Page 215 of Call the Shots
“Everybody likes pizza.”
“I don’t know if we have vegetarians or whatever.”
“Are you kidding? Tell them to eat the grass outside.”
“Asshole,” I muttered. It wasn’t just the team arriving tonight, we had friends and girlfriends coming too. What if someone was allergic to something? A medical emergency was the last thing the party needed.
I breathed out in relief when Cleo and Miles strode through. “Mom! Do you know everybody’s food preferences and shit?”
“Dietary restrictions?” Cleo arched an eyebrow. “I know everyone’s—oh—except Willow’s.”
“Fuck, thank you—can you help Nick?”
“Whatever you need,” Miles assured me. “We’re here for an hour.”
“You’re not staying for the party?”
“Coach’s dinner tonight, we can’t.” Miles gave me a side hug. “Good to see you, man. We’re happy for you.”
Damn.They were supposed to be the adult supervision.
I shook off the disappointment. We had the house for twenty-four hours. Whatever happened, this would be the best party ever, because I had something important to talk about with June. Everything had to be perfect forthat.
I whipped out my phone to call Willow—until I spotted the note June left on her contact. They were doing some kind of car swap today and I wasn’t supposed to mention it. I didn’t want to risk spoiling the surprise.
“Call…Elijah?” I muttered under my breath. No, why would I call her fake boyfriend when I could call her real one? I clicked King’s number, shaking my head. “This shit is so confusing.”
Montoya sidestepped a couple of guys bringing in a table. “Uh, Bear?”
“Hold on, Montoya.” I held up a finger, waiting for the call to go through. “Hey, King?”
“Bear?”
“No, it’s Bear—” I stopped myself from correcting him. “Holy shit. You said my name.”
He grunted, confused.
“You said myname. Like my real name!” An incredulous grin crossed my face. “This is great. I’ve never tried getting, you know, close to a girlfriend’s friends before. This is new to me.”
“You’re dating June?”
The smile fell off my face.Oh, fuck it.A win is a win. “Yeah, never mind. What’s Willow’s dietary stuff?” I nodded along and said goodbye, turning Nick’s way. “Willow can’t eat seafood!”
“What kind of pizza do you think I’m ordering?” Nick demanded. “Oh, no lobster on her pizza? No caviar? What’s next? She can’t have roasted panda?”
I rolled my eyes and put my focus on Montoya. “What’s going on?”
“I—uh—” Montoya hesitated. “I—I think I messed up.”
“Messed up? What do you mean?”
For long seconds, Montoya fidgeted with his sleeves, his eyes on the ground. I didn’t understand what the big problem was. There'd been fifty medium-sized problems already. I sighed. “I know you dropped the dip, it happens?—”
“No, I—uh?—”
“Bear!” Charlie shouted from outside. “You said to put the flowers in a vase, right? The ones in the yard?”
“No, I said I’d pick up flowers!” I yelled back. “Those don’t belong, they’re non-indi—” I fumbled with the word. “They’re non-indige—fuck?—”
