“Am not.”
He shakes his head. “You’ve been zapped, cut, burned—and never once lost your cool. Then she texts, and suddenly you’re sitting here grinning like a damn teenager. Pathetic, man.”
I don’t argue because he’s right.
Bayleigh: You still there?
Me: Yeah. Sorry, got distracted.
Bayleigh: Hockey?
Me: Nah. Something better. I was staring at your picture.
She sends another message before I can blink.
Bayleigh: I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or a lie.
Me: Compliment. 100%.
She doesn’t answer right away. I glance at Milton, who’s back to pretending to care about the TV.
“Hey,” he says after a minute, not looking away from the screen. “You think Korbin’s gonna blow a fuse when he finds out you’re all in with this girl?”
“Probably.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
“Not really,” I admit. “But I’m not doing anything wrong.”
“Yet,” he repeats, like it’s his favorite word tonight.
He finishes the last sip of his coffee and stands, stretching.
“I’m headed to work out before you start naming your future kids. Don’t fry the circuits, Romeo.”
“Screw you,” I call after him.
He waves a hand without looking back.
Bayleigh: I was just thinking… It’s weird. Talking to you like this should feel wrong.
Me: Does it?
Bayleigh: No, it feels easy.
My chest goes tight.
Me: Easy’s rare. Don’t question it.
She doesn’t answer for a while, and I figure that’s the end of it. I start to set the phone down, but then it lights up again.
Bayleigh: You really don’t care that I’m a Krakens fan or deaf?
Me: I could live with worse.
Bayleigh: Like what?
Me: Someone who doesn’t like wings after a game.
