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And I sounded like a total moron, yet her laughter is still ringing in the back of my head. I kinda like that sound. I can picture her face as she’s doing it. It’s probably the same expression she gave me when she was calling me a seven yesterday.
A light laugh pops out of me.
“What’s funny?” Asher glances up when I slip in beside him at the dining table. We’re in the athlete’s hall, and I told him to go ahead because I had to make a quick call before coming inside.
He probably thought I was checking in with my mom… which I should probably do, because who knows what shit she’s gotten up to this week.
I usually call her every couple weeks to make sure she hasn’t done something crazy, like waking up in an apartment she doesn’t recognize and not even knowing where she is, or nearly burning her trailer down by not stubbing out her cigarette properly, or backing into the side of someone’s car and then trying to drive off and getting chased down by Mr. Road Rage.
These things have all happened, and I’m very aware that I’m not around to take the heat like I usually do.
I’ll call her tonight.
Scrubbing a hand down my face, I tug the tray toward me. Asher picked all my favorite stuff, and I thank him with a little nudge of my elbow.
“No worries.” He drops my swipe card on the table, and I pocket it before leaving it behind. “So, what’s funny?”
“Nothin’.” I shrug, and his eyebrows dip together.
“You never don’t tell me your stories, dude. Even when they’re lame. And you’re denying me an actual funny one?”
I snicker and shake my head, not really wanting to get into it.
“Come on, man. Gimme somethin’.”
With a sigh, I pick up my fork and start poking at the green salad and broiled chicken. “I was just thinking about a girl I hooked up with yesterday. She was hassling me for being a seven, and I had to tickle her until she admitted I’m an eleven.”
He tips his head, his lips jumping in and out of a smile. “From a seven to an eleven. Nice jump.”
“I’m always an eleven.”
And she’s a twelve.
The thought resurfaces, doing weird shit to my chest. I scratch my rib cage and try to ignore this fizzing sensation inside me.
“I don’t actually have any personal experience with that.”
“Thank fuck,” I mutter, then give him a good-natured wink.
“But I have been in the house at the same time you’re getting it on with whichever puck bunny is the flavor of the day, and yeah, by the sounds of things… you could be an eleven.”
“Oh, Casey.” Connor puts on a woman’s voice, then starts moaning. “Do it again, baby.”
“Just like that,” Riley joins in, going for extra breathy. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”
I shoot a dry look across the table, then grin at the football guys who are frowning at my teammates from the table next to us.
“Just talking about how I’m an eleven,” I let them know. “I’m a fucking awesome eleven.”
“Good for you, man.” The big guy with blond shaggy hair starts laughing and turns back to his buddies.
“Puck yeah,” Asher murmurs, shaking his head while nibbling on a chicken drumstick. “Now, can we please stop talking about your sex life?”
Probably a good thing, considering the redhead who seems to be crowding out my headspace these days.
What am I seriously wanting out of this?
Why did I call her?
