Page 65 of Left-Hand Larceny

He lets the silence sit for a beat. Then: “You should text her.”

“I d-did.”

Vic lifts an eyebrow.

“A clue. Crossword,” I clarify.

He huffs. “Of course you did. Next time just ask if you can go down on her and buy her dinner. As a reward for your win. You’d probably get a better answer.”

I choke on my own spit. Trying not to expire right there on the bench.

Spags finds us just before we head out. His hoodie is backward, and he’s holding a bottle of Pedialyte like it’s a celebratory beer.

“Alright, gentlemen,” he says, “quick poll—on a scale of one to ten. How obvious is it that our goalie is in love with our trainer?”

Vic groans. “Spags.”

“I’m just saying,” Spags says, eyes on me now. “I’m pretty sure you say more words to her daily than you’ve said to me in years. Now you smirk. You used to ghost every post-practice dinner. Now you ask if Sadie’s going. And don’t think I didn’t notice the way you were looking at her during stretches the other day. Like she was a crossword clue you wanted to solve with your tongue.”

I choke again.

Not because he and Vic are wrong, but because I thought I was more subtle than that. I knew Vic was aware. But if Spags has noticed, I may as well take out a billboard.

Vic covers his face, groaning into his palms.

Spags grins. “It’s okay, man. I ship it. I’ll even officiate.”

“You’re not even old enough to drink,” Vic says, smacking the back of the younger man’s head.

“I’ve seen enough rom-coms.” The look in his eyes is pure chaos as he leans into our captain and grins. “I’ve also seen some quickie Vegas weddings. I know what love looks like.”

Vic flips him off without turning, and I use the distraction to make my escape.

It’s after midnight by the time I get home. Howl meets me at the door like he’s been waiting for hours, tail wagging so hard his whole body wobbles.

“Hey, b-boy,” I murmur, kneeling to press my face to his fur. “Missed you too.”

He licks my chin and I laugh, feeling something loosen in my chest.

We head to the kitchen. I toss him a couple of frozen blueberries and sit on the floor with my back against the cabinets. Howl curls up beside me, head in my lap. His fur is silky soft under my fingers as I scratch behind his ears.

I scroll through my phone again.

Sadie still hasn’t texted back, but the comments on my post are flooding in. Over a thousand likes already. People are excited. Encouraging. Curious.

And somewhere in that crowd, maybe… maybe she saw it. Maybe she smiled.

I open our message thread again. Okay with looking as needy as I feel. And draft another message.

Me:

6 letters. Soft and full of holes.

I send it, then I wait.

Ten minutes pass.

Twelve.

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