Page 22 of Brick Wall

Annie

I thought Sebastian might lean in for the kiss, but nope, I’m firmly in the friend zone.

You are such a good friend.

Good job, Annie.

I really can’t read men, can I? Perhaps it’s this particular man throwing me off. This time , I really thought he liked me. I’m pathetic.

I’m going to give up thinking we have a special connection because, clearly, he doesn’t feel anything more than friendship with me.

It’s fine, really. I mean, I don’t mind being friends with Sebastian. He’s an awesome guy. I’ll have to ignore those small flutters I get when I’m around him for too long—no big deal.

I hardly see him in person anyway, and I doubt we will see each other too much soon. Both Sebastian and I are heading into a busy season .

Interestingly enough, the football season and my collegiate volleyball season start the same weekend. We have the Harvard Invitational at Harvard University the weekend after Labor Day, during which we play three different teams within forty-eight hours.

I’m busy pulling sixty-hour workweeks to prepare for the invitational and running intense practices before classes begin for my players. Okay, I’m probably pulling more like eighty hours or more, but why keep track when you are doing something you love?

The start of the season is rough, but so is the middle and end. The off-season is busy with recruitment and everything I put off when I was extra busy, so volleyball often takes up my life.

I’m sure many athletes and coaches say the same about their chosen sport.

I know Sebastian has been busy.

We’ve talked a few times through texts for the last couple of days since our hike, but not as much as we did before.

I sent him a bunch of material the next day as promised and kindly reminded him to follow up with his nutritionist and team for support, but beyond that, I haven’t initiated any more texts. He has a few times, but it’s been less frequent.

My phone pings from my desk, and I swivel in my office chair to grab it. It’s nine in the evening, and my hallway in the athletic center is quiet. I’m the only staff member still working this late.

Sebastian: I realized I’m a terrible friend. Sebastian: I never thanked you for your help .

There’s that dreaded f-word again. Friend. I ignore it and type back my response.

Annie: I’m pretty sure you did, but I’ll accept the extra thanks. Annie: How is everything going? Sebastian: Good Sebastian: I’m doing better Annie: Closer to your weight class? Sebastian: Haven’t made it yet, but I’m much closer. Annie: YAY!

I tuck away my phone and get back to drawing up plays for the upcoming tournament, trying out new formations and tactics.

Sebastian: What are you up to? Annie: Just revisiting my playbook.

Sebastian: I’d say the same, but I never look at that thing.

Annie: *sends a gif of a nun saying tsk tsk tsk * Sebastian: I’m an OL.

I don’t need to look Annie: I’m sure your coach is pleased to know this Sebastian: Are you going to tell him?

Are all coaches friends? Is there a club?

Annie: For sure. We meet on Tuesdays. Sebastian: My day off. That checks out. Annie: lol

I push my phone to the side and return to the task at hand. I don’t want to stay in the office all night, so I need to finish my tasks. Plus, I think our conversation has slowly died out, except I realize I’m wrong when I pick up my phone to find another text.

Sebastian: I’m at your favorite bar *popcorn emoji* Annie: Really? Sebastian: You should stop by.

I really, really want to. I’d like to meet Sebastian, but at the same time, I don’t want to, you know? I like him way more than he likes me, and that’s a problem.

I also have so much stuff to do. Ultimately, I say no. I’m too much of a responsible coach to go out. Also, we are friends, just friends.

Sebastian asks if I’m going to the end-of-summer party at the camp over Labor Day weekend. Labor Day weekend is hectic in the college world because all students arrive back on campus.

We also have a scrimmage against another local college that Saturday morning to help us prepare for the Harvard Invitational the following weekend. Still, the end-of-the-year party is in the evening. I’ll be late, but my brothers knew that when they picked the date for the party.

I text Sebastian back, telling him I’ll be late, but I’ll be there, and he echoes a similar sentiment.

It’ll be good to see him. I just need to make sure I avoid Ryan and that old red shed that night.

