hey, A! You loan me some cash? We're getting a game going," Cole hollers from the kitchen.

Alex's eyes flutter closed and I laugh, then pat him in the center of the chest. He could pay his tuition off of the amount of money he's loaned Cole over the years.

"Yeah, I'll spot you. Deal me in too." He shakes his head as he opens his eyes to mine.

"Go have fun. I'm in my happy place," I say, pressing play without looking to kick off one of my new audio discoveries. Her name is Eloki, and her sound has this way of transporting me into an underground speakeasy where girls smoke foot-long cigarettes and men walk around with Zippo lighters. She's smooth and unique. Brilliant.

"This is good," Alex says, pointing up as he leans in for a kiss. I smirk, unable to stop my mind from recalling him saying those very same words in this same exact room three years ago.

"I know," I say, closing the gap between us to peck his lips.

I catch a few eyes on us as he walks away, a couple of girl whispering in the corner then immediately taking to their phones to investigate or spread the gossip. Rather than dwell on their opinions, I lose myself in my passion, moving from song to song and garnering a small audience of my own.

Two hours pass in a blink. I'm a little lightheaded, partly from the blue screen light, I'm sure, but I also think I might be a tad dehydrated. I didn't drink much at the game, and the wind tends to suck the moisture out of all living things.

The stakes in the poker game must be getting pretty serious because at least half the party is gathered around the card table in the dim kitchen. I push my way through the crowd to get to the fridge and grab a cold bottle of water. I knock about half of it back before leaning my elbows on the counter to join the others in watching the intense showdown happening between Alex and the rest of the table. His tongue pushed against the inside of his cheek, his smile is off-center and hard to discern. His drunken eyes are heavy, and his blinking is slow. I'm the only one in this room who knows he's bluffing. I'm sure of it. As good as he is at masking his emotions, I can see the cracks. He's had three, maybe four beers since he sat down to play. And the man can hold a lot more.

This look? It's calculated.

"Well? You calling or what?" he says, lifting a brow as he flattens his cards face down on the table and takes a long swig from his beer. His eyes reach me mid-drink, and I tilt my head slightly, hazing my eyes with suspicion. His body shakes with the smallest laugh. He knows I've caught him.

"Where's my lucky charm?" he calls, stretching his arm out toward me then waving me in.

"I'm comfy right here," I say, a little in protest.

What started as pretend flirting and vague shows of affection seems to have gotten the intended results. Brayden is definitely paying a lot more attention to me. And when his focus isn't on me, I feel like it's somehow tethered to me. Like right now, as he stares hard at Alex's face from the other side of the table. Sure, this is a poker duel. But also, is it for the girl? Is this a gunfight at dawn?

"Aww, come on, Nik. I need you to tell me what you think about my cards." Alex's eyes lock on mine, and I see right through the haze into him. Something is different tonight.

"Fine," I huff, capping my water and bringing it with me to stand behind him. I begin to hunch down, but Alex turns to the side, offering me his lap instead. My heart thumps once and only once, loud and heavy.

"Okay," I say in a nervous whisper. His hand slides around my bare midriff until his thumb hooks through the belt loop on my jeans.

This is not the first time I've sat on Alex's lap. There were plenty of times I had to get a boost to see a movie or share a seat in his dad's pickup truck when he unsafely buckled both of us in one seat. And in high school, there was the time we had to smash balloons on each other's laps for class wars. I blushed then. But now? I'm on fucking fire.

Alex tilts his hand up enough for me to get a glimpse of his bullshit cards. I don't flinch, and I'm careful not to blink too fast or too slow. But I do utter, "I knew it," then turn to match his smirk.

"Knew what?" Brayden asks.

I start to glance in Brayden's direction but Alex's fingertips coax my chin to remain right where it is. I lick my lips and his eyes flicker to my mouth for a beat.

