Page 35 of Presley's Christmas Catch
I stare at the screen and wait for his response, and pretty soon the bubbles pop up and bounce. Then they disappear. Then they bounce again. Then they disappear.
How is this a hard thing to respond to? Even with theawkwardness. I decide to nip all of it in the bud so we can enjoy this moment.
Presley:Listen, I’m sorry about last night. I was crazy and I don’t want our friendship to crash and burn over this. Can we forget it happened?
The bubbles bounce some more, and I growl again. I shake my phone like I want to be shaking Brock by the shoulders. It wouldn’t be very effective at shaking sense into him since I would barely move him, and I’d look ridiculous with how far up I’d have to reach, but the intent would be clear.
Finally, a text pops up.
Brock:The last thing I want to do is hurt you. I don’t want to risk leading you on when I know how you feel.
I have to convince him it’s going to be fine. My feelings don’t matter. I’m sure I can move on and make them go away anyway. I send him a GIF of someone looking innocent.
Presley:Not sure what you’re talking about? How I feel? Like the fact that I think you’re insane to believe that Thornridge is going to unveil Lyra as the Obsidian Queen?
Brock:Presley…
Presley:Let’s not make this a thing. I was drunk on eggnog and said some silly things. It’s behind us both. Please please please forget it and go to New York with me so we can wait in line and SEE GIDEON THORNRIDGE.
Brock:We weren’t drinking eggnog.
Presley:That’s not how I remember it. Truth be told, the whole night is a blur. Really fuzzy.
Brock:
Presley:I already bought the tickets. Are you going to wasteyours on my dad, who only *pretends* to like TOK, because you had some weird eggnog-induced dream?
Brock:Are you gaslighting me?
Presley:Is it working?
…
…
Brock:Court’s aunt has connections. Eli can get us a private jet. I’ll take care of it.
I cry out in triumph and jump up on my bed. “Yes!” I pump my fist in the air. I have Brock back, and it’s not everything I want but it’s enough if I get to keep him for now.
I notice the private tab for the ring search I was doing earlier and scowl at the screen. Then I shut my laptop. This can definitely wait another day.
CHAPTER 15
BROCK
Trying to be just friends with Presley is a bad idea. I’ll have to watch everything I say and do and make sure I don’t give her the wrong idea. I can’t lead her on again and hurt her. It’s selfish to try this, but I can’t say no to her. And there’s TOK to think about. The new book is coming out, dropping lightning fast in a way that’s generated some buzz about it among more than just the TOK community. Book influencers on social media are talking about the surprise announcement for the “little known classic,” and the TOK fan pages have been flooded with reviews for the first book that new readers are posting as they start the series. And they like it. They’re calling it “cool in a quirky way,” which tells me they don’t get it. In any case, the book release event has sold out, and Presley and I will need to get to the bookstore earlier than we thought if we’re going to score tickets to the gathering with the author.
Meanwhile, today is my first game with the Rays. I don’t expect a lot of playing time. I’ve only had a few practices with the team this week, but I’m nervous anyway. I have to prove I’m worth the drama.
In my first meeting with the coach, I promised him I wouldn’t let my emotions rule my mouth. He’d chuckled, put ahand on my shoulder, and said, “I’m hoping you don’t have any drama to spill here, Hunter. And if you do, I hope you’ll spill it to me first.”
He reminds me of Tim—a coach who wants to get to know me, who isn’t letting memes rule his opinion of me, and who will make sure I get a fair shot.
Maybe that’s why I feel double pressure to prove myself to him. Especially when he puts me in the first offensive play of the game.
Lincoln grins at me and gives me a hard pat on the shoulder as we huddle up for the play. My nerves settle back a notch, knowing I’ve got him watching my back. It’s more than I had at the Devils.
I set up on the line, my heart pumping. The crowd is a low hum, and I push the noise to the background. I scan the linebackers opposite me on the defense for the Cobras. My brain stops on number sixty-five, the defensive end lined up opposite me. There’s something off about where he is. I catalogue it and ready myself for the count.
