Page 80 of Delay of Game
“Good thing we’re not dating, then.” I raked a hand through my hair, flakes of clay drifting in front of my face. Fuck it. I’d need a shower tonight. And I was already up too late for practice in the morning.
Her eyes narrowed on mine. “And you’re completely fine with this?”
I shrugged, starting the wheel again. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“And you’re up at…” She checked her watch. “Eleven throwing mugs because you had a sudden yen to create?”
“It runs in the family.” I drove my palm into the clay, approximately centering it before moving my hand to the side of the pile.
She sighed, loud enough to hear over the whir of the wheel and the wet slapping of clay. “Okay. Don’t stay up too late.”
“I won’t,” I lied.
“It’s working,” Trent’s sing-song voice lilted in my ear, the cadence akin to a Disney princess.
“Don’t fucking do that,” I warned, batting him away. “And what are you talking about?”
“The teamwork. The camaraderie.” He splayed out his hands and widened his eyes. “It’s all coming together!”
“Those are some big words from a guy who spent more time at parties and on the football field than in class.”
“I graduated with honors, thank you very much.” He preened with enough confidence that I almost believed him. “But seriously, man, it’s clicking again.”
Despite the obnoxious way he announced it, he had a point. For the first time this season, I actually looked forward to a game. Whatever awkwardness that led to our pre-season losses seemed to melt away. We had tempo, fire, and, I hated to admit it, camaraderie. The barbecue had helped, but planning a few group activities seemed to move the team in the right direction. Or conversations revolved around what we’d do together rather than our differences on the field.
“A broken clock and all that,” I grumbled.
I pulled my phone out of my locker and checked my messages. A text from Mom, a spam call, nothing from Astrid. I jammed it into my pocket.
“We’re going out for lunch. You coming?” Trent asked.
I shook my head. “No way in hell. I don’t want to hang out with you, and besides, I have to help someone with a door frame.”
Even if Astrid hadn’t called, I wasn’t about to abandon the house project.
“At Gracie’s?” Fieste called out across the locker room.
I tensed at her name on his lips. “Yeah.”
“I’ll tag along. From what she told me last night, it sounds like a big project.” He shot me a tilted, inviting grin. Like we were buddies. Friends.
At least he didn’tknowwhat the house looked like, only heard. I clung onto that piece of information. Besides, I wanted this. I wanted him and Astrid to spend more time together. I didn’t want her to be my problem anymore. So, why did I hate it so much?
“Great,” I said through gritted teeth.
“Want to ride together?” he asked.
My stomach pitted. I exhaled, slowing my breathing and pushing the thought away. “Nah. Just follow me. I live nearby. I don’t want to leave my car at the stadium.”
Fieste nodded, his smile unfaltering. “Can do, captain. I’ll shoot Gracie a text letting her know we’ll swing by.”
“Astrid,” I corrected him under my breath, teeth gritted as I immediately regretted it. If hearing him say Gracie felt like shit, hearing Astrid might kill me.
I dressed in a hurry, forcing Fieste to abandon a shower to follow me. My meager attempts to lose him in traffic didn’t work, either.
When we pulled up in front of her house, Astrid was on the front porch. She picked up a stack of three boxes, using her hip to hold open the screen door and awkwardly maneuvering outside. Before I could open my car door, Fieste leapt to her rescue, taking the boxes in one hand and holding the screen for her in the other.
She pushed a lock of hair behind her ear, smiling shyly up at him. Great. Wonderful. My plan worked.
