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“Oh, thanks.”
“It says you co-wrote it?” She gives me a look, knowing damn well I wrote the entire thing.
It wasn’t my assignment, but I had to rewrite everything. I told Layla yesterday morning about the trash I was fixing up.
“They shouldn’t even put her name in it.” She says, reading my mind. “Don’t they know you had to change everything?”
“It doesn’t matter. I wasn’t at the game.” I shrug, cleaning the counter for the hundredth time in the past fifteen minutes. “It’s not like I can say in the words of Nick Miller from my bedroom. She was there, so I —”
“Wait, what about your bedroom?” Layla stops me.
I didn’t tell her about Nick coming over or anything after that.
“Huh? Nothing. Never mind. I was just making a point.” I try to ignore it.
“Is that where Nick was last night?” She leans over the counter to whisper. “I didn’t see him at their house.”
I tighten my lips, not wanting to say anything. I don’t know what to say and I don’t want to lie to my friend. She’d find out anyway, but it feels wrong talking about him while he’s right here.
That’s when I see it.
Greg shows Nick something on his phone.
I watch his reaction and know exactly what he’s reading. At first, there’s a smile, then his brows crease in concentration, and then his face pales.
Greg laughs pulling his phone back and Nick glares at me.
I probably should not have added that joke into the article.
Did he read the rest?
Luca was the one that said it in his interview. It was one small joke. I completely forgot I added it in.
“Hello, Lenny!” Layla pulls my attention away from Nick’s intense glare.
“Can you watch the counter for me?” I quickly slip out the side and head straight to the locker rooms.
I didn’t wait for her to answer. I just needed to hide out for five minutes.
Before I can get there, a hand pulls at my arm and drags me into the maintenance closet.
Nick towers over me. He’s not even that much taller than me. I’m 5’8 to his 6 feet, but right now I feel like he’s at least a foot taller.
“Hi.” I breathe out not knowing what else to say.
He’s angry. It isn’t that bad, but he’s furious at something.
Is it? I tried to think back at exactly what I wrote.
“Hi.” His voice is raspy and his breath heavy.
Is he waiting for me to apologize? Should I be?
No.
“So according to you, you know the article you wrote”Oh fuck, here it comes.“I’m playing like shit because I’m not having enough sex?”
What? I didn’t say that!
