“Oh fuck off,” I say while laughing.
But she continues. “It was a bit of a turn-off, watching a man slowly sip a Shirley Temple with utter delight in his eyes, but I decided to give you a chance since you seemed like you needed friends . . . or rather attention.”
“It’s amazing how much this story has grown.”
“Just spitting out facts.”
“Yeah, if you want to spit out facts, why don’t we just stick to the actual truth that you attacked me with your lips out of desperation?”
She stares up at the ceiling, giving it some thought. “I think my story is better.” She hops off the stool and heads toward the entryway. “Well, thanks for the pizza and the key.” She holds up the key I gave her so she could work out here. “It’s appreciated.”
“Just wipe down when you’re done. I don’t need your sweat all over my equipment.”
“I don’t sweat,” she says while she slips her shoes on.
“Everyone sweats.”
“Not me.” She slides her backpack on and heads toward the door. “Keep me updated on what you need from me, and if I could have your schedule, that would be ideal. I’d prefer to come here when you’re not around.”
“You’re such a good girlfriend.”
“I know.” She throws up a peace sign. “See you later.” And then she takes off, just like that, without another word.
My life had order and structure a few days ago. Same place to live, same friends, same job. Now? It’s been somewhat upended.
Where the hell did Ollie Owens, the pint-sized ballbuster, even come from?
* * *
Pre-workout drinkin one hand and a protein bar in the other, I head down the hallway toward the locker room, knowing I’ll have to face the boys today.
They were dead silent last night.
Not even a text to warn me they’ll have questions today, which is even more nerve-wracking because now I have no idea what to expect.
I would have preferred the guys not find out about Ollie like that last night. I wasn’t prepared, and now I feel like I’m walking into the lion’s den as a giant piece of raw meat ready to be torn apart.
Bracing myself, I open the door to the locker room and then pause at the entrance as I spot Hornsby, Pacey, Holmes, and Posey all sitting in chairs around my locker.
Super.
Head hanging, I walk toward my locker, knowing what’s coming.
“There he is,” Pacey says. “The guy we’ve been waiting for.”
“He looks fresh. Doesn’t he look fresh, boys?” Hornsby asks.
“Very fresh,” Posey says before biting into an egg and sausage sandwich. “Fresher than ever. Don’t you think, Holmes?”
“I don’t want to be a part of this,” Holmes replies as he folds his arms across his chest.
“That’s because you don’t want us to treat you the same way when it comes to your crush,” Pacey says, pointing out the obvious. And because Holmes doesn’t ever want to engage in whatever shenanigans we have going on. He prefers to stay silent.
“Back to Taters,” Hornsby says. “I would say he is the most fresh we’ve seen in a while.”
“Can we cut it with the fresh shit?” I say as I sit at my locker. The guys waste no time closing in on me.
“So . . .” Pacey says, “care to tell us what the fuck happened last night?”
