Page 2 of Call the Shots
“Yeah. But you know that already.”
The only interaction I had with Bear was the photos he bothered to send to his family from his college in North Dakota.Whenever it came time for us to meet up, he always had crappy excuses. Canceling yet again. The aloof brother who was too busy being a star hockey player to spend time with his family.
“June, everyone’s busy,” Sherri piped up from the desk. “Youneedto give the tour.”
Bear’s scowl was deep. “I don’t need a tour.”
“Yes, you do,” I sighed, every word brimming with reluctance. “It’s part of your housing contract.”
This was a new walk of shame as I mumbled through embarrassed apologies, leading him to the only golf cart left in the garage. Seriously, the June from before would’ve never slipped up like that.
All I had to do was take him and his paperwork to Roman Villa then drive him to the Orson J. Portnoy Ice Arena on campus, nicknamed the Colosseum. I started the golf cart and rattled off useless facts about the law library.
Marrs University was situated about ten minutes away from downtown Houston, so close to the equator everyone around us had electric fans and loud complaints about the humidity. We had around forty thousand students, which meant the end of spring semester left the streets clogged. Students were packing cars and lugging suitcases down the sidewalk to leave for home. I weaved through the families, booking it to Roman Villa as fast as possible.
“I shit in your Cheerios?” Bear finally grunted. “How’d I piss you off?”
I winced. “You didn’t, I’m—um—June Basil.”
“And?”
“June Basil?” I stole a look at him, stiff and uncomfortable in the seat next to me, taking up most of the space until our legs were almost touching. “Your stepbrother and I…dated, and it didn’t end well.”
“Xavier doesn’t date,” he replied.
“Uh, we dated for years.”
“I think I know my own brother.”
“Your dad’s name is Frank Hodges,” I frowned. “Your stepmother’s name is Shawna Lisco-Hodges. She used to own an African gray parrot she inherited from?—”
“Are you my brother’s stalker or something?” He whistled. “I get it. You fucked and now you’re dick crazy.”
I accidentally swerved the golf cart. “I’m not dick crazy!”
“Just regular crazy then?”
“You’re so rude,” I shot back.
“Says the girl who’d rather drag a corpse?—”
“I didn’t know you were behind me!” The golf cart broke to the grass, and I swore. “You should’ve said something!”
“Drop me off here. I don’t trust you in a moving vehicle.”
I had something else to fire at him, but my words stalled as I caught sight of a figure, grinning hard.
I slammed the accelerator, but Elijah Contractor, an enforcer on the hockey team, and one of the most annoying people I’d ever met, sprinted our way. The golf cart was no match. I swerved again, this time on purpose, but Elijah leaped into the backseat.
“Thanks for the ride!” Elijah said cheerfully.
“Get out!” I gripped the steering wheel. “Damn hockey players.”
“Big Dick Bear,” Elijah sang, clapping him on the shoulder.
“Don’t touch me,” Bear warned.
“Welcome to the Texas Ice Hockey Collegiate Conference?—”
