Page 67 of Boyfriend
I get us each a beer. And then the living room erupts in shouting and confusion.
Hmm.
“You’d better go see what just happened,” Abbi says. She gives me a little push on the hip. “Sounds like a bad call from the ref.”
“Right back,” I tell her.
“Take your time. I got this.”
As I head for the living room, I glance back at Abbi. She’s humming to herself and stirring the pecans. She looks happy.
I feel pretty damn happy, too. I’ve got hockey and beer and the sweet scent of cake. And—even better—I’ve got more of Abbi’s kisses coming at me later. I can’t wait to drag her up to my lair and show her how much I’ve missed her.
“What do you look so happy about?” Tate asks on a growl when I arrive at his side. “The ref just gave this game away.”
“Look on the bright side,” I point out. “At least he didn’t just give our game away.”
“I guess,” he grumbles. “There’s still ten minutes in the period. We can rebuild it.”
Due to an unfortunate glance at my news feed this morning, I already know that we didn’t, in fact, rebuild it. But I’ll keep my trap shut, and I cock my hip against the doorway and watch Boston fight for it anyway.
I’m cheering on the goalkeeper when the front door opens and a familiar face appears.
“Hey guys!” It’s Amy, a teammate’s little sister. She goes to Champlain College—which is the other college in Burlington. And every so often she swings by with a friend or two. In fact, last time that happened I hooked up with—
Uh-oh. After Amy clears the door, another face appears. Her friend is cute and bubbly. I remember we had a good time together. But it was only the one time, of course. But now her gaze locks onto mine, and there's a fire in her eye that spells trouble.
And here I’d thought that a non-Moo-U student was a winning hookup choice. I’d assumed the odds of us coming face-to-face again were pretty low. Not low enough, as it turns out. She tosses her coat onto a hook and makes a beeline for me.
Oh shit.
Even though I’m always up-front with my hookups, this happens once in a while. I make my little speech the same way every time, before any clothes come off. So, listen, I'm not in a position to start anything serious. But if you’re up for one night of fun, I'm your guy.
Not everyone's hearing is great, I suppose.
“Weston, hey! It's been a while,” she says. She holds out her arms, as if expecting me to kiss her hello.
I don’t, though. Instead, I stand up a little straighter and give her a smile that’s friendly but not encouraging. “How’ve you been…” It takes me a second to pull her name from my memory. “Kerry?”
“Cara,” she says quickly.
Shit. “Cara, God. Sorry. Well it's been a while.”
“Yeah. No kidding.”
I see my buddy Tate start to smile at me from a couple yards away. He can sense my distress. But does he come over here and rescue me?
Nope. No such luck.
Cara moves closer. She puts a hand on my chest. “Anyway, I thought I'd hitch a ride with Savannah and see if you were up for hanging out tonight.”
Tate hides his mocking grin behind his beer, and I want to slug my teammate. Because, Christ, this is a train wreck. "Uh, Cara, the thing is…” And then I come screeching to a halt, because this isn’t a speech l've made before. There's someone else. That sounds like a line from a drama.
I'm still choosing my words when Abbi materializes at my side. "Cake's out of the oven!" she says brightly.
"Oh, awesome!" I slide an arm around her automatically—the same way I've done a half dozen times already tonight.
But Cara goes rigid. And her face turns red so fast that someone should probably call the fire department.
