The Tex-Mex place is loud in every sense of the word. It’s a cacophony of bright yellow and orange walls, tables decorated with murals, patterned tiles on the floor, and rhythmic mariachi music pulsing through the sound system. The entire boys’ team and a few of my teammates from the girls’ team have taken over the front half of the restaurant, and we are doing our part to add to the ruckus.

“Dude, try a few drops. It’s not that hot.” I hold out the bottle of Tabasco sauce, but Chris pushes it away.

“I’d need a whole pitcher of Mountain Dew to use that stuff.”

I roll my eyes as I shake the sauce onto my taco salad. “Wimp. Wimp, wimp, wimp.”

Chris takes a bite of his extra mild chicken burrito. “Guilty as charged,” he mumbles, mostly to himself.

“Come on.” I tilt the bottle over a slice of his chicken. “One drop. You might like it.”

He looks doubtful, but he relents. “One drop.”

By now our whole table is watching. Massey leans in and slaps him on the back. “You got this, bro. You can do it.”

Chris pushes him away. “Shut up.” He nibbles at the chicken and nods. “Not bad.”

He tries to play it cool, but I notice his hand reaching for his Dew and can’t help but smile. He’s adorable, even when he is being a wimp. “Well done.” I give him a high five and wave off the onlookers. “Excitement’s over, folks. Nothing more to see here.”

“I’d say the excitement’s just getting started.” Jerod Wilkins appears at the front door. Jerod plays center for Pine Bridge, one of our rival schools from back home. He, Chris, and I hung out together last summer at basketball camp.

“Hey, man, how’s it going?” Chris stands and gives him a bro hug. “How was your game?”

Jerod pulls up a chair from the next table, swivels it around, and sits down next to me. “Close, but we pulled it out. You?”

Chris shrugs. “We lost. Bad.”

“Chris lit it up, though,” I pipe in. “Nine baskets and four assists. And a bunch of scouts were there to see it.”

Jerod turns toward me. “Speaking of great games, that shot you took at the halftime buzzer was sick.”

“You saw that?”

“Wouldn’t have missed it.”

I raise one eyebrow at Chris and give Jerod my sweetest smile. “Thank you. I appreciate that. I really do.”

“I tried to track you down afterward, but you left.” Jerod is staring at me with his big dark eyes. He stared like that sometimes at basketball camp, but I never thought much of it. I just assumed he was an intense guy.

“Sorry I missed you.”

“Yeah. It’s been a while.” He takes a lock of my hair and lets it fall through his fingers. “Your hair’s gotten long. I don’t think I’ve ever seen it down before. Looks good on you.”

My face grows warm. “Thanks.” I glance over to see whether Chris has taken notice of Jerod’s obvious flirting, but he’s guzzling down his drink.

“So where’d you disappear to?” Jerod asks.

I shift in my chair. “I, um, wasn’t feeling well. A stomach thing.”

Jerod glances at my taco salad smothered with Tabasco sauce. Ugh. Fortunately, I don’t have to explain, because, at that moment, the already impressive decibel level in the restaurant practically doubles. The cheer squad has arrived. Apparently “girl’s night out” means, “put on a bunch of makeup and semi-revealing outfits and find the guys.”

I expect Lindsay to make a beeline toward Chris, but she barely even acknowledges him as she takes a seat two tables away.

For the rest of the evening, I split my attention between listening to Chris and Jerod break down the tournament scouting action and keeping tabs on the number of times Lindsay checks out our table, which isn’t that many. Maybe I was wrong about her liking Chris, or maybe she has a short attention span when it comes to guys. Or maybe she’s playing hard to get. How many times have I advised my clients not to initiate contact?

Abi is sitting next to Lindsay, and she seems miserable, probably because two of the other cheerleaders are hanging all over Briggs. For two seemingly simple people, Abi and Briggs have a very complicated relationship. I want to go over there and smack him upside the head. This is exactly the kind of stuff he cannot afford to pull if he wants to get back together with her.

When the waitress finally brings our checks, Jerod throws some cash on the table and stands to leave. He leans down and puts his hand on the back of my chair. “Catch you later, Lexi. Or maybe sooner?” He walks away without waiting for an answer. Thank goodness. I have no idea what to say to that.

I glance over for Chris’s reaction, but he’s studying his check, frowning as though he’s trying to calculate the square root of Pi rather than a simple twenty percent tip. I sigh. It felt nice to have someone flirt with me, but it would have been even nicer to see a hint of jealousy from across the table.

As I count out my share of the bill, Briggs plants himself in Jerod’s chair. He’s grinning from ear to ear and practically bouncing in his seat. “So was that the dude?” he asks.

“Was who what dude?”

“The dude who just left. Was he the Boyfriend Whisperer dude?”

“What?” Chris finally looks up from his check.

Briggs slaps the table. “You haven’t heard? Lexi hired the Boyfriend Whisperer. That was the dude, wasn’t it?”

“Shut up.” The Tabasco sauce is burning up my stomach, my throat, my face. “Don’t listen to him. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

“It’s true. I saw her hand Abi an env—”

“I said, shut it!” I clap my hand over his mouth. “Mind your own business, Briggsy.”

“It’s cool.” Chris folds the check in half. “Jerod seems like a good guy. If you want to go out with him—”

“Omigod. I do not want to go out with him. Briggs doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

But Chris isn’t listening. He’s folding his check up smaller and smaller—into quarters, eighths, sixteenths. “I mean, personally, I don’t think you need some stupid Boyfriend Whisperer to make it happen, but if that’s what you want to do, why shouldn’t you? He’s—”

“Enough.” I grab the check away from him, and Chris finally shuts up. “You really think I should go out with Jerod?”

He shrugs. “If that’s what you want.”

“Because it did seem like he was flirting with me.”

“Oh, he was.” Chris imitates Jerod’s smooth voice. “Nice halftime shot. Love your hair. Catch you sooner, babe.”

So he was paying attention. He heard every word Jerod said to me. The bad news is, none of it made him jealous.

“Well, then. Maybe I’ll text him when we get back home.”

Chris looks away. “You should. Nothing’s stopping you.”

I slap his check back down onto the table. “Good to know.”