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“Come on. What are you doing with her?”
“What’s it to you? We’re friends.”
“Friends?”
“Sure.”
“You and Faye are ‘friends.’”
“You say it like it’s unbelievable.” He leans over the table on his elbows, letting out a low chuckle. “Actually, no, that’s not it. You say it like it bothers you.”
“It doesn’t bother me,” I lie.
“I think it does.”
“Why would it bother me? We’re friends. You’re friends. She should be friends with whoever she wants.”
“You’re right. She should.”
“Then we’re agreed.”
“Fine.”
It’s not fine. It’s anything but fine between Freddy and me and the tension between us is so thick you could cut it with one of these stupid BINGO cards.
“Well, yourfriendthinks that when you’ve had a second-degree concussion you should sit out the next game.”
My stomach bottoms out. I drink my ginger ale and say nothing.
“Is that in her professional opinion?”
“It’s my opinion too. And I have a feeling most trainers would agree. In fact, I’m pretty sure someone told you to sit out the Denver game.”
I shrug, not saying anything.
“You don’t want to talk about it?”
“Nothing to talk about.”
“Sure,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “I’m just the guy whose season ended because of a shitty hit. One that if I had the chance, I’d do everything in my power to avoid. But yeah, there’s nothing to talk about here.”
My stomach bottoms out and I shift uncomfortably.
“Fine. We don’t have to talk about that. Let’s talk about what’s happening right now.”
“What’s that?”
“What are you doing with that girl?” He nods over his shoulder to where Pasha chats up Megan. As if they planned for this.
“What are you talking about? I’m dating her.”
“You don’t need to date her.”
“You don’t know anything about her.”
“Neither do you.”
“I’m getting to know her.”
