Page 86 of Enticing the Enforcer
My phone sits in the cup holder, and when I pick it up, the screen is dark, like it’s mocking me. Her silence has weight, pressing down on me until it’s hard to breathe. I tell myself to give her space, like Reese suggested, to not be the guy who hovers and smothers. I scroll back through the thread like an idiot, rereading what I’ve already sent, as if maybe the words will land differently the fifth time around. They don’t. The silence stays the same.
But the longer I sit here, the harder it is not to reach for the phone. Not to try again.
“What are you doing, man?” Reid asks, breaking my spiral.
“Fuck if I know.” I exhale and prop my elbow on the window edge. “She’s done with me.”
The streets of Wittmore fly by, and it feels weird to know this won’t be my home anymore.
“Do you remember when Shelby went back to Texas?”
“Yeah.” I know about it vaguely. They’d been seeing each other secretly because Axel couldn’t handle the idea of his little sister having sex–especially with his best friend. “To break up with that dumbass of a fiance in person, right?”
“Kind of.” His eyes stay trained on the road. “She gave me the brush off before she left. Like, not a goodbye but more about how she had to handle her life before we could move on.”
“I don’t think that’s what Ingrid is doing.” I didn’t even get a goodbye. It was a solid click in the ear. A hard hangup. A fuck you.
“Maybe, but with Shelby I didn’t just sit back and let her deal with it on her own. I flew out there, showed up at the door and supported her. I let her know I had her back even though the idea of facing her parents was scary as hell.”
“Reese said I should give her some space.”
He barks out a laugh. “Reese is full of shit. Remember how hard he pursued Twyler? Dude was relentless.”
“True.” There was a whole scene when she went to a team event with another guy. And then how he wooed her back with tickets to see the New Kings. He even drove down to Tennessee to get her back. “He didn’t mess around.”
“Nope. Just do what feels right, man. I mean, don’t be a psycho, but also? She owes you the right to explain yourself.”
“Yeah, but how do I get to her? This isn’t as easy as showing up at her parents’ house and holding a boom box over my head.” Marv would have me face down in the dirt before I got past the gate.
“You gotta get creative, dude.” He turns into the neighborhood. “Figure out what’s your boom box and make it happen.”
Later,I’m sitting at a booth alone, half-slouched against the cracked vinyl seat, working through a Jefferson Parks Special. The burger is greasy in all the right ways, familiar, like a ritual I’ve repeated a hundred times before games, after wins, after losses.
After winning the Frozen Four, Mike, the owner, added a framed photo of the team to the wall. It’s an honor to be up there among the old Wittmore jerseys, scuffed helmets, sticks signed in fading Sharpie. Every inch of the place smells like beer and fryer oil, sweat and nostalgia.
I should feel comfortable. Home. But all I can think is: this might be the last time I eat here. The last time I hear the hum of the busted neon sign or feel the sticky table under my elbows.
I take another bite listening to Reid’s words that keep bouncing around in my skull:Find your version of the boom box.
This is the part I can’t wrap my head around. Ingrid’s rich, famous, untouchable. She can buy whatever she wants, go wherever she wants, be with whoever she wants. What the hell can I give her that she can’t already get with a snap of her fingers?
“Want another beer to go with that heartattack?”
I look up to find Josie, the waitress who’s served me since I was a freshman with a peeling fake ID. She’s holding a tray cocked on one hip, hair escaping the messy bun on top of her head.
“Nah, I’m good.”
She doesn’t move. Just stares at me like she’s trying to read the fine print on my forehead. Finally, she asks, “Okay, what’s wrong?”
I force a smirk. “Why do you think something’s wrong?”
“Because in the four years I’ve served you, every single time you flirt with me and check out my tits.”
“I checked them out,” I argue automatically. And yeah, I did. Josie’s got a great rack. She wears this tight little cut off shirt with a V that leaves every straight guy in the bar drooling. But I know what she’s saying. I’ve had a crush on her since the day I walked in here. She’s older. Sexy as fuck. And completely out of my reach. Truthfully, I’m glad it never worked out. She’s a cool chick and a good friend.
She sets her tray on the next table and slides into the booth across from me. I blink. I’ve never seen her sit before–not once.
“There’s also a full table of Phi Nu’s over there,” she says, tipping her chin toward the group of girls in tight tank tops and even tighter shorts. “And you’ve completely ignored them.”
