“Who?”
“Don’t fucking ‘who?’ me, Pitstop. Oliver, your brother. What’s his fucking number?”
She shakes her head so I shoot off a text to the twins, surely one of them would know someone, who knows someone, who could locate his number in a hot minute.
We stand staring at each other, except it’s more like glaring.
“It won’t count. You’re just saying sorry because I told you to, not because you mean it.”
I wag my finger at her as contact information for Oliver Lindstrom appears on my screen. “No. You can’t keep moving the goal posts.” I press the number, the call button, and the speaker button.
It rings twice before someone picks up and grunts “Hello?”
“Oliver?”
“Yeah? Who’s this?”
Penelope parts her lips like she’s going to say something but I’m not letting her, so I clamp a hand over her wide-open mouth.
“It’s Tate. Tate Myers.”
Silence.
“I wanted to say sorry about earlier, man. On the ice. It was a careless accident, I should have controlled my stick better, and I’m sorry.”
More silence. Penelope’s mouth turns into a fucking smirk under my palm, and I roll my eyes.
Oliver clears his throat. “This is weird.”
He’s right, itisweird. Hockey players don’t typically run around calling people they hit during a hockey game, not unless it’s really fucking bad. But in this instance, I’m trying to date his sister, so I’ll jump through any hoops she might hold up for me.
“It is. I just... I dunno, I felt like I should apologize.”
Penelope purses her lips together behind my hand, and her shoulders shake with silent laughter.
I shake my head, rolling my eyes because this is painful as shit. “Anyway, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, and it was an accident.”
“O...kay. Apology accepted.”
“Cool.”
There’s another pregnant pause on the line.
“Dude. Are you trying to ask me out?”
Penelope cracks up under my hand, thankfully she doesn’t make much noise.
“No, I was just... forget it. I said sorry. I’ll see you around.” I hang up before he can answer again, and when I remove my hand from Pitstop’s face, she shakes her head at me.
“I can’t believe you did that, it was so cringe.”
“You told me to say sorry, so I said sorry.” I move in to kiss her, and her palm meets my face, again.
“No.”
“What the fuck do you mean no? Unless you’ve changed, you’re all about consent and respect and?—”
I kick the door closed behind her, making her jump. Her chest rises and falls faster and faster, and when her back hits the door, a small ‘meep’ escapes her.
