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ASTRID: Fine it’s a challenge to see who can keep their clothes on the longest.
CAL: So is it the winner or the loser who goes down?
ASTRID: CAL!
CAL: I accept your challenge. I’ll even wear two pairs of boxers at once in solidarity with your panties.
ASTRID: Excessive but okay.
CAL: So just dinner between friends and nothing else. We can do that.
ASTRID: Of course we can. It won’t even be hard.
CAL: Or wet and warm.
ASTRID: I’m ignoring that. Meet me at The Flying Sow tomorrow at seven.
CAL: See you then.
ASTRID: Good night, Cal.
CAL: Good night, Astrid.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Cal stared at the fifteen black T-shirts hanging in his closet. Then he glanced at the three dress shirts he had—one in ebony, another in jet, and the final in onyx. He had a few henleys, but they were balled up on the floor with the rest of his dirty laundry. There was a stack of hoodies on the shelf above the hanging rod that varied from charcoal to pitch, making the Ice Knights’ blue-and-silver ones seem like neon.
There really wasn’t many options for tonight besides those—except, of course, for the soft pink sweater. His sister Roxy had gotten it for him to give him shit about the lack of color choices in his closet. He’d worn it exactly once. That had been a very good night.
His phone vibrated on the dresser, and his sister Roxy’s face appeared on the screen, like he’d summoned her with the thought. The picture was the one from the last family barbecue. She was carrying out the huge tray of watermelon that was almost as big as the smile on her face. It had been her divorce party. That day was the happiest he has seen his sister in ten years.
He swiped to answer the FaceTime call. “Hey, sis, what’s up?”
“The cost of parts and my annoyance level at having to ‘people’ all damn day,” she said, pulling out her earplugs as she kicked shut the door to the front office at Matsen Auto Repair, no doubt so she wouldn’t have to shout over the sound blast from the impact wrench and the disc sander in the bays. “I heard a rumor.”
His oh-shit sensors started buzzing like a bug zapper out at the lake cabin. “Is it the one where they’re going to release a whole new line of electric muscle cars that include space for your purse?”
Her face lit up. He grew up dreaming about hockey. His oldest sister dreamed about roadsters that were good for the environment and still went zero to sixty in the blink of an eye and had space for all the shit she carried everywhere.
“That’s not a rumor. It’ll happen someday.” Using the call as a mirror, she wiped a paper towel across the grease smudge on her cheek and managed to smear it into an even bigger mess before she let out an annoyed huff. “I’m calling because I heard that you have a date tonight.”
Fuuuuuuuuuck. “I never should’ve let that slip with Mom.”
Cal eyed his bedroom window and wondered if his phone insurance covered hurling his phone out the window to avoid awkward conversations. Probably not. Plus it would just encourage his sister—thank God only one of them was on the phone—to dig for more.
“True,” Roxy said, “but since you did, all of us want to know all the details.”
His whole body tightened, and it took everything he had not to start begging for mercy now and getting it over with.
“What do you mean us?” he asked.
Roxy flashed the evil grin only big sisters had and flipped the camera to show all of his sisters. Brit and Megs were crowded together on the loveseat while Cami half sat/half leaned on the arm, her finger marking her place in the book she was reading.
“Hey, Cal!” they chorused.
Forget the phone insurance. His only option at this point was ditching the phone, leaving the country, and living out his days under an assumed name. It was never a good sign when all four of his sisters got together to have a little chat with him.
Calm the fuck down, Matsen. They’re just your sisters. Nothing to worry about here. Not. A. Thing.
