Page 216 of Call the Shots
Laki frowned. “Are you trying to say indignantly?”
“No, I’m trying to say—what’s the other word for native?”
“Who’s native?” Buttons poked his head out of the kitchen. “Tallulah, she’s Cherokee and Navajo.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about!” I snapped.
Tallulah walked in. “Did somebody call for me?”
“Tallulah, you write articles, you know words!” I pointed at her. “The flowers outside are not supposed to grow here, they’re non-indig—indage?—”
“Non-indigenous?”
“Thank you! Everybody else, you all failed, pick up a fucking dictionary!” I strode over to the screen door. “June cusses atthose flowers! They don't naturally grow here, we need to rip them out!”
“But they look nice!”
“Charlie, that empty place in your skull covered in cobwebs? That’s where your brain is supposed to go—don’t piss me off. If you put those flowers in a vase, I’ll beat you with it. I swear, I’ll make your caved-in head the new decoration!” I focused on Montoya again. “What’s up?”
“Um…”
“Montoya, I'm not trying to be a dick, but I don't have all day.”
“You know how…” He shifted uncomfortably. “Willow and Elijah and King…”
“Yeah? What about it?”
He swallowed. “I…accidentally…told Sloane about tonight.”
“Oh, dude, she already knows about the party—she’s coming with Sully. My advice? Don't worry about their drama bullshit, just nod and smile, it doesn't concern us.” I directed him to the driveway. “Help me bring in beer. We’ve got to get the party ready.”
There were flower decorations,a big ‘Goodbye June’ cake, and pictures we hung up from the summer, most of which June took herself. We waited with anticipation, counting down the minutes. The party didn’t start until she arrived with King, Willow, and Elijah.
When June walked through the door, my pulse kicked up a notch. June was just so…pretty. Sparkling green eyes and a gorgeous smile when the team went wild at her appearance,ushering her into the party. Her baseball cap caught my eye—my Boston Bulldogs hat.
Oh, I’m in love.
I went to the kitchen to grab one of her drinks—non-alcoholic, nothing on the front-facing can about calories, carbonated because she liked the bubbles—and listened to the guys chide her for wearing a hoodie instead of her Gladiators jersey.
“No, I’m wearing my jersey,” she laughed.
I pushed through the crowd to bring her drink and stumbled to a stop when June pulled her hoodie over her head. That wasn’t purple—it was maroon. The guys squawked like birds when they saw but I stared, frozen to the floor.
It was a Boston Bulldogs jersey.
June flipped around to show off the back—Moreauwith an empty place for the number.
“Custom-made.” She beamed at me. “I didn’t know what number to put so I just asked them to leave it blank until you know what your official one is.”
My teammates shoved my shoulders, demanding a reaction, but I couldn’t say anything. Electric shocks rushed through my brain, leaving everything really quiet inside. Nobody had ever done anything like that for me before. Nothing close.
“Say something.” Nick poked me with his empty beer can. “Say anything.”
I was a puddle on the floor, what was I supposed to say?
“My baby,” June murmured, reaching up to cup my jaw.
I didn’t make the decision—I wasn’tmakingthe decisions—I cut the distance between us, taking June’s face in my hands to kiss her hard, snaking an arm around her waist, grabbing whatever I could while June gasped in surprise. I must’ve dropped the drink, it sprayed everywhere when it hit the floor.
