Page 6 of Forecheck
With a final wistful glance and a resigned sigh, I rose and headed out of my room.
Halfway down the stairs, I was greeted by the unmistakable music of the Warriors’ pregame show.
“I texted you like five times,” Amelia said when I reached the living room. “I thought you were going to work right through the game.”
I laughed as I padded past her and into the kitchen. “Me, miss a Warriors’ game? Never,” I shouted back to her as I surveyed the pantry, then the fridge, weighing the merits of having a beer or a piping hot mug of cocoa.
Ultimately the cocoa won out, and I returned to the living room with the steaming mug, the heated ceramic warming my chilled fingers.
“Where’s Kimber?”
Amelia rolled her eyes. “She went upstairs.”
I chuckled knowingly. Kimber had been born and raised in southern California. At eighteen, she’d picked up her entire life and moved to Michigan for college and had adapted easily to the Midwest lifestyle. Still, whenever the Warriors played West Coast teams, she disappeared, not wanting toconfuse her loyalties.
I dropped into my favorite recliner and cuddled up with my favorite blanket—a Michigan State tie blanket my mom had given to me for Christmas my senior year of high school, right after I’d been accepted. It was early October, but the apartment was cool despite having the heat turned up to seventy. We blamed the drafty windows in this old townhouse, but our landlord refused to do anything about them despite our many complaints.
Giving into a shiver, I tucked my feet under me and sipped my cocoa.
“Can you believe this is your last game with us as your roommates?” Amelia asked with a frown.
I groaned. “Let’s not talk about it. I don’t want to be sad right now.”
“Youdon’t want to be sad?” Amelia said. “You’re the one leaving us. You’re lucky we can afford rent without you, or we’d be really mad.”
“You could always get another roommate.”
“Absolutely not,” Amelia said quickly. “It wouldn’t be the same, and you know it.”
I winced, because Amelia had a point.
As I mentioned before, I’d lived with these girls for over six years. My freshman year of college, I walked into my dorm room and was greeted by a tall, lithe brunette. Instantly, I’d known that the few seconds Lexie Monroe had looked me up and down would make or break our friendship, would decide if I had a friend or a foe going forward.
“My God, you’re tiny.”
“Don’t worry,” I said flippantly, tossing my bag onto the unoccupied bed. “I make up for it with my personality.”
My new roommate barked out a surprised laugh and extended a hand. “Lexie Monroe.”
“Berkley Daniels,” I said, accepting her handshake.
“I think we’re going to be good friends, Berkley Daniels.”
The rest was history. Amelia and Kimber had lived across the hall from us, and once we’d crossed paths that first day, we were rarely separated. We’d spend our nights in study sessions or convincing some upperclassman—Lexie usually handled that—to buy us bottles of tequila that we’d pass around and share stories from our childhoods. That first year had been a blur of late nights laughing, hangovers, boys, and forming friendships with the best girls I’d ever known. Once freshman year wasover and we were allowed to move off campus, we got a house together and lived there for the next three years.
I don’t know what I would’ve done if they hadn’t all decided to follow me to Detroit. I’d been accepted to a few law schools—Michigan State included—but I’d wanted a change of scenery. Since she was gone so much for work, Lexie had gotten her own place, telling us she hadn’t wanted to be a burden with her odd hours. Really, I think she was just ready to get rid of us, and I didn’t fault her for it.
I had reached that point, too, which is why, unbeknownst to Kimber and Amelia, I’d secretly started searching for my own apartment at the start of summer. After months and months of looking with a realtor, the perfect place became available a few weeks ago. I’d told the girls the day before I signed the lease, and next week, I was moving out at last.
I would miss Kimber and Amelia, of course, but I turned twenty-five next month, and it just seemed like time to have my own space.
Shaking my head, I pulled myself from those thoughts, focusing on the TV, where the announcers discussed how the Warriors had finished the previous season and what they expected from the team in the new one.
“The Warriors made several important off-season moves, including signing playoff call-ups Hank Ratelle and Tommy Grey to contract extensions, as well as picking up some great players on the free-agent market,” one announcer said. “But the return of some key offensive players such as Brent Jean and Cole Reid will make all the difference. And of course, Mitch Frambough and Chase Olsson will once again be leading the defense.”
“They’re talking about your boy,” Amelia said, smirking.
I pulled the pillow from behind my back and chucked it at her. Amelia ducked, narrowly avoiding spilling her glass of red wine all over the beige couch.