* * *

“You’re late,” Ryan says with a fake stern voice .

“I’m late every year,” I say, walking past him and heading straight to the bar.

The big brown building is decked out for the end-of-summer camp party. My family hired a rental company to supply tables, chairs, white decor, a pop-up bar setup, and more to transform our multi-use space into a functional party location.

The large room is crowded with staff, counselors, and camp sponsors.

It’s an annual event to thank everyone for a great summer with free food and drink.

The place may look extra fancy, but it’s a casual affair.

I’m wearing my favorite pair of jeans and tennis shoes.

I did exchange my polo for a cute top before I left my office earlier, so there’s that.

I also ditched the hair elastic and baseball cap tonight in favor of wearing my hair down, which doesn’t happen often.

I grab a glass of wine, find a few familiar faces, and listen to fun stories about the weeks I did not attend. It’s great to see everyone, and many of the faces here help every year, so it’s nice to catch up.

Speaking of familiar faces, how do my eyes always find his? Sebastian is moving across the room to the bar, and I find myself doing the same thing.

“Hey!” I say as Sebastian moves closer to me until we are standing next to each other at the bar.

“Hey, how’s everything going?” Sebastian questions.

“Good,” I reply. “White wine,” I say to the bartender, and I point to Sebastian to say next.

Sebastian orders a whiskey, and we step off to the side once we have our drinks in hand.

“This place cleans up good,” Sebastian says while looking around the old camp building .

“I know, right? I think my brother did it to be funny one year, but it’s become a tradition.”

I take Sebastian in, and dang, he looks good. He’s wearing an off-white henley, dark jeans, and extra-large brown dress shoes.

I wonder what size he is…

Just a friend…just a friend.

I take a step closer to him. He smells so good—a mix of cedar, citrus, and whiskey.

“How’s volleyball going?” Sebastian asks.

“Good!” I eagerly say, stepping back from his intoxicating scent, so I breathe easier.

“We had a scrimmage earlier today.”

“How’d it go?”

“Killed it,” I admit, and Sebastian fist-bumps me in response.

I love how competitive Sebastian is and how I don’t feel I need to lessen my accomplishments or hide my competitive nature from him. He’s just as competitive as I am, and I think we both like that about each other.

Sebastian has been texting me random volleyball questions over the past few weeks, and I love that he genuinely seems interested in my sport.

We started talking about my volleyball game earlier and his preseason games, but we quickly move on to other sports and topics.

Did you know there was such a sport as dog surfing? Yes, dogs on surfboards! I didn’t know either, but Sebastian promised to send me videos later, saying something about it being inappropriate to leave the party to watch dog videos instead. I disagree completely but comply.

I’m not sure how we got on the topic of obscure sports—dog surfing, ostrich racing, cheese rolling, but I’m here for it. I haven’t laughed so much in such a short amount of time spent with Sebastian.

I’m about to add something to the conversation, but two young female counselors head straight for us, but mostly Sebastian.

I barely know these two, but they engage and captivate him. They are full of energy and beauty, sharing a funny story about his apparent favorite youth football player who returned later in the summer. He has a full belly laugh—my favorite laugh—at their amusing anecdote.

Gorgeous girl number one’s hand is conveniently touching Sebastian’s arm while she’s chatting like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Maybe it is.

I’m not being engaged or noticed anymore, so I finish my wine and slowly step away—no need to torture myself with this conversation.

I open the back door of the building, which is the closest route to the sand and water. I run straight into Ryan before I can dip my toes in the sand for a moment.

“Hey!” I say automatically.

“Annie! Hey! Can you do me a favor?”

“Sure, what’s up?” I say automatically, without thinking.

“The catering company ran out of wine bottles. Do you think you can grab some more?”

“Sure, where?”

“Oh, I think some extra bottles are stashed in the storage shed.” Ryan casually points to the old red shed.

Oh, fuck no.

Does my brother truly think I’m an idiot?