The Cheat Sheet: A Novel
The Cheat Sheet: Chapter 21

“Food fight? You actually did it?” Jamal asks, looking up from a sheet of paper I printed off with all of our line items on it. I’ve crossed out the things I’ve already tried. I put a check mark next to things that went well and an X by the ones that were a no-go. “How was it?”

I nod toward the sheet. “What do you think that X means?”

Derek slaps Jamal in the chest with the back of his hand. “Told you it wouldn’t work.”

“You have nothing to gloat about,” I say, sitting forward so I can see Derek. “Your wink tanked big time.”

Lawrence leans around Derek so he can snatch the paper out of Jamal’s hands. “Let me see this.” He runs his finger down the list, and I know what he’s hunting for. His face splits into a victorious smile when he replaces it. “I knew randomly slow dancing would work. You can trust everything that happens in The Notebook to be romantic as shit. You guys need to listen to me more often.”

“I liked you better when you were the quiet, sullen one,” Jamal says to Lawrence, tapping his fingers on the armrest primly.

Price chimes in from my left. “Why? Because he’s stealing your thunder?”

Jamal narrows his eyes with a mocking smile. “Keep it up and I’ll come over there and smudge your toenail polish.”

“Definitely not a threat I ever expected to hear in my lifetime.”

I look down at my own feet, propped up on a folded towel so my black and silver toenails can dry. Yeah, we came to a nail salon today because after Bree painted our nails for the first playoff game and we won, we got pretty superstitious about it. As long as we continue winning, we’ll continue painting. I would have asked her to paint them again today, but I also needed to brainstorm with the guys. So here we are, just five big dudes destroying stereotypes, getting our toenails painted in our team’s colors, and enjoying the hell out of ourselves. Did you know they serve champagne at these places? I’m honestly hooked. I need to bring Bree back here.

Jamal somehow wrestles the list back from Lawrence. He wants to reclaim his thunder. “Okay, so judging by this list, it’s time to step up the physical touch a notch. You’ve held hands. Touched her arm while talking.” He’s ticking these off on his fingers. “Brushed a strand of hair back from her face. Rubbed her feet…yeah, I’d say it’s time to make out a little if she seems up for it.”

Item number 20. Yes, I have them memorized. And yes, I’ve been looking forward to this one more than the rest. Mainly I’ve just been hoping I’d make it to this one without Bree shutting down on me and having to abort the whole plan. So far, all signs have pointed toward: Yeah, she’s feeling it too. I’ve never been full of so much hope. Or dread for if this all goes well and I have to tell her I’ve been working from a cheat sheet this whole time. But we can cross that bridge when we get to it.

“How though? I can’t exactly make out with her on my couch at home and use the fake relationship excuse. And we don’t have any events coming up.”

“I’ll throw a party,” Derek says from his end. “After the game tomorrow. If we win, we’ll call it a victory party. If we lose, it’s a consolation. Parties are the perfect excuse to make out. Everyone’s always slipping off to a dark corner.”

I grimace, feeling sort of gross to be premeditating a make-out with Bree. “Actually, I don’t want to plan that one. If it happens naturally, it happens. I’m not going to force it.”

Derek rolls his eyes. He thinks I’m such a prude. “Fine. But it’s still a good place to act as a springboard for a few of these other ideas.”

“You just want an excuse to party,” says Jamal with a tattletale grin.

Derek is the resident playboy/troublemaker/media magnet. He’s always getting into trouble, which is why during the regular season, I keep the guys on a short leash. There’s nothing I can actually do to stop them if they want to party, but for some reason, they look up to me. They want my approval. Which is why he has been chomping at the bit to get into a little trouble.

Derek clasps his hands below his chin like a pleading toddler. “Pllleeeasseee let me throw a party, Dad.”

“I actually think Derek is right,” Jamal says, thumping the back of his knuckle against the sheet of paper. “A party is a great place to unexpectedly short-circuit a fuse and have to light a bunch of candles.”

I look at each of the hopeful puppy dog faces lined up around me. “Fine. A small one. But you guys better not end up on the news the next morning.”

Derek is already ripping his phone from his pocket and his thumbs fly across his screen. Jamal chuckles under his breath beside me and starts reading down the list again.

