Page 80 of Don't Puck the Wrong Brother

"Nope," Miller grins. "This is quality entertainment."

"Fine." I grab my phone, oddly nervous as I type out a message to Hannah. "What should I say?"

"Dick pic," Miller suggests immediately.

"Absolutely not," I snap, appalled. "I'm not an animal."

"'Hey beautiful, thinking about you,'" Rodriguez offers in a falsetto voice.

"Too cheesy," Peterson says. "Keep it casual. 'What's up?'"

"That's too casual," Miller argues. "You've already had your tongue down her throat. 'What's up' is for acquaintances."

I ignore them all and type what feels right. "I'm asking if she wants to get dinner tonight."

"Bold," Peterson approves. "Direct. I like it."

I hit send before I can overthink it.Finished with practice. Dinner tonight?

The guys crowd around as if we're watching the final seconds of a tied championship game. My phone sits silent on the bench between us.

"Maybe she's in class," Cory suggests after thirty seconds of nothing.

"Or she's playing hard to get," Rodriguez adds.

"Or she's just not that into you," Peterson says, earning a collective groan.

"Helpful, Pete. Real helpful," I mutter. "Hasn’t even been a minute."

"Yeah, but everybody is glued to their fucking phones like addicts these days. She’s definitely read it by now."

We wait another minute, and the guys start to give up.

Finally, my phone buzzes. Five grown men lunge for it like it's the last beer at a party.

"I got it!" Miller shouts triumphantly, holding my phone aloft. He reads the message out loud: "Maybe. Depends on if I get through this study group on time."

"Maybe?" Peterson scoffs. "What kind of answer is maybe?"

"The kind that leaves her options open," Miller says. "She's hedging her bets."

"Or she genuinely doesn't know if she'll be free," I point out. "She's a serious student. Unlike some people I could mention." I look pointedly at Cory, who scraped by last semester with a 2.1 GPA.

"Hey, C's get degrees," he says defensively.

"What do I say back?" I ask, taking my phone from Miller before he can start scrolling through my messages.

"Tell her you'll wait for her however long it takes," Rodriguez suggests dramatically. "That you'll be there when she's ready, even if it's midnight."

"Jesus, Rod, he's asking her to dinner, not trying to hook up," Miller laughs.

"How about, 'I'll pick you up at 8, wear something nice'?" Cory suggests. "Women like decisive men."

"Hannah isn't 'women,'" I say. "She's Hannah. She'd probably attack me if I tried to tell her what to wear."

"Okay," Peterson concedes. "How about just, 'Let me know when you're done, and we can figure it out'?"

I nod, typing the message. "That works. Casual but interested."

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