Page 22 of Tagging Bases

“Yeah,” I grit out. “Let’s pretend we don’t see him and go find Olivia, okay?”

Charlie stares at me, one eyebrow perfectly cocked. “You sure?”

No, I’m not. But I’m certainly not going to tell him that.

Chapter 9

Single as a Pringle

Charlie

Idle chatterand clinking glasses swirl around me, but I barely register any of it because my mind is stuck on the fact that Harrison is here. At this poetry slam. Acting like he didn’t tilt my world on its axis three months ago.

I fight the urge to glance over my shoulder to check him out. I’m not a kid with a crush. I’m a grown man…with a crush.

When Daniel spots his girlfriend, I don’t miss the way he walks to her on shaky legs. It appears that Harrison’s presence is also affecting my best friend. I can’t say I blame him; it’s not every day that either of us makes out with another guy, let alone each other.

Had someone told me that one day, I’d be kissing my best friend, I’d have laughed in their face. I’ve kissed my fair share of women, and none of them compared to kissing Harrison and Daniel.

Kissing them was an explosion of sensation. Daniel’s stubble scraping against my skin, his large hands gripping my hips possessively. Harrison’s hard planes of muscle pressed into me as he drove his tongue deeper down my throat. It was utterly addicting, like a drug I never knew I craved until that first hit.

As much as I try to deny it, that nightunleashed something inside me. Desire, curiosity, a desperate yearning to experience that rush again. To feel their hardness again.

I shake my head, trying to physically dislodge the memories before my body betrays how much I loved it. This isn’t the time or place to be fantasizing about my two almost-lovers. Not when one of them is standing mere feet away, his very presence threatening to undo my fragile composure.

Besides, it was a drunken mistake. A momentary lapse in judgment born of too much alcohol and not enough sense. It didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t. Because if it did, if I let myself acknowledge the possibilities it whispered of, my heterosexuality would be called into serious question.

And that’s a can of worms I’m not ready to open. Not now, maybe not ever.

Instead, I’ll do what I do best—shove those pesky feelings down deep and pretend they never existed. Lock them away in a box labeled “Do Not Open” and throw away the key. It’s served me well so far, this denial. Why mess with a winning strategy?

With a deep breath, I plaster on my most charming smile and follow Daniel over to where Olivia is chatting with a group of people. She’s perched on a metal folding chair with her legs crossed and a glass of wine between her fingers. Her dark hair is tied back in a casual bun, and her lips are colored ruby red. Her eyes light up when she sees Daniel, and she pulls him in for a kiss that has me averting my gaze.

Not because it’s too intimate, but because it reminds me of when he kissed me. Full lips wrapped around mine, hesitant at first, then hungry and demanding. The little gasp he let out when I nipped at his bottom lip.

Fuck.I’m doing it again. Daydreaming like some horny teenager instead of a grown-ass man with self-control.Get it together, Charlie.

I need a distraction. My eyes dart around the room, searching for anything or anyone to latch onto.

They settle on Harrison because, of course, they do. He’sleaning against the far wall, a black hoodie draped over his arm.Is he planning to escape? Can I go with him?

“Charlie!” Olivia cries out my name, rising to her feet to give me an air kiss on each cheek.The fuck?“I’m so glad you could make it.”

Her perfume is strong, overwhelming me, and I devolve into a coughing fit. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” I deadpan, flashing her a tight smile.

She pats the two open seats beside her. Daniel and I sit down, the metal chairs creaking under our weight. Around us, an eclectic mix of artwork lines the walls. There’s a painting of a crying clown, which gives me the heebie-jeebies; a sculpture made up of used condoms, which gives me the ick; and a photograph of a naked man covered in Saran Wrap, which gives me…a boner?

“Charlie’s the only one flying solo tonight.” Olivia gestures at our row of couples—her and Daniel, her girlfriends, and their boyfriends. “But who knows? Maybe he’ll meet a lovely girl here. Or guy. I don’t judge.”

My soda goes down the wrong pipe, and now I’m coughing for a whole different reason. Daniel thumps me on the back until I settle down.

“I think I’m good,” I wheeze to both of them. “Being single as a Pringle isn’t necessarily a bad thing.”

“Here, here,” says one of the guys sporting a man bun. “Before I met Leslie, I was having a grand old time with Jill.” He holds up his right hand and wiggles his fingers suggestively.

Third coughing fit of the night—activated.

As I regain my composure, the lights dim, and a hush falls over the crowd. The woman from the brochure, Danielle, steps up to the podium. The only word I can think of to describe her outfit is “funky.” She has on a neon green blouse, a purple tulle skirt, and combat boots covered in glitter.

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