I Wish You The Best

22 - Mason

"Look who finally came up to visit." Shawn's boisterous voice fills the air the second I close the door to his flashy apartment.

Since the team had successfully secured the AFC championship they had some time off before the big game. When he and Darius had texted asking if I wanted to come up and hang with them and see the rest of the team, I had wanted to say no.

I fronted that I was handling being out of work as best I could, but seeing them may just be something I wasn't ready for. Seeing the whole team thriving and doing just fine without me would send my mind into a panic. Especially after the phone call with my manager.

"Shut up dickhead." I slap the back of Shawn's neck and give Darius a quick half-hug who stands by the small bar cart. "Shawn. You make millions of dollars, why do you have the world's smallest bar cart?" Darius lifts up the different bottles in disgust. You'd think being men in their late twenties almost thirties that they'd care less about a fucking bar cart.

Not these two idiots.

"I don't care what it is, pour me something straight," I say, sitting down beside Shawn in the living room. He slaps my good shoulder to which I shove him off and lean forward.

"I'm glad you came up. I just wish you wanted to go out." He frowns like his puppy was just kicked. He's an active member of a football team who is going to the Superbowl and thinks that going out drinking is on the list of approved activities.

I wonder sometimes if he actually had a brain.

"Do you choose to be an idiot? If the coach saw you out right now you'd be benched. Done." Darius reads my mind, handing me a glass of bourbon and taking a seat across from us on a plush chair. "This is as much fun as we're having right now. After we get that big win though? I don't care about being sober ever again." I watch as Darius lifts his glass and I follow suit in a silent cheer.

It kind of feels as though I'm on the sidelines of my own life, hearing them talk about the game and winning, knowing I won't be there. At least not on the field.

"So, pretty boy." I roll my eyes at Shawn's nickname for me, one I've punched him over several times. "How's Delilah? After the bar that night, I was sure you'd be a thing now."

Delilah. I wanted to forget about our recent exchange, which Is why I found myself here.

I had to stop his wishful thinking. After last night, I was done pretending like there was hope. She gave me her answer, I had to accept that. I'd do my impossible best impression at being a friend. That's all I could get.

"Just friends. She's got a lot of shit going on with school and I'm moving back soon. It wouldn't work." I brush off the seriousness of it all with a shrug of my shoulders and a sip of my drink. "What about you Shawn? Finally settling down?" I knew the answer before he even attempted to reply. He was almost allergic to commitment, always off with someone new.

He likes to put on an act though, I think there is a lot more depth to him than he lets on.

"Absolutely not." He knocks back a shot and smiles wide. "Although watching you two be whipped by two beautiful women has forced me into reconsidering the thought." I roll my eyes.

"I'm not whipped," I say.

Both Darius and Shawn turn to me, look me dead in the eye, then look at one another and laugh. As if the world's funniest comedian was in the room, they laugh, some secret conversation going on between them that I'm unaware of.

"Both of you suck." I stand up, flipping them off before making my way to the bathroom. If they want to be assholes and think something, then so be it. I'll just have to prove them otherwise, prove myself otherwise.