Page 28 of The Alternate Captain
“All I’m saying is, he can do whatever the hell he likes to me.” And I don’t know if it’s disgust or shock, but my mouth hangs open when Tom pulls his phone out and flashes me his new lock screen. “Look at him, Kel. He’s beautiful.”
He is.
In fact, looking at him makes my whole body ache. He won the gene pool lottery for sure. It’s a pity he’s not got the shining personality to match—not like...
“It’s not all about looks. From what I know, he’s not a very nice person. He’s always shouting at the guys, constantly angry about something.”
“And how do you know this?” Tom says indignantly.
“It’s just what I’ve picked up on.” It’s half a lie. Obviously, he didn’t make a good impression when I overheard him last Monday morning when I was on Mike’s sofa, but when I saw Mike on Monday evening, he seemed unsettled by the encounter earlier in the day. I outright asked him if it was because of Johnny, and he shrugged, dismissing my question.
“Well, I don’t buy it. He looks too sweet. Anyway, do you fancy another, or are you ready to call it a night?”
“Let’s go. I just need to use the bathroom first.”
I excuse myself, and when I return to our seats, Tom is in a deep conversation with two other fans but signals that we’re leaving when he spots me.
“So, I’ve done some recon and everyone loves Johnny. Told you. I’m right.” We link arms and start the walk back to our hotel.
“I didn’t say that everyone didn’t love him. I just said that he’s not a nice person. That’s different.”
“How is it?”
“It just is. Now leave it,” I snap.
Tom comes to an abrupt halt, causing me to stumble a little to regain my footing. “Why are you being a bitch?”
“I’m not.”
“You bloody are. Now tell me what’s going on.”
I frown at him. “Nothing. Well, not really, anyway.” I think I have to come clean and tell Tom why I’m so uppity towards Johnny. He won’t let it rest otherwise. “Okay, fine. But let me finish before you butt in with your opinion.”
“Agreed,” Tom says, pulling me back into a walking pace. It’s chilly, and neither of us wants to be standing outside in the cold.
“I was talking to someone on that app you put me on to. Three months, altogether. He said his name was John, and that he was a mature student. He sent me some pictures, and I sent pictures...”
“Oh my God. What sort of pictures?”
“Nothing like that. Just selfies or whatever. But he used Johnny Koenig’s pictures. And—”
“Oh, my God. You were talking to Johnny? My Johnny? What happened?” Tom comes to a stop again, turning towards me with his jaw on the floor.
“You said you’d let me finish,” I say. “But, no. I was catfished.”
Tom’s eyes are like saucers. “How do you know?”
“I just do,” I say, tugging at his arm, prompting him to walk again.
“You have the worst luck. How did you find out?” I tell him about the huge Johnny Koenig action shot in the upper lobby of the rink. “Right. And what does that prove?”
“I’m sorry, but the likelihood of the real Johnny Koenig being on a social sharing app to meet new people is wild. You’ve said so yourself—look at him.”
“Yeah, but he could be. Did you ask him?”
“No. I deleted my account,” I say.
“Without asking him?”
