Page 71 of Crush
That was the first thing that crossed my mind when I asked Shea if he knew where my thong was, and he stammered and told me to check under the bed.
The second thing that crossed my mind was,Ew! If he's lying, what could he possibly have done with my panties?
I probably didn't evenwantto know the answer to that question. Men sure are weird, disgusting animals sometimes.
Shea's guilty status was further confirmed over the following days, when he didn't even bother to call in and check on me. I figured it was also my punishment for refusing to stay up chatting on the phone with him for hours, giggling at all his stories, like we were a high school couple.
Fine. Act like a childish dick, Shea. You're only proving my point.
At least he still called Chloe every night to stay in touch. If he hadn't done that, I would've been forced todrasticallyrethink my opinion of him as a generally decent person.
Chloe and I had a fine few days to ourselves with none of the boys around. She got to spend plenty of time with her friends on the weekend. And when it was just us, I took her out to the city and we pampered ourselves with some girly things—we went shopping for new clothes, got our nails done, had a fancy brunch, and went to the movies, too.
For the first playoff game, we made a big bowl of popcorn and goofed around in the den. We didn't pay too much attention to the game, but every time wedidlook at the TV, things seemed to be going worse for Boston.
As the broadcast announcers put it, the Brawlers were getting 'stomped.'
“Oh wow,” Chloe said, looking up at the TV. “Tampa scored again since the last time I looked.”
“Yikes. Six to one.”
The camera zoomed in on a surly Shea, who angrily shoved a Tampa player to the ice and looked for someone to fight with. The ref blew his whistle, grabbed Shea by the arm, and skated him over to the penalty box.
“Yikes. Dad doesn't look very happy.”
“No, he certainly doesn't.”
***
Hours after Game 1, late at night, my phone rang. It was Shea. I shut my bedroom door and answered.
“Hi.”
“Brynn,” he said, sounding somewhat strained. “How are things at the house?”
“Everything's going fine. Chloe and I had the game on TV earlier.”
“Awful,” he said. “I don't want to talk about it.”
It wasn't unusual for Shea to be impatient after a bad loss—but now he seemed even more testy, because the team had blown an important game.
“Okay. Is there something you do want to talk about?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“And what's that?”
“I don't like the way things are between us right now.”
I guess he had to get that off his chest after the Brawlers' loss.
Still, I didn't know what to say. “Oh … okay?”
“See? That, right there. Stop it. You're being short with me, and it's fucking my head up.”
I thought,I guess that makes three of us.
I sighed. “We've talked about this.”
