“Sure thing, bud.” Jordan went into the dressing room and came back with my phone.
I called Mom and let her know I was alright. Mom sounded like she'd been crying. Watching my games can be hard on her.
“I'm fine,Mom, alright? Don't worry. I'll talk to you later. I gotta get back into the game. Love you. Bye.”
I hung up, and then my phone buzzed with a text. I opened it—it was from Camille.
“Oh my god, please don't actually die! I didn't mean it! I'm so worried about you … please tell me you're going to be okay!”
I cracked a smile—what, did she actually care about me now?—and texted her back.
“Hi. Not dead yet. Sorry to disappoint you.”
I could practically hear the sigh of relief when I read her reply.
“Fuck! Why do you have to scare me like that???”
“Next time I take a brutal cheapshot from behind, I promise I'll give you advance warning.”
“Ha-ha. Very funny.”
“I'm surprised you're pretending to care.”
“Shutup. I do care, dick.”
Reading that text gave me a smile.
But the next one she sent brought a frown.
“P.S. You play like a goon now. You used to be a goal-scorer. What happened?”
“I dunno,” I answered, groaning.
“Well hurry up and come back and score a goal, idiot! Your team needs one to tie it. I was rooting against you, but after these NYC jerks cheered when you got hurt, I'm on your side. Fuck these assholes.”
I grinned and fired off another text. “Sweeten the pot.”
“Excuse me?”
“If I come back and score a goal? I get to treat you to dinner after the game.”
Up until I proposed that idea, we'd traded back-and-forth texts in rapid-fire fashion. But now, minutes rolled off the clock without an answer from her. I wondered if I'd gone too far and now she was giving me the cold shoulder.
Hm.
But then, finally, my phone buzzed again.
“Really, Beau? Is that really what you want?”
“Hell yeah it is.”
“Fine. Get back here, score a goal, and you've got a deal. P.S. I'm only agreeing because I know you can't score goals anymore.”
My nostrils flared. Iknewshe was only trying to light a fire under my ass, but goddamn—she sure knew how to press my buttons.
“Better start thinking about what you wanna do after we eat,” I texted her back. “Because now I'm scoring two.”
I set my phone aside and yelled at Jordan. “Where the hell is this concussion guy at?!”
