Page 32 of Trick Shot
When Ollie points in my direction, I take a deep breath. “Ma’s tests came back inconclusive,” I say, knowing these guys will take the news as hard as I did. “On one hand, her counts aren’t scary low like they were. But something’s not right and the docs aren’t sure what it is. So, I’m running her back this week to be a pin cushion. She’s tough as hell, I’ll say that much.”
Just like I figured, the guys are solemn. Yeah, they’re crazy and foul-mouthed most of the time, but they’re the best guys I know, and they can be serious when the situation calls for it. Proving my point, Rosco raises his bottle.
“To Mama Santos, may she keep kicking ass.”
Ollie and Deano join in, and Mickey pokes his head in the doorway and lifts his bottle, too.
“Okay, so no winners on that round because you can’t win at losing. Last one…best part of holiday break. I’ll go first. Getting kicked out of the bar sucked, but hooking up with the bartender before I got booted was pretty fucking hot.”
Rosco shoots a look at Ollie. “I thought we were keeping this PG? If anything goes, then, I second your answer. The best part of my holiday break was the sex.”
“God bless mistletoe,” Deano says, grabbing another slice. “I third that answer,”
Ollie points finger-guns in my direction “Santos,” he says, drawing out my last name. “What was the best part of your break?”
They all turn to me and I’m grateful for the beard I’ve been able to grow since I was about thirteen. Otherwise, they’d see that my entire face is red. “It’s hard to say,” I hedge. “Had a lot of fun times. It was a really, really good break.”
“The fuck?” Ollie’s eyes are wide. “Pete Santos, you dirty dog. Who were you having the sex with?”
“Dude, you can’t just ask people who they’re fucking,” Deano scolds.
Ollie’s jaw hangs open. “Hold up, are you giving me manners advice? You were ten minutes late to my dinner party.”
“Dinner party?” Deano volleys back. “Are you sixty? And let me remind you again that all you did was order pizza.”
“You’re forgetting the chips,” Ollie reminds him, holding up his wounded middle finger, because of course that’s the one that was injured while he was performing the perilous chore of opening snack bags.
While they continue to bitch at each other, I notice Rosco’s eyes on me.
“What?” I ask, taking a sip of beer.
“You winced,” he says, like he’s got a witness on cross examination.
“What are you talking about?” I answer, playing dumb and hoping he skips to another line of questioning. Rosco’s headed to law school next year, and I have no doubt he’ll fit right in.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” he says, calling me out and nailing it. “Ollie brought Mickey up to speed and explained that Holland’s cookies were safe to eat. And in response to Mickey’s comment that Holl hates me as much as Claire hates you, Ollie claimed that would be impossible. And it would be. Holland doesn’t hate me, not in the least,” he says, reclining in his chair. “And something tells me Claire doesn’t hate you as much as she pretends to.”
“I’m pretty lovable,” I toss out, grabbing a cookie from the tray Holland made.
“That lottery is damn tough to win,” Rosco says, “especially if you’re not an athlete. But Claire got lucky. She earned a spot on the coveted marine bio trip. The same one you were on. Did you happen to run into each other while you were there?”
“Did Holland say something?” I ask, sounding desperate because that’s what I fucking am. I got back into town yesterday, and though Claire made it clear our enemies-with-benefits arrangement was temporary, I’ve been checking my phone like a fool to see if she messaged me.
She hasn’t.
It’s not surprising. She’s never been anything but straightforward with me, so I’m not sure what the hell I was expecting. That must be why I’m nearly frothing at the mouth to find out if Holland dropped any hints about Claire’s time in Florida.
“What would Holland say?” he asks, bringing me backto reality and sounding just like the lawyer he’s aspiring to be.
Fuck all this pretense. I have nothing to hide and nothing to be ashamed of. And Rosco knows something, that much is clear. I’m not sure if Holland tipped him off or if he’s just that good at picking up clues, but I’m not fooling him, so I’m done trying.
“Anything,” I answer. “Did she say anything at all about me? Or about Claire and me and what happened on the trip?”
This house has been a hive of activity all night. Between the weird noises upstairs, Mickey ranting and pacing in the front room, and Deano and Ollie bickering like an old married couple, I figured it was noisy enough to drown out any juicy bits of the conversation I’m having with Rosco.
Turns out I was wrong. Because, of course, the whole place went eerily silent the moment I asked Rosco what he knew about what happened between Claire and me when we were in Florida.
If Ollie was surprised to find out that sex was the highlight of my holiday break, he’s damn near poleaxed to discover that I was having it with Claire.
