I stare for way too long before the question tumbles out of my lips. “Who took this one?”
“My brother Jake. One of my articles won an award last year, so he took me out to dinner to celebrate. He told the staff it was my birthday even though it wasn’t, so he caught me right after they said they’d sing to me.”
“Love that you’re a blusher,” I tease. “When is your birthday?”
“June third. Yours?”
I have to look at her to make sure she’s serious before I answer. “No shit? That’s my birthday.”
She shakes her head, lips pursed. “No, it’s not. It’s mine.”
“I’m pretty sure I’m older than you by at least a year so… you stole my birthday.”
She looks cute when she’s in denial, she was definitely the baby in her household.
“Ugh. Fine, it’sourbirthday.”
Ours. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you a cupcake, cupcake.” I tap her nose and hop off the bed, stretching before I start to gather all of our trash. “I have practice in an hour and I’m probably going to hate myself after that burrito. Any chance you’re interested in coming to watch me?”
“Do other players’ girlfriends come to practice?”
“Some of them stop by for a kiss, but don’t really hang out too long. The groupies you mentioned hang around sometimes up in the bleachers, but we avoid eye contact for the most part.”
I just want to show you off. Sue me.
She nods, thinking about it. “Where do you practice?”
There’s no way she’s actually considering this. “Have you really never been to a game? We have a soccer pitch.”
“A pitch? Isn’t pitching in baseball?”
I can’t fight the laugh that bubbles its way out of me, she’s kind of adorable. “It’s a field made of grass with goals and stuff.”
“I’m aware you have a field, I just… don’t know where said field is. I’ve never been to a single sports game, not even in high school.”
Slowly, I lean in and brace my hands on both sides of her, caging her there on her bed as I stare into those wide, innocent eyes. “That’s cute. You’re cute.”
Her door flies open before I can lure her in more, and her roommate glowers over at me like I’m gum on the bottom of her shoe. “What are you doing in here, Reyes? That’s my friend, not yours.”
I stand up straighter, because although I don’t know Samira well, I didn’t know she hated me. “Well I’m her boyfriend which means I’m just a little bit more important than a friend, right?”
“Boyfriend?” she scoffs. “Yeah, right. We both know you’re fak?—”
“It’s true,” Riley says quickly. “It started out fake, but it’s real. This is real.”
God damn, how many people did she tell?
There’s no way this doesn’t blow up in my face in the end. “Really, Riley?” I whisper, then slip my shoes on with a shake of my head. I can’t even be mad at her for it.
Her roommate looks between the two of us with her gaze narrowed, settling on me with an untrusting expression. “I’d say congratulations, but I’ll save that for when I know you’re not a fuck-boy.”
She crosses her arms like that settles the argument, and I can’t help but scoff. “I’m not a fuck-boy, and I could be putting hermit crabs underneath your comforter so… you’re welcome, Oakley.”
That shuts her up at least. She bows a little, actually. “And I thank you very much for that. Fuck away, boy.”
“Clever,” I deadpan, leaning over to kiss Riley on the cheek. “I’ll text you later.”
“Bye, baby. Good luck at practice.” The smile she flashes me looks almost believable, and it feels too good to overthink it.