Page 14 of Bump and Run

“And I found you instead and he really doesn’t want me talking to you guys.”

His eyes sparkle. “Really?”

“If he finds you talking to me, he’ll make you do laps until sundown.”

He pauses, chewing on his mouth. “Worth it.”

“Come on, Junior—”

“Who’s in here?”

Junior leans down. “Go out with me tonight and I’ll tell him you’re not here.”

My cheeks turn red, but I’m far from blushing. “Are you fucking serious?”

He grins as my father’s shoes tap against the floor.

I let out a seething sigh. “Fine.” I slink back, fearing the sound bounding towards us.

Junior winks at me and turns away, strategically holding his towel together to keep Junior junior from springing out in front of his coach.

“Hey, Coach,” I hear him say by his locker.

“Hey, Junior.”

I focus my ears, trying to pinpoint my father’s exact location in case I have to move but my heart is pounding so hard I can barely hear him. My fingers throb, the memory of what I was just touching still alive on them. I stuff them into my sweater pockets.

“Have you seen Eliza?” he asks. “Bob said she came in here…”

“Nope, haven’t seen her,” Junior says. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I was supposed to meet her for lunch today.”

“Have you tried calling her?”

Goddammit, Junior.

I reach into my bag, sifting quietly through the pockets to find my phone, unsure whether I left it silenced or not.

“I’ll try. Thanks, Junior.”

“Anytime, Coach.”

I sigh with relief as my fingers wrap around my phone and I flick the switch to silence it. One second later, it vibrates in my palm. Dad calling.

I exhale until my lungs fight for air, listening to the sound of his shoes fading off towards the door.

Junior appears over me again, his expression smug as fuck. “You’re welcome.”

“Thanks,”I murmur.

He offers me his hand to help me up but I push off the floor by myself. “Oh, come on…” he laughs. “Don’t be like that.”

I hold out my ringing phone. “Have you tried calling her?” I repeat. “I had my damn ringer on.” He snatches it out of my hand and opens my contact book. “What are you doing?”

“Adding my number for later,” he says, tapping away at the screen. Once he’s done, he passes it back. “I’ll pick you up at seven, Eliza Pierce.”

“Fine — wait, no.”

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