“Wait—did you really get stuck in an elevator?”

I tip my shoulder. “I paid my apartment’s security guard to stop it while we were inside it.”

Jamal’s eyes glimmer. This was another one of his ideas. “And? Did you get cozy?”

“She had to pee and started obsessing about possibly having to urinate in the corner of the elevator. I texted the guard and told him to get it running again after two minutes.”

He groans. “Don’t tell Lawrence.”

It’s Sunday night, and Bree and I are on our way to Derek’s victory party. That’s right, we won the game. Only one more to win to secure a spot in the Super Bowl. More importantly, whether we win or lose this next game, the Super Bowl will still happen, which means the commercial will still air, and this fake relationship will have no reason to continue on. No reason, unless…it’s not fake anymore.

Currently, Bree is sitting in the passenger seat of my truck reading me all the outrageous DMs she’s been getting from prying fans while on our way to the party. I only have a few weeks left to convince Bree of how great we could be as a couple, and I need to attend every public event I can so I have excuses to woo her.

“…and THEN she asks if I would snap a picture of you in the shower and send it to her! Can you even believe that?! Naturally, I asked how much she’d be willing to pay for it.”

I cut her a glance, and she just laughs and continues reading. We go on like this for twenty more minutes because Derek lives in a ritzy suburban community full of mansions a little outside of Long Beach. I’m exhausted from playing earlier today and wish we were headed back to my place instead of a party where I still have to be on, but this is important. Item number 20 important. Which, I’m still not planning. Only open to the possibility should it arise.

You might be wondering if I’m nervous about tonight and the prospect of finally making out with the woman I’ve loved since I was seventeen. Nah, I’ve gone out with so many women, and—YES I’M FREAKING OUT. My palms are so sweaty I can barely turn the steering wheel. My heart is hitting my ribs so hard they’re cracking. I’m sure she can hear it. Probably thinks it sounds like I’m crinkling candy wrappers, but nope, it’s just my bones disintegrating.

I’m hoping to cross some major lines with my best friend tonight, and if she doesn’t reciprocate, if she still sees me as a brother after this, I’m throwing in the towel. I won’t force something between us, and I won’t ruin our friendship in the process. If I make a move on her and she shuts it down and runs off like she did after my cameo as Sir Strips-a-lot the other night, I’ll officially make myself get over her.

But first, I’ve got to get a grip. How am I supposed to touch her with these sweaty palms? I’ll leave greasy streaks behind on the sexy black dress she’s wearing. No, Nathan, don’t think about the dress. Don’t look at the dress. Don’t slide your gaze to the tight fabric hugging her thighs—I looked. I’ve been looking all night and it’s doing nothing to help me keep my cool. I’m so far away from cool I’m an active volcano.

“So what sort of party is this going to be?” Bree asks, a touch of nervousness tinging her voice. At least I know I’m not alone, even if our nerves are for different reasons.

“It’ll be more like a low-key get-together. Nothing big.” Derek promised me it wouldn’t be over the top, nothing that could stir up any trouble for the guys on the team.

But apparently his word means nothing, because as we pull through the security gate that leads to his property, I see what looks like hundreds of cars. It’s a freaking carnival. His mansion is lit up like the Fourth of July, colored lights shining through the windows and the pulse of music hitting me as soon as I step out of the truck.

“Orrrr maybe it’ll be a rager,” I say after coming around the truck to open the door for Bree and help her down.

Bree is dressed to kill tonight. An assassin on the run in her jet black dress. It’s tight and cuts off midway up her thighs. Curls twist and spill over one of her shoulders, and I’m in awe of her. Those wide, brown eyes stare at the scene ahead of us, and I feel her hand slowly slide into mine. Our fingers lace. I can’t help but smile when I realize her palms are a little sweaty too.

She swallows audibly. “Stay with me, please.”

I grin. “Always.”

The crowd is thick in here. The lights are low and the music is loud. Unless someone is right in front of you, it’s hard to tell who anyone is. I don’t like that.

Bree has my hand in a death grip and keeps shooting me looks that say, I don’t belong here!

I squeeze her hand. Yes you do.

