Out on the Serve (Out in College 7)

He was a good-looking guy with beach-blond hair, blue eyes, sun-kissed skin, and a ready smile. If there was some kind of mischief in the works, Tucker usually had something to do with it. Our friends said we were a lot alike. Tuck was a goofball and a world-class flirt. But we came from different worlds. His family was ridiculously wealthy and mine was not. No one would know Tucker was from money without doing a little research though. Tucker never advertised his trust-fund status. And his faded board shorts, ripped tee, and old flip-flops wouldn’t give any clues.

“I think I’m losing my touch,” Tucker said. “Or maybe I need to redefine my type. I don’t know who I’m attracted to anymore. Blondes, brunettes, redheads…”

I snuck a sideways glance at Braden while Tucker recited a comedic laundry list of attributes for his ideal mate, ranging from hair color to ability to recite the lyrics to every Metallica song ever written. I couldn’t help wondering how an outsider viewed us. We were very…eclectic and extremely irreverent. It took a good sense of humor and a taste for the absurd to put up with a ragtag group of friends who’d known each other before pubic hair and pimples.

Braden didn’t seem like the kind of guy who wanted to out-gross his buddies the way mine did. He told me himself he could be kind of picky and uptight. But he seemed perfectly relaxed right now. His eyes lit with humor, and his laughter washed over me like a warm wave. Fuck. This did not bode well for me. I could not crush on him. It went against the rules. He had to have a fatal flaw. Everyone did. I needed something to erase the tingly feeling in my chest.

My pulse tripped when he shifted on the leatherette booth beside me, accidentally bumping my knee. He tilted his head in an absent apology, then refocused on Tucker, who had apparently asked Braden to describe his ideal person.

Braden wrinkled his brow thoughtfully. “It would be nice to meet someone who knows Shakespeare.”

Tucker widened his eyes. “Shakespeare? You’re joking, right?”

“No. It’s not a deal breaker, but it would be cool to have something intellectually stimulating to talk about,” he replied with a shrug.

Silence.

“To be or not to be, that is the question,” I quoted.

“To fuck or not to fuck, that’s a better question,” Tucker ad-libbed.

Colby and I groaned on cue, but Braden smiled. “Something like that.”

He held my gaze for a moment. I watched his Adam’s apple slide in his throat and barely resisted the urge to lick my lips. Was it me, or did it suddenly get hot in here?

“Speaking of sex…”

Oh yeah, that wasn’t gonna happen. I knew Tucker would run with the word “fuck” and embellish his last sexual conquest or veer back to how long it had been since he’d gotten some. I expected it. But if I let Tuck take over, I wouldn’t learn anything new about Braden, and this hint of infatuation would go unchecked. Besides, I had questions.

“Why Shakespeare?” I asked, twisting slightly to face him.

Braden fixated on my mouth for a second, as if he were reading my lips, then shrugged. “I love literature. Especially Shakespeare. I was in a few school productions. Sort of stumbled into it by accident at first, but memorizing a script was a good distraction from serious studying.”

“Really? That sounds stressful.”

“It can be,” he admitted. “I’m not planning on a career in the theater though, so there’s no real pressure. If I get the part I tried out for, this might be my last time onstage. I hope I do. I love the atmosphere. It’s very different from being on a volleyball court.”

“I bet.”

“Have you ever been in a play?” Braden asked.

“Not since my dual role as townsperson and guard in my sixth-grade production of Aladdin. I had one line, ‘Halt! Who goes there?’ But I froze onstage until the girl standing next to me nudged me. Then I blurted, ‘How’s it goin’, dude?’ ” I paused while my friends chuckled at my younger self. “Not a major mix-up, but the director wasn’t happy, and the school principal thought I was trying to be a comedian. That was the end of my career.”

“Good thing. You’re needed on the court anyway.” Tucker raised his empty glass. “I don’t see a waiter. I’m going to the bar. I’ll order nachos for the table and a pitcher of beer. Anything else?”

“Water, please,” Braden said.

“Me too. Just water,” I chimed in.

“Nothing for me. I gotta go. I’m heading to the rink soon,” Colby said, nudging my knee under the table. “Can I borrow your car, El? I need it for two hours, max. Sky can pick me up from here or from your place later.”

I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. “Where’s yours?”