Page 65 of Hot for the Hockey Player
I just don’t think it’s a good idea right now.We’ll figure something out though.Maybe once a week after dinner or something?
Those pesky three little dots bounced on my phone screen, and I watched them, waiting for his reply.But then they vanished and nothing came through.
I hated doing this to Damon.Particularly since he was clearly going through some shit at school.
Maybe I needed to talk to Gabrielle again, smooth things over and figure out a system so I could still see Damon, still help him through whatever shit was going on, but not make it weird for her.
But you also enjoy seeing her.
Fuck.
The highlight of my day was seeing her.Seeing her try to keep herself from smiling, and maintain her serious demeanor.And when she broke and actually let her mouth curl up on either side, it was better than a sunset.Oh, and when her cheeks got all rosy, it was all I could do to keep myself from groaning.
I left my phone on the coffee table and went into the kitchen to grab a glass of water, only to be interrupted mid-guzzle by my phone dinging again.
I glared at the thing on the coffee table.It wasn’t its fault.It was merely a vessel.Would I toss the carrier pigeon or mailman into the ocean?
“Don’t shoot the messenger” was a saying for a reason.
Finishing my water, I grabbed my phone again, hoping for a response from Damon.
Instead, it was two separate requests fromotherfemale sports podcasters asking for me to come on their shows for interviews.They said they got my contact information from Jasmine, loved my enlightened,woketake on the toxic atmosphere of men’s professional sports and would love for me to come on and chat with them.
I shrugged and copy-pasted the same reply to both.
Sure.When would you like to chat?
The world was already learning that Maverick Roy stood with women and the survivors of sexual assault.I just needed to make sure the message reached a wider audience, and that the league knew I wasn’t shutting up, or backing down.
It was about three-thirty and I was just doing some exercises for my back, when there was a knock at my door.My recumbent bike was set to arrive today, so I thought maybe it was the delivery driver.
I got up off my yoga mat from where I’d been doing cat-cow, and went to the door.
I definitely wasn’t expecting to find Damon standing there, his lashes damp and spiky as his rosy face looked at me with confusion and pain.
“Come in,” I said immediately, ushering him inside.He only wore a black hoodie and baggy black jeans, but at least he had the hood part over his head.
He shifted back and forth on his feet, not quite able to look me in the eye.
“Damon,” I started, going into the kitchen to put on the kettle.He had to be cold.“What are you doing here?”
“You’re mad at me because of my friends, aren’t you?You said you weren’t, but you are.That’s why you’re not coming around anymore.”His voice cracked and when I glanced at him after bringing two mugs down from the cupboard, I could tell he was trying his hardest not to cry.“They’renotmy friends, Mav.I swear.”
I shook my head.“It’s not them, bud.I promise.”
“Then what is it?”he pleaded.
“Does your mom know you’re here?”
He shook his head and droplets fell from his backpack and the tips of his hair onto the floor.
I grabbed my phone and shot off a text to Gabrielle—having grabbed her number on Friday before taking Laurel and Honor to watercolor—to let her know Damon was here.It was the responsible thing to do.I also said I’d bring him home shortly, and that he was okay, just upset.
“That’s not cool, man,” I said gently.“Your mom is expecting you at home.”
“She doesn’t care.”
“Oh, yes she does.Your mom loves you more than anything in this world.”
