Page 70 of Delay of Game
“What? Am I not supposed to call?” Rob’s gruff voice vibrated over the line.
“You can call. But I’m used to your one-word texts.” I laughed as I set down my plate.
“I send more than one word.”
“Don’t lie. I like them. They’re like little manifestos: Five. Tonight. Drywall.” I settled onto the couch, abandoning the food. “So, why are you calling?”
“I’m driving. What are you doing?”
“Reading a book, eating a very sad-looking cheese plate and hoping this wine hasn’t turned into vinegar.” I poured the wine and took an experimental sip. A little acidic, but drinkable.
“That sounds horrific.”
“It’s surprisingly not that bad,” I admitted. “Besides, I am in a great mood. Some mysterious anonymous community member donated a crate of coffee to the school.”
“Who would have done that?” he deadpanned.
“It’s a real mystery, isn’t it? Best of all, it isn’t some weak breakfast blend. Gourmet coffee in about a million flavors. It’s the talk of the teacher’s lounge. Should I reveal your secret coffee donor identity?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Must be some other coffee aficionado.”
I rolled my eyes, heat pooling in my stomach. “Well, if you run across this mysterious and probably handsome donor, tell them thank you.”
“If I had to deal with a packed classroom of screaming six-year-olds, I’d need coffee, too. It’s really more of a public service.”
I didn’t have to argue with him about that. “Where are you driving?”
“Home. We had a captain’s meeting at Gable’s tonight, and I took your advice.”
“My advice?”
“Team building. We’re going to go to a ropes course.”
“No axe throwing?”
“Out of an abundance of caution, no.”
“Well, next time thank me with a dessert,” I said, frowning at the decidedly unsweet snack in front of me. “I like crème brûlée and anything with a bunch of chocolate.”
“I can turn around,” he said with a level of deadly seriousness that I believed he would.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” I took another sip of the wine. “You could come over though, if you wanted.”
The silence stretched out on the other end of the line. I held my breath.
“I’d like that, but…” He paused, exhaling audibly. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“You said we’re friends,” I pressed, fortifying myself with another gulp of wine. “Friends hang out.”
“It’s late.”
I pursed my lips together. “Right. You’ve got practice in the morning. I’ve got school.”
He cleared his throat. “I want to. Which is why I shouldn’t.”
“Right,” I sighed, pouring myself another glass. “So, tell me about the dinner. Did you have fun?”
I smiled at the grunt that came out in response.
