Page 11 of Phantom Faceoff
“No wonder you failed Music Theory. You have the taste of a caveman.”
Zander gapes, but his grin quickly returns. “Youarea Swiftie.”
“Andyouare a disaster on legs.”
A sharp bark of laughter pierces the room, and my coworker—the hockey player—walks past me and claps Zander on the shoulder.
“He isn’t wrong, Halefire. Haven’t you ever owned a CD player?”
“I have had an iPhone for quite literally my entire life.”
Listening to the two of them bicker sets off the dinging bell in my brain thatof coursethey’re friendly with each other. They play on the same damn sports team.
“I didn’t know you and Blanchard worked together, Micky.”
I pop back into the conversation as two sets of eyes turn to me.
“Yes, because I should know you have some kind of hate-boner fetish for a guy I speak a handful of words to a day.”
I quirk my brow.Hate-boner?
Honestly, Micky and Zander could pass for brothers. Both blond. Similar fit builds. Zander is taller, almost an entire head above Micky. Different eyes. Micky’s are blue. Zander’s are a rich hazel.
“Blanchard is Julian’s roommate.”
Micky’s eyes flicker to mine with an air of understanding. “Ah. The underwear incident.”
Is that what we’re calling it now? The offending material is in the back of my dresser drawer, washed and ready to be returned because I’m a decent human being.
“Come with me to my dorm after shift,” I say before the gross weight of the words makes me rethink them. “Grab your nasty jock so I don’t have to touch them again.”
“Will Julian be there?”
“Probably.” Unfortunately.
He shifts his weight from side to side, like he’s weighting his options. Which only pisses me off more.
“Yeah, I’ll stop in.” Another face-splitting grin. “Might kidnap him, though. Micky has a virtual cafe date, so I could use the company.”
I’ve been told I wear my aggressive emotions on my face, and the way Micky chokes back a laugh and squeezes his eyes shut, I’d say I probably look downright murderous.
“One condition,” I say, stepping forward and forcing Zander’s attention on me. “You’re going to listen to all thirty-one songs on TTPD and write up a thorough analysis of the lyrics and storytelling.”
That overconfident grin falters.
I hold my ground. “Good practice for your class. Which I aced as a first year.”
The little gears in his head appear to be working so hard into overtime that there’s nearly visible smoke coming out of his ears.
“You are diabolical.”
I’m a fucking masochist is what I am.
If there was an award for eye-fucking, these two numskulls would be tied for it.
I have never in my life wanted two people to kiss and get it over with more than I do watching Zander’s eyes shift to Julian’s flirty smile every ten seconds.
They’re only pretending to acknowledge I’m still here, when I can guarantee they’re both thinking about much dirtier things.
