Page 7 of A Game Plan for Love

It requires every ounce of strength and mental fortitude I possess to keep my lip from quivering. Addie holds no such power as she falls back, swiping tears from her face. Her feet kick through the air, and my smile breaks.

Deon catches it.

“You’re fucking with me aren’t you?”

Addie snorts, and I lose it completely, laughing until I can’t breathe.

“What would Nathalie think if she knew you refer to Addie as your ‘girl’?”

Blue rimmed glasses and the top of Nathalie’s forehead appear on the screen.

“I’m not worried because…” Nathalie’s hand pops on the screen ,and a massive green stone sits on her left ring finger, so large it could be seen from space.

Addie jolts from the squeal I release, and tears spring to my eyes.

“Show him, Deon,” Nathalie presses, and Deon’s left ring finger appears on the screen, wearing the titanium band I helped Nat choose for him.

“Did you propose under the Eiffel Tower? Did either of you cry? Was it magical?” The questions are rolling off my tongue as joy riots in my chest.

They both deserve the world, and each other.

“Gotcha!” Addie screams, having missed the last thirty seconds, preoccupied with laughing at her joke. When she clocks the rings and the massive smiles, she screeches. “No fucking way! Congratulations!”

“Tell meeverything,” I demand, and Deon and Nathalie share an odd look.

“It’s pretty late here,” Nathalie says with a coy smile, “We’ll tell you everything when we’re back.” She pauses before adding, “I love you.”

The words strike a chord, but I say them back. Ialwayssay it back. Because there comes a day when you can’t, and that feeling is an unwelcome friend in my life.

Addie’s gaze is heavy on my skin when I hang up.

“You have great friends,” she says quietly—contemplatively.

“The best.”

My teammates, their wives and families, they’re my world, but they all have worlds of their own. Partners. Families. Children and relatives.

All I have is them.

Addie cleans up our meal, consolidating the take-out while I throw out the trash. Silence hangs between us, but it’s not heavy or awkward. I pause when she slips into the passenger seat, a small smile gracing her lips.

She’s breathtaking.

Auburn hair, streaked with copper and gold, and expressive hazel eyes. Freckles pepper the gentle slope of her nose, and fuck me, her lips are soft and plump.

I give myself ten seconds with the rogue thought before I stash it away.

We do not ogle coworkers.

Addie plugs her address into the GPS and hums quietly to the music—the playlist Nathalie made for me, full of songs for when I’m feeling down.

“Oh, I have this album on record,” she says when the song switches to Billy Joel. “It’s the best on rainy mornings.” She sings along to “She’s Always A Woman” as I drive, content as she looks out the window.

I don’t know what to say, so I stay quiet.

A heavy weight presses against my chest, a mixture of melancholy and longing—to find what my friends have, to have someone to lean on, a family to call my own.

When I pull up to her apartment complex, she finally breaks the silence.

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