I shake my head. “You’re the only person I’ve talked to since all this shit went down.”
“I figured Anthony would tell you since you were working on that project together,” he points out.
“He didn’t say anything to me.”
“Well, you definitely have them to thank because they made sure everyone understood the consequences if they kept talking about you.” He kicks his feet up on the coffee table and leans back. “What are we watching?”
“Watching?” I ask, still trying to wrap my head around Anthony and his friends going around and threatening people if they didn’t stop gossiping about me. Was this what any good leader would do for one of their frat brothers? It couldn’t have just been because it was me they were talking about, could it?
He points to my laptop.
“Oh, I was getting set up to watch the game,” I say absently.
“Game?” He shoots me a weird look.
“The hockey game,” I say, trying to sound casual. “We’re playing the Kings tonight.”
“Since when do you watch house hockey games?” he asks.
“Since I found out Anthony and his friends are on the team, and they’re really fucking good.”
“Really?” He settles back against my couch. “Like, how good?”
“Have you heard of Institut Le Roche?” I ask as I turn the laptop on and navigate to the school streaming site.
“Who hasn’t?” he says. “Wait, did they go there?”
I nod and click on the hockey stream. There’s about five minutes until warm-ups start, according to the countdown clock filling the screen.
“For their hockey program?” he asks, his eyes comically round.
“Yup.”
“Jesus,” he breathes.
“Wait until you find out they’re also super into skiing and snowboarding and can do insane flip jumps and other tricks that your brain can’t even begin to comprehend even after seeing them.”
“And here I was feeling proud that I managed to find the end of a roll of tape in only a minute instead of the usual two or three,” he says dryly.
“At least you didn’t spend two minutes looking under your bed for your phone, while you were using your phone as a flashlight,” I say. “Because I did that last week.”
He laughs. “Believe it or not, I actually have done that. Only it was my closet, and it was only about one minute instead of two. But close enough.”
“At least I’m not the only one.”
Ping.
“Do you mind if I check that?” I ask.
“Of course not.”
I pull my phone out of my pocket, and my heart skips a beat when I see a familiar number.
Mr. X: are you watching my game?
West: I’m about to
Mr. X: want to make a deal?
