I wait for him to add more, but he doesn’t, so I prompt, “And?”
“And she smells really fucking good. I should get awarded sainthood for lying next to her and keeping my hands to myself.”
I chuckle. “Go rub one out, or I won’t be able to deal with your cranky ass today.”
“Fuck off,” he gripes and slams the bathroom door.
“That’s my advice to you.”
The bathroom door opens, and he leans against the doorframe. I think he’s about to give me shit, but instead, he says, “I can’t even take her to the fucking game. I have to meet her at the seat. How stupid is that? That place is packed with idiots, and half of them are drunk by noon, but I’m sending her in alone because I don’t want anyone running their mouth about her and me.”
“I can meet her at the gate,” I offer with a shrug.
Memphis’ brows furrow. “You could,” he agrees. “Let me shower, and I’ll let her know.”
“Make it quick. Do you need your phone for material?”
I can hear him mumbling through the door, but I can’t make out what he’s saying, probably telling me to fuck off again.
By the time Memphis is out and dressed, it’s almost time to leave, and Waylynn isn’t answering her phone, which is erasing any of the chill he might have had. “Why the hell isn’t she answering or responding to my text?” He looks to me.
“Maybe she’s already there, or maybe she’s walking,” I suggest.
“Let’s just go, she might be at will call.” Memphis shoves his phone and keys into his pocket. He looks like the guy I grew up with, in faded jeans and a worn T-shirt that’s a little too small.
Once we’re out on the street, we dodge in and out of foot traffic, moving closer to the school. The line to get in is long, as usual, but this time, Memphis is anxious. Oz is supposed to play today, and he’s worried about Waylynn.
He was right about people already being shitfaced. The game starts at noon, but I would bet some of them have been drinking since they woke up. Memphis leans close to the window when we reach the front of the line. “Memphis Gravlin and Peter Bates.” He hands over our IDs. “Has Waylynn Graff picked up her ticket yet?” he asks as she slides the tickets and our identification back.
The woman behind the glass looks down briefly. “Nope, and I can’t give it to anyone else. I need a photo ID,” she tells him.
“I just wanted to know where she is,” he says but turns around in the middle of speaking so she can’t hear what he said.
We both scan the crowd, but I don’t spot her. “Try calling her again, see if she responded to your text,” I encourage. “Maybe something came up.”
He dials her number and brings his phone up to his ear. His nostrils flare before he grates out, “Hello?” There’s a short pause before he snaps, “Why didn’t you answer? Where are you?”
He covers his other ear to block out some of the noise. “What? Tell me where.”
“She’s not going to tell you anything if you bark at her like that.” I shake my head.
“No, it’s not for the best. Tell me where you are. I’ll send Bates to get you. Waylynn?” He looks down at his phone. “Fuck.”
“She decided not to come?” I ask, jogging behind him as he gets into an entrance line.
“No, she decided not to sit with us. She doesn’t want to risk getting me in trouble.” He stops dead in his tracks and turns to look at me. “You know what’s fucked up? I don’t know if I want to kiss her or fucking spank her for it.”
“Both if she’s into it.”
“Spank her!” a girl next to us yells as her friend drags her away.
“Did she tell you where she’s sitting?”
“No,” Memphis scoffs. “I’m going to put a tracker on her phone.”
“What the hell, man?” He has never been possessive. He’s always been protective of Oz and me, but this is beyond that.
“This is the same girl who invited Oz over and allowed him to invite two other people over. She’s too nice.”
