She stares at the wall and nods before throwing her arms up in the air. “Great, I just hurt the ankle of our number-one player, ruining the chances of the Agitators winning the Stanley Cup.Great.” She leans against the wall and slides down it until she’s sitting.
Her hands cover her eyes and I’m unsure if she’s going to cry or if she’s going to scream, but to avoid both, I say, “You think I’m the number-one player on the team?”
“Holmes, I’ve been with you guys for a year. A fan for years before that. Of course I know you are.” She holds her hand up to me. “And I just jumped on your back without thinking about the consequences!” My ankle throbs, but I’m also riding a small high here.Blakely thinks I’m the best on the Agitators.
“Blakely. Look at me.”
“I can’t,” she says through her hands, which has muffled her voice. I chuckle. I can’t help it. She’s adorable.
I sit up and pull her hands off her face.
“There she is.” I lift her chin and find watery eyes staring back at me. “Blakely, I’ve rolled this ankle a million times. I’ve played with worse. I just need to see my trainer.”
“Your trainer. Of course. I need to get you to your trainer. I’ll drive you there. Come on, Holmes. Hop up, and I’ll take you. Oh, but you can’t hop up. Well, you might be able to hop, but not all the way to the arena—”
“Blakely?” She finally takes a breath and squints at me.
“Yes, Halsey?”
“There are crutches in the front hallway closet. You grab those, and I’m going to text my trainer to meet me at the arena.”
“Right, on it.” She bolts out of the room, and I pull my phone out of my pocket and text Grace, our trainer.
Make sloppy joes, she said. They’re easy, she said.But no, it’s easier for me to make a fool of myself than cook a simple dinner.
This was not what was supposed to happen . . . you dumbass.
Blakely driveslike she has precious cargo in the car. She refuses to go above the speed limit, and she asks if I’m okay every few seconds.
“Yes . . . I’m fine. Seriously, you don’t have to keep asking,” I say as my phone buzzes with a text.
Penny:How’s it going? I’m dying to know. Do we hear wedding bells?
I roll my eyes. If only she fucking knew.
Posey:How were the sloppy joes? I tried the recipe because I was curious. Really enjoyed the added onions.
Silas:Ha! I made them too. Fucking delicious.
OC:Is it weird that I cooked them as well, but only because I want to get on Penny’s good side?
Penny:Very smart, new guy. Very smart.
Knowing we have at least ten more minutes until we reach the arena by the way Blakely is driving, I text them back.
Halsey:Burned the fuck out of the sloppy joes because I was wrestling a mattress. I rolled my ankle, so we’re currently on the way to the arena to meet with Grace. I ended up popping the air mattress with scissors.
Silas:**BLINKS**
Posey:Uh . . . I don’t think that’s what we planned.
OC:Wait, so you’re hurt?
Pacey:Fuck, dude!
Halsey:Yeah, I’m hurt, and dinner was roasted.
Penny:This.
