“Can you shut the fuck up?” I ask, knowing exactly where that was headed.
Jesus Christ. I never should have told these idiots about my crush on Blakely because they haven’t been able to shut up about it. They think in some miraculous fashion, if they talk about it enough, she’ll become single, and I’ll get my chance. Manifestation, they tell me. They’re all fucking morons. Blakely is not breaking up with her boyfriend.
She’s madly in love—something I’ve not only heard from the source itself but also from Penny and Winnie.
And because of that, I’ve moved on. A crush is just that, a crush. I can walk away from it . . .
At least that’s what I’m trying to convince myself.
“You have a crush?” OC asks. “On whom?”
Great, now the new guy’s involved.
Feeling the tension grow in my shoulders, I say, “Doesn’t matter. She’s—”
“Halsey!”
My name is projected from the hallway, drawing all of our attention toward the locker room entrance.
“Halsey!” The scream is shrill, practically at a pitch only dogs can hear. “Halllllllllsey!”
“What the fuck is that?” Hornsby asks.
“Is that . . . Posey?” Pacey asks just as Posey comes barreling into the locker room, looking slightly disheveled and breathing heavily.
“Halsey,” he repeats, this time out of breath.
“What the hell is going on?” Hornsby asks before I can.
Posey hangs on to the open doorway while his lungs work overtime. “It’s happened.”
“What’s happened?” Pacey asks.
Posey presses his hands to his knees while bending over. The fucker skates for a living, and he’s out of breath? That doesn’t bode well for our defense.
“Fuck, the adrenaline,” he mutters, then stands tall again. Hands on his hips, he says, “The news we’ve been waiting for.” He takes a few steps into the round locker, and with a bizarre expression of glee, he announces, “The time has come.”
We all look around at each other, trying to see if anyone understands him.
That would be a no.
“The time has come for what?” Hornsby asks, his patience wearing thin just like the rest of us.
“Stop being a nitwit and fucking tell us,” Silas says, walking up to the group. When did he get here?
Posey looks me dead in the eyes with a huge smile and says, “She’s a free woman, man.”
Silence falls over the locker room once again as we all attempt to decipher what the fuck he’s talking about. Did he eat some bad bologna?
Finally, Pacey—while pinching the bridge of his nose—says, “For the love of God, make sense.”
“I am,” Posey says in defense. “Blakely . . . she’s a free woman.”
Wait . . . what? Blakely?
Free?
As in . . .
