The pressure of preseason, our firstloss, and the fact that I can’t seem to get Casey out of my head…yeah, I’m a miserable motherfucker.
I grunt some kind of response as I stare up at the ceiling.
If it weren’t so late, I’d video call Sutton. But she will have been in bed long ago. With any luck, she fell asleep before the end of the game, but it’s wishful thinking. I fucking hate being lured into something on the ice that she shouldn’t be witness to.
“It’s because you got laid,” Linc surmises as he pushes from the wall. He stalks around his bed before sitting on the edge and leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, studying me.
“We’re not talking about this,” I mutter.
“You might not be, but I am.”
Squeezing my eyes closed, I fight to keep my breathing even.
“Probably a stupid question, but…have you seen her again?”
“Who?” I ask, keeping my eyes closed.
His laugh booms around me, but there isn’t a lot of humor in it.
“You’re funny.”
No, I’m not.
I’m pissed, and I want to be at home.
“Are you going to see her again?”
Cracking one eye open, I glare at him as hard as I can praying he gets the message and fucks off.
He should be at the bar already, hitting on women. If I’m lucky, he’ll find one to spend the night with and leave me the hell alone.
“Dude, come on. Give me something here,” he begs. “I just want to see you happy. And that night…you were happy. Hell, I’m pretty sure I actually saw you smile.”
“Fuck off; I smile.”
“You grimace at best.”
Forcing my cheeks up, I smile at him.
“Grimace. You look about as happy as someone who’s just been told their grandmother’s died.”
“Can you just…leave?”
“Nope. Not unless you’re coming with me.”
“I’m not?—”
“You need to blow off some steam. Let go of…whatever is weighing you down.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re a liar,” he counters. “Come for a drink.”
I don’t know why he’s asking; I hardly ever go out with them, even when we are on the road.
“Linc,” I warn.
“One drink, just one, and then you can come back here and cry into your pillow.”
