Peaches
Is that not the term for what he was doing in last night’s game?
Me
You watched it?
Peaches
My dad likes college sports. Don’t get me started on the golf we suffered through during commercials.
Me
I’ll tell him congrats on the goal.
Peaches
That’s not what I said.
Me
I know what you read, Peaches. What you’re writing. I will not comment on anyone’s stick handling.
I’ve been texting with Savannah off and on during the holidays, but a lot more consistently now the team is in Florida. I’m arguably busier now than I was at home, but at home there was a chance that I’d ask her to come over, or invite myself to her place, which was not Friends with Benefits, or casual hookup behavior. It was two weeks. Even less. I could definitely wait until she was back. Still, texting while a plane ride away feels safer.
The dots in her grey bubble appear and disappear so many times over the next few minutes that I’m about to restart my phone when her text finally comes through.
Peaches
Not even mine?
Fuck me. This was why I couldn’t text her late at night when we were only an hour away from each other.
Me
Want to hit the rink when I get back? We can find pucks and sticks and I’ll teach you how to score.
I can’t even tell if I’m using innuendos or want her to take it straight.
Peaches
Cool. We can invite Izzie.
And Owen.
I look across the lobby, where Owen is currently chatting with his brothers and his dad, who all came to watch him, and feel an irrational tinge of jealousy.
Me
He’s got his hands busy now, but I’ll be sure to ask later.
I want to call her. To hear her voice. FaceTime so I can see her, but texting is safer. Though I am hiding from the guys who want to be my wingmen, and the girls who don’t seem to care in the least about school loyalty.
Me
Any news on your submission?
Peaches
