It’s likely an abuse of my power, using her private information for this, but right now, I don’t give a single fuck about anything except finding out if she’s okay.
The phone rings, and rings, and fucking rings before finally going to voicemail.
“Hi! You’ve reached Maisie Delac?—”
“Goddamnit.” I fly off the mattress, raking a hand in frustration through my hair, shaking my head. “Answer the fucking phone, Maisie.”
I’m pacing around the living room when it continues to ring, already ready to lose my damn mind when I think it’s going again to voicemail, but then the line picks up.
“Hellooooo?” Followed by a drunken giggle and the faraway sound of music thumping in the background.
“Maisie,” I bark. “Where are you?”
She goes dead quiet.
So long that I pull back and look at the screen to make sure she hasn’t hung up.
“W… Wilder?”
I sigh. “Yes, Maisie. Where the fuck are you?”
In her email, she mentioned Rue Rouge. I think it’s a bar near campus, if it’s the same one I’ve heard the guys talk about, but I want to make sure it wasn’t a drunken typo.
“Why are you worried about where I am,Coach? You’ve made it preeeeetttty clear that you’re not interested, so don’t worry about where I am.”
This fucking girl. I’m going to bend her over my knee and spank the fuck out of her the first chance I get.
“Yeah, we’ll talk about that when you’re not drunk as fuck, prancing around a club with one of my players,” I growl, dragging a pair of sweatpants up my legs, reaching for the T-shirt I took off to try and sleep.
Not that it ever comes easily, but I hoped after the workout I put my body through tonight that exhaustion would take the course. For once, I’m glad it didn’t.
“Two.”
My brow pinches as I put my phone on speaker and set it on the counter. “Two what?”
“Twoof your players. Not just one.” She giggles softly, and I imagine her covering her plump little lips with her hands, the tips of her nails a pretty shade of pink, cute and girly and dainty.
Just like her.
“Oops! Sorry, I didn’t see you there,” she murmurs, the word slightly slurred, followed by the sound of scuffling and the phone hitting something hard. A moment later, she’s back. “Dropped the phone. Oh, wow, I love your shirt. Are you a baaaaaseball player?”
Jesus fucking Christ. She’s got the self-awareness of a cat.
“Maisie. Focus. Where are you right now? Who are you with?”
Suddenly, the sound of the call ending sounds through my phone’s speaker.
What the fuck.
My fingers hover over the Call button, but before I can tap the screen, there’s an incoming FaceTime.
I can count on one hand the number of times that I’ve ever used FaceTime, and all of those times were with Camila so she could show me something that Lily was doing.
Then talk shit about me because I’m too old to work the phone.
Shaking my head, I slide my fingers across to answer, and Maisie fills the screen.
Ohfuck.
