Page 146 of Only With You

“‘Dancing Queen’?” Malik quirks an amused brow.

“Rule number three, don’t ask questions about my choice of music.” He grins from ear to ear, holding a sledgehammer.

I grab a bat from the wall and release my anger on all of the shit littering the room. All of the pent-up frustration withdraws from my body, and by the end of it all, I feel slightly better. Surprisingly, Saint’s choice of music helps ease some of the pressure in my chest.

The songs range from “Back on 74” by Jungle, “I Gotta Feeling” by the Black Eyed Peas, “The Spins” by Mac Miller, “Seven Nation Army” by The White Stripes, and many more.

Right now, “Don’t Stop Me Now” by Queen blasts through the speakers, and it really got the guys going, especially Saint. He gets sledgehammer-happy because he smashes the monitors as if they were made of paper.

But now that “Float On” by Modest Mouse plays, they all mellow out. Still, they break things, but they’re a little calmer. Bobbing their heads, they sing and swing away.

I take a break to catch my breath and finally feel myself reeling in from the depths of murky water I was drowning in.

As I take one of the water bottles Saint brought us, I pick up my phone and find a few messages from John. I almost block him, but he and everything else get pushed inside a box, long forgotten when a message pops up, followed by another.

Angel: Congrats!!!

I don’t know what she has over me. I can’t explain the exhilaration that sweeps over my body, the warmth that creeps up my neck to my cheeks, or the way my lips want to rise. I can’t describe what she makes me feel, but what I do know is that I suddenly forget what led me to be here.

Angel: Also I had no idea what was going on, so please don’t ask. I do know that you scored, and that’s as good as it’s going to get.

Angel: And they call you The Grim??? I’ve been missing out!

It’s a stupid nickname the sports analyst came up with sophomore year. They took note that I don’t smile and after I shoulder-checked someone, I apparently looked down at him like I was The Grim Reaper. It’s stupid, but it stuck.

Me: You really watched the game? I thought you hated basketball?

Angel: I’ve never understood the game and then there was you. I didn’t like you.

Me: So you like me now?

Angel: That’s a bit of a stretch. I tolerate you.

Me: You seem to do more than tolerate me when I’m fucking you.

Angel: Only because, and it pains me to admit this, but you give great orgasms.

My cheek twitches.

Me: So does this mean you’re going to come to a game?

Angel: I don’t know…there’s a lot to consider.

Me: Like?

Angel: I don’t have a jersey and I don’t understand the game.

Julianna wearing my jersey? Now that’s a fantasy I’d like to make a reality.

Me: I’ll get you one and I’ll teach you.

Angel: I’m a big fan of number 55.

I grimace.

Me: That’s Malik’s number.

Angel: I’m aware.

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