“Do you want a drink?” I have to lean down and ask in her ear so she can hear. It feels more like a club in here than a home. I’m going to kill Derek.

She frantically nods yes, and her hair tickles my lips. I maneuver us into the kitchen where we replace Derek and Jamal along with the largest selection of liquor I’ve ever seen. Enough to get our whole damn team in trouble.

Jamal spots me first—whisky in hand, mid-pour into his red cup. He promptly sets it down and takes one extra-large step backward then points an accusing finger at Derek. “Told him not to.”

I swing my gaze to Derek, who is shooting a look at Jamal. “I thought you said it would be low-key.”

Derek flashes a mischievous grin and stretches his arms out side to side. “I tried, but the people overpowered me.”

Jamal laughs. “Nope. He’s lying. I saw the guest list, and he definitely invited all these people on purpose.”

I scan the party and am able to make out several of the single guys from our team. All drinking, all encircled by women I don’t recognize. Sure, they’re not really doing anything wrong yet, but the night is still young, and we have practice in the morning. My blood pressure hits the ceiling. Why are they all acting like this? Does no one else care that we’re in the playoffs? What if one of our starters gets drunk and ends up in a fight? What if the cops get called? What if that leads to a suspension? I was okay with Derek throwing a small, chill party, but this feels negligent. Downright reckless.

“We have practice in the morning, Derek. If you overserve everyone—”

“Nathan.” Bree interrupts me with a light hand to my chest. My brain registers this touch like a trigger sensor on the game Operation. My skin buzzes where her hand is resting, and I’m afraid my nose is going to light up red. I look down, and her soft smile immediately wraps around my racing heart and soothes it. “Let’s just relax for a little bit. Don’t worry about the guys. They can make their own choices and deal with their own consequences if they get into trouble. Tonight, just let yourself have fun.”

Wait, is that an option? For four years, I’ve been the level-headed guy. The one who makes sure everyone is doing exactly what they should be. I’ll admit, it’s tiring.

Bree pats my chest lightly. “Let’s grab a drink and then maybe you could show me around?”

I stare down at her wondering how in the hell she just did that. I could feel that tightness starting to grip my chest, that smothering sensation settling down on me again. An out-of-control panic was tiptoeing up to me, then one touch and a few soft words from her pulled me back to my body. I feel safe with her. My thoughts feel quieter.

Jamal hands her the drink he just made and mouths Thank you like she just saved him from a fire-breathing dragon. Derek runs away like a coward. Yeah, you better run, fool. I spot a guy over Bree’s shoulder looking her up and down and backing up again in a way I don’t like one bit. His eyes say disgusting things, and it’s natural instinct for me to bottle up my rage and clench my fist at my side, unable to do anything about it because I’m just Bree’s friend. But then I realize—we’re in public! For all intents and purposes, Bree is my girlfriend right now, and all bets are off.

I slip my hand around her waist and feel the crease of her hip against my palm. I make eye contact with the guy and make sure he knows this possessive touch is a middle finger to his face. Not tonight, buddy. Eyes off. Habit has me waiting for Bree to shoot a glare up at me for touching her like this. When I see her eyelashes lower, registering the touch, and then she cozies in closer instead of pulling away, my pulse doubles.

She finally looks up at me, and there’s something there. Something new. Something sparking and inviting, and I’m not just imagining it, right? I dare to replace out what it is.

“This is okay?” I ask.

She lifts a coy shoulder with a small grin—flirtatious. ALSO NEW! “I mean, sure. But just know that if you’re going to act possessive in public, I will too.” She goes up on her toes to kiss my jaw.

My heart stops.

In that tiny little kiss, there was a country-sized amount of meaning. The way her eyes look, the way her body feels against mine…it all adds to the implication. That small kiss was a checkered flag, and not once tonight has Bree made a single move to remind me of the friend zone. No brother, amigo, BFF, or incest references.

No, right now, her eyes have fire in them, and there’s no way I’m going to pretend it’s not there. I won’t keep moving and ignore the signs tonight. Item number 20 is underway. I’m going to harness the flames in her eyes to burn our platonic friendship to the ground.

I squeeze her hip tighter and steer us out of the kitchen. “In that case, come with me.”