“He’s fine. And like it or not, I have to be friendly.”
“Looks like you’re real friendly,” Evan teased, waggling his brows. He dumped his workout bag on the floor, then headed for the refrigerator.
I gulped before working up the courage to scroll through my new messages.
If you want to go somewhere else that’s cool
We can meet later too
The Grill on 2nd is good
Okay. A lot of messages but they were harmless. I typed a quick reply. See you at Habana at 7. Then I slipped my phone into my pocket, grabbed a water bottle, and tilted my chin toward Evan.
“We’re ‘regular’ friendly. No big deal. Where’ve you been?” I asked, hoping to deflect attention from myself.
Evan pulled a takeout box from the fridge and gave me the “What the fuck?” look I deserved. It was a stupid question. Evan was a creature of habit and a chronic oversharer. He gave me a breakdown of his schedule every evening, whether or not I asked. He had a way of making boring information sound conversational. “I’ve got practice till three, then some studying to do. Want to grab dinner after?” That kind of thing. However, even if I’d forgotten his rundown from the night before, he’d obviously been at football practice. He rocked his usual “showered but fresh off the field” look: damp hair, fatigued expression, and a voracious appetite.
I uncapped a water bottle and clandestinely observed Evan shoveling leftover Chinese food into his mouth. If I was gay or bi, wouldn’t I think he was at least a little sexy? By anyone’s standards, Evan was a good-looking dude. He had an all-American athletic vibe reminiscent of Abercrombie ads. Square jaw, broad shoulders, toned muscles. His biceps bulged and flexed as he lifted the fork and took a giant bite of cold chow mein. Nope. I loved Evan like a brother, but I wasn’t attracted to him. At all. And when he chewed his food like a cow and opened his mouth to gross me out, I knew without a doubt there was zero danger of suddenly lusting after my roommate.
“Practice,” he replied, stabbing at the noodles greedily. “It was so fucking hot out there today. I couldn’t wait to be done. I’m gonna crash for a couple of hours, and then I’m heading out for drinks with some of the guys. Wanna join us after your date with Gabe?”
“You’re hilarious,” I snorted. I flung the bottle cap at his head, then filled him in on my blowup in the pool. I finished up with a nonchalant, “We’re just trying to do the right thing and get back on track as teammates, ya know?”
Evan narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Seems like a waste of time.”
“I told Coach I’d play nice, and that’s what I’m doing,” I said flippantly.
“Whatever. Come by afterward.”
“Where are you going?”
“I don’t know. I’ll text you. We’ll try to keep it close to Habana. You and Gabe can swing by after your powwow. Unless, of course, you want some ‘alone time’ with your new buddy.”
Evan winked, then changed the topic to a new play they’d worked on at practice that afternoon. I did my best to act enthralled by his coach’s strategic genius, but my mind was buzzing again. The last thing I wanted to worry about was running into my friends tonight. Or maybe that was silly. It wasn’t like I was going to kiss Gabe in public. But kissing him in private sounded kind of amazing.
Habana was a newish Cuban restaurant located a block from the ocean. Its corner lot prime location, rooftop deck, and regular live music made it an instant sensation with locals and tourists. It was always packed. Especially on the weekends. I straightened the collar on my blue button-down shirt and snuck a quick peek at my reflection in the mirrored wall next to the reception desk. I’d taken extra care getting ready tonight. The shirt was new, the designer jeans were my favorite, and my hair was on point. I might have been clueless about what came next, but I’d felt compelled to look my best. I wasn’t sure why, though. This was a platonic meeting, not a date.
The hostess directed me to a semi-private booth in the back of the restaurant. Gabe looked up as we approached, and I swore my heart did a backflip against my rib cage. Holy fuck, he was hot. His dark hair looked thicker out of the pool, and the black oxford shirt he wore hugged his broad shoulders and somehow made his hazel eyes pop.
I licked my lips nervously as I slid into the leather bench across from him.
“Hey.”
“Hi. You look nice,” he said with a smile.
“Me? Uh…thanks,” I sputtered. I was painfully grateful when the waiter came to introduce himself and take our drink orders.
Gabe motioned for me to go first before addressing the waiter in Spanish. My collective six years of the language between high school and college were enough to give me the gist of their brief conversation. He’d ordered bread and empanadas and asked for mango salsa.