Page 42 of Staying Selfless

“Fuck no, she’s not,” I blurt out.

“He said that’s fine,” Cam reassures.

“Cam, I think you forgot you put me on speakerphone.”

“Fine. But you’re coming to Maddison’s birthday party, right? Neither of you have been to the house in forever, and I’m pretty sure the only way to get your boy there is if you’re there too.”

He looks up at me, seeking confirmation, and I knowingly pop my shoulders. I don’t give a fuck about my birthday, partying, or any of that shit, but if Logan is going to be there, you bet your ass the birthday boy will be there too.

“Yes,” she says, causing my smile to overtake my face once again. “I’ll be there.”

I hold up Cam’s freshly pressed shirt, showing him I’m done and silently telling him to give me my phone back.

“Logie, I gotta go. We’re going to a sorority party on Notre Dame’s campus tonight. Wish me luck!”

“Luck for what?”

Cam throws on his wrinkle-free shirt. “Getting laid,” he explains matter-of-factly.

“Oh, then the best of luck to you, my friend.”

Cam hands me my phone before giving me a wave and leaving the room.

“Eli, you can just call me tomorrow if you’re going out.”

“Fuck no. I’m not going with them.” I plop myself back on the bed, getting comfortable as I listen to Logan’s soothing voice on the other end.

“Why not? It’s okay if you want to go.”

“Because the only person I want to talk to is on the line with me right now.” She doesn’t respond, but I can just picture the satisfied smile sitting across her pretty lips. “I was never planning on going. I’ve been in my sweats since I got back to my room.”

“How did your game go?”

“It was good. We won 3-1. I scored in the second period and got an assist in the third.”

“Eli, that’s amazing,” she tells me with plenty of pride in her voice. I love how hyped she gets for my achievements, and for a California girl who didn’t know shit about hockey until we started dating, she has a fairly good grasp of the game now.

“When are you going to let me teach you how to skate?” I roll onto my side, placing the phone on the pillow next to me and, trying to pretend like she’s here in bed with me now.

“Never,” she laughs.

“Why not?”

“You know why.”

“Because you’re too competitive.”

“Exactly,” she laughs again. “I thoroughly enjoy kicking your ass in every sport we play, and there’s no way I’ll be able to if you get me on skates.”

With my luck, she’ll somehow be better than me at my own game too. She’s too athletic for her own good sometimes.

“How are you doing today?” I ask, just like I ask every night.

She usually tells me she’s doing good, and I believe her because I can hear it in her voice—that and because I make Marc check on her about ten times a day.

“I’m okay,” she says, causing me to pause.

I know at this point that Logan’s version of ‘okay’ is code for ‘not good.’

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