The Cheat Sheet

I lift my chin. “No you don’t.”

“It’s written all over your face. See, right here across your forehead it says, PAY NATHAN BACK.”

I laugh and give him a gentle shove. He doesn’t budge because he’s an ox. “I don’t know. We’d have to be a couple for four whole weeks.” A lot can happen in four weeks.

“A fake couple. It would just be acting.”

Oh. Well, that’s true…

“And besides,” he continues, “you’re always saying how much we’re like brother and sister. So there shouldn’t be any fear of feelings forming. Unless…”

My eyes widen to saucers and I cut him off. “You’re totally right! It’s actually not that big of a deal now that I think about it.” The inflection in my voice is lighter. It’s all starting to feel very practical and straightforward. Yeah. This is good. Nathan and I can totally do this. I can do this!

“And we’re already comfortable around each other, so it wouldn’t take much to sell it. If anything, we’ll just get to go have some fun nights out together.” Okay, now he sounds vaguely like the devil on my shoulder, but I’m just sold enough to not care. And maybe I’m just a tiny bit excited to see what it’s like to date him in a way that will have absolutely no bad repercussions for me.

I smile and nod once. “You’re right. Let’s do it!”

His brows rise and the movement of his thumb stops. “Are you sure?”

“As long as you promise you’ll accept the money when I pay you back.”

He rolls his eyes and groans. “Breeeeeee, I don’t need your money.”

“Nathannnnnn, I don’t care. Paying you back is the honorable thing to do. I don’t mooch off of my rich friends. So promise me.”

He holds my gaze for a beat then begrudgingly smiles. “Fine. I promise.”

I swallow a sudden burst of butterflies. “Then, yeah! Let’s do this thing. It’ll be easy-peasy. Maybe even fun.”

I watch with a sinking feeling as Nathan’s head tilts ever so slightly and a grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. It’s a look I’ve never seen before, like I just got duped by a card shark when I thought I was playing Go Fish against a toddler.

He hands me the pen. “Oh, it’ll definitely be fun. I’ll make sure of it.”

“Not good enough!” I yell with my mouth full of popcorn and bare feet propped up on my kitchen table. It’s late on Friday night and the guys have been here for hours.

Jamal looks at me over his shoulder, dry erase marker frozen against the whiteboard I bought a few months ago for purposes exactly like this one. I keep it stored away in a spare closet and only pull it out for planning sessions. At the top of the board in bold letters is written NO MORE FRIEND ZONE. Not super catchy. We’re still workshopping it.

The second I told Jamal about the meeting with Bree and Nicole last night, he group-texted the guys and told them to meet at my place after practice for a whiteboard planning session. This isn’t the first time we’ve used this board. Last time it was to put a plan together for how to get Jamal’s girlfriend to take him back after he acted like a peacocking ass at her sister’s wedding. (The plan bombed. She didn’t take him back.)

The time before that it was to figure out how to keep the girl Derek was seeing away from his mom on her extended visit to see him. Those women hated each other. Admittedly, that one also didn’t go so well. Here’s to hoping this third time will be the charm.

“What? Why? I’m telling you this will work.” Jamal takes a step back and eyes the cornerback blitz play he just mapped out. He shrugs as he goes over it again. “Dude, do you seriously not know this? You just gotta time it right, come around her blind side, and boom, sack her. She’ll never see it coming.” I don’t think he means “sack her” in the way it sounds. At least, he better not. The guys have learned the hard way not to talk about Bree or any other women like that around me.

I squint at the board like I don’t understand the perfectly obvious play because it always makes for a good time to mess with Jamal. Although, how it applies in a metaphorical sense is still a little hazy. “But who is Bree in this play? QB or the ball?”

“QB, obviously.”

“What’s the ball represent then?” Price asks, leaning forward with forearms resting on his knees, joining in on my game.

Jamal looks at us like we’re missing brains. “The relationship.”

“And Nate is…”

“He’s the cornerback.” He draws a heart around one of the Xs, and the new diamond bracelet he bought for himself glitters in the light. “Guys, this is super self-explanatory. I shouldn’t have to spell it out like this.”

Price skews up his face. It’s a little overdramatic, but Jamal is still buying it. “I don’t get it. Nate’s a quarterback—he’s not going to be able to play defense.”

Jamal blinks approximately twenty times and then sighs. “It’s just a metaphor!”