I'm not sure whether this is part of Alex's act or if he's truly this into me right now. But in this room where these guys, in particular, are constantly comparing their dick sizes, he's declaring himself the winner. And I dare say, judging from the hard-on pressing into my ass right now, I'm apt to crown him king.

"Fine. I fold," Brayden says, tossing his cards to the center of the table atop a pile of fives and tens. Alex's mouth curls and I shake my head in warning. He might not be drunk but he's too buzzed to listen to reason, and he flips his cards over to show off the fact that Brayden just threw away what I quickly estimate to be about seventy-five dollars.

"Fuck you, Mendoza!" Brayden shouts, surging to his feet and shoving the table forward hard enough that it pushes me from Alex's lap and onto the floor.

"Watch yourself," Alex says, his voice surprisingly calm as he kicks his chair back and lunges to offer me his hand.

His eyes are steely, and his expression seems guarded. His bluffing has not ended.

"You okay?" he asks, his hand gentle along my cheek.

I nod but my eyes shift to where Brayden is rushing him. I open my mouth to warn him, but it comes out too late as he slams his foot into the center of Alex's back, shoving him into me.

"That's enough of this," he says.

I grasp at his arm to no avail in an attempt to stop him. Within seconds, he's back on his feet, his entire body bulldozing Brayden backward until he stumbles on his feet and falls through the screened door that leads to the back patio. The second Brayden gets back up, Alex assails him with a fist to the jaw, the crack loud enough that you can hear it inside over my music, which someone pauses. I blink, and in that time, the entire party is gathered while Alex paces around Brayden in a half circle.

"Ha, you're a joke," Brayden says, getting up on one knee. He spits blood onto the concrete, then wipes the cut on his lip with his sleeve.

Alex points at him, his head shaking and jaw clenched.

"You're the joke," he growls.

"Alex. Come on," I say as I get to the open door frame, bits of torn screen flapping in the breeze. Embers pop from the firepit nearby, and a light stream of traffic hums from the highway in the distance. For a college party, it's suddenly eerily silent.

Alex's gaze shifts to me, his head falling to the side. I'm sorry, he mouths.

It's okay, I mouth back. But in many ways, it's not. Maybe adding an us on top of the stress he's dealing with is too much. I shouldn't have let our relationship change so fast.

I take his hand, though, because that change has come and gone. It's accelerated. One fist to my ex's jaw propelled the story of Alex and Nikki several chapters ahead. And I need Alex to know that even after this, I'm keeping him. We aren't going back, not that we even could if we wanted to. And I'm not going anywhere, like I just said.

"You know what, Mendoza? You can keep her," Brayden says just as we're about to cross the threshold back into the house. My eyes close as I will him to just stop there. I can handle him spitting out insults if that's what he needs to do to save face. He won't hurt me, and I'm pretty sure the people in this house will see him a whole lot differently now anyhow.

But Alex? I'm not so sure he'll be able to handle the insults. There are a few things he's always defended with every ounce of fight in his body—my honor, and his mom's. And that was before, when we were just friends.

"Hey, maybe I'll call up your mom instead," Brayden says, the drunken slur taking over. Or perhaps he's just been punched drunk.

Alex stops with one foot in the door. I grip his arm and flatten my palm to his bicep, willing him to look me in the eyes. He does, and I can tell that all it would take is for me to give him permission. I won't. Because his scholarship is on the line and he's pushed it enough as is tonight. The last thing he needs is to seriously hurt Brayden to the point of an ER visit.

"Yeah, I hear she's single now. Your dad shacking up with a student probably left her good and lonely. I bet she could use some lovin'," Brayden laughs out.

I manage to squeeze Alex's arm tight enough to force him to remain grounded, at least for a half second. In that time, I spin around, march up to Brayden's bloodied face, and smack it with my open palm so hard that his head flails to one side.

"Shame on you," I spit out, turning back around and marching through the silent party with my best friend's hand clutched in mine.

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