“What time is it?” she asks.
“Time for bed,” I answer as she closes her eyes again. “Come on, sleepyhead, you better crawl into bed so you don’t spend all night on the couch.”
“I will in a minute,” she says, her words all running together as she falls right back asleep. I let her hang on to me like a koala for about twenty more minutes before waking her again. “C’mon, Mel, you ready for bed?”
“Yep,” she answers without even opening her eyes.
As much as I’d love to be her personal mattress, I’ve got practice in the morning and I have to get going. So, I do the only thing I can think of: I scoop Mel into my arms and walk into her bedroom, laying her down in the center of her bed.I tuck her in as quietly and gently as possible. She looks so sweet and peaceful, lying there against awall of pillows. I lean down to press a kiss on her forehead before grabbing my stuff, locking up, and heading home. I’m halfway down her steps when it occurs to me that I left this same apartment just over two weeks ago, in a very different way. Last time, I was still half-drunk and fighting off a wicked hangover. This time, I’m tucking my (fake) girlfriend into bed and ending the night with a chaste kiss. Things in my life are definitely looking up.
27
Will
Coach has us running drills constantly. He says muscle memory makes us better players. He’s right, as long as it doesn’t kill us. Truthfully, I don’t mind tough practices. I’d rather get my ass kicked by Coach than the opposing team.And if we keep playing the way we have been, it could be one hell of an awesome season. After drills, we scrimmage for a bit before Coach blows the whistle and calls it a day.
We head into the locker room to shower, and Ollie’s talking the whole time. This guy doesn’t stop. He’s got more energy than anyone I’ve ever met, including me, and that’s saying something.
“So, what are we doing after?” he asks. “I’ve got energy to burn.” He’s standing at his locker, bare-ass naked, combing his hair in the mirror, and whining about the lack of nightlife at Bainbridge.
“Wolfie’s, same as every other Tuesday,” Van answers.
“Nah—that’s predictable.”
“Nothing wrong with predictable,” Van says, shrugging into a shirt.
“The fuck there’s not. I’m bored,” Ollie complains, drawing the word out so it’s got about ten syllables.
Santos shuts his locker. “You guys have fun wherever you’re going, but I’ve got a paper for Anthropology that’s sure as shit not gonna write itself.”
“I’m out, too,” Booker says, following Santos to the double doors.
“You got a hot phone sex date with your guy?” Ollie asks.
Booker turns around and shakes his head. “Sadly, no. Dinner with my mom and sisters, though, so that’ll be good.”
Ollie grabs a shirt from his locker and slips it over his head. “Dude, your sister’s hot. Can I come?”
Booker levels him with a look. “No.”
“What, you don’t trust me?”
“No,” Booker repeats, and we all laugh. Ollie’s a lot of things, and a hot freaking mess is one of them. Yeah, I have no dating experience, which is definitely a problem, but Ollie has tons. If even half the stories I’ve heard are true, that guy’s more of a legend than most rock stars.
“You guys are no fun anymore,” he complains. “There’s a bar in Westfield that’s got a live band tonight. One of the freshmen can drive my car ‘cause I will not be sober in an hour. Who’s in?”
“I’ll go,” Dean-o says, catching the keys that Ollie tosses his way.
“Hey, Norris,” Ollie turns his attention to our goalie. “You comin’ out tonight?”
“Not tonight,” he answers, barely looking up from his phone. He’s been glued to that thing lately.
“The hell?” Ollie scoffs. “What the fuck else do you have to do on a Tuesday night?”
Norris taps out a message on his phone before sparing us a glance. “I’m gonna study,” he says absently, and I’d bet my new Bauers that’s a lie. Norris has a girl, no doubt, but I have no clue who she is, and he’s not giving up any details.
“Come on, you guys won’t leave me hangin’, right?” Ollie asks, turning toward me and a couple of the other guys.
“Count me in,” Mikalski says.
