Page 69
I watched the message go from delivered to read, those dots moving and stopping.
C
Because I’m not in the mood to fuck tonight, okay?
Go to bed, Porter.
We’ve got a game tomorrow.
I knew we had a fucking game tomorrow—one where I’d probably only see eight minutes of ice time. I could spend time with him—not fucking—and still be plenty rested for our game tomorrow afternoon.
I was in the process of typing that out when my eye caught on a word I’d glossed over the first time around.
Porter.
He hadn’t called me by my last name in … fuck. I couldn’t even remember. I’d been Mikey or M for what felt like forever now.
Cally used last names for guys he wasn’t close with and didn’t care to be.
Not me.
Never me.
I combed back through the day in my head, trying to pinpoint the moment I must have done something to piss him off. Had he not wanted me to go out with the boys? No. He’d specifically told me I should go.
Had I said something—
Fuck.
It was the thing about his mom being a model. It had to be.
Cally had been fine before that, then suddenly he’d turned white as a sheet, his forehead shiny with sweat. I’d started to tell him that my reaction was just shock—that, for me, he was the hottest Callahan—when Nielson had interrupted us.
I sat back up, deleted the reply I’d started, and banged out a new one, my thumbs smashing against the screen.
Me
What room are you in?
C
You’re going to skate like shit tomorrow if you don’t go to sleep.
Me
I stay up way later than this all the time
Which u know, bc you’re with me
It was a cheap shot, tossing that out there like that, but he was mad at me for something that wasn’t even my fault, and he wouldn’t let me explain. If he got to be pissy, then so did I.
C
Fuck you, Mikey.
My hands were shaking, my jaw clenched so tight my goddamn back teeth hurt, as I fired off another text. I wasn’t even sure what I was saying at this point.
Me
