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“She single?”
For some reason, my teeth are grinding together. I really don’t like where this conversation is going.
I shrug and force myself to grind out the response, “Beats me.”
I can see from my peripheral vision that his hands, which were just busy soaping up his torso, have stopped, and he’s fixing a strange look at me.
“Alright,” he says. There’s a certain teasing warble to his voice that I don’t like either.
Even though we haven’t known each other long, it’s been long enough for me to learn that Shane is a total womanizer.
I don’t know how I feel about Phoebe getting involved with someone like that—wait, why do I care?
I don’t care.
She can get involved with whoever she wants. Doesn’t matter to me.
Though, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that strange, cryptic thing Casey said last night.
The way she said that her and Phoebe living together was abright sidetowhat happened.
Did something happen to Phoebe that made her transfer? Something bad?
It’s one thing for me to say I don’t care about who Phoebe gets involved with. I don’t. But I can’t totally pretend that I don’t care if something bad happened to her in Maine. We might not be friends, but we grew up together.
The thought’s been weighing on me. Maybe I should hit up some old high school acquaintances and try to find out if they’ve heard anything. Then again, I don’t know if I want word to get back to Phoebe that I’m asking old hometown friends about her. That would definitely come across as weird.
As we’re getting dressed post-shower, Liam, fellow senior and my best friend, makes a proposal. “You guys up for lunch at Lucky Chang’s?”
Lucky Chang’s is a Ridley landmark, a Chinese restaurant that’s been operating since the eighties. It’s good, cheap, cozy, and me and the team have been going there at least once a week for as long as I’ve been a Hot Shots player.
Most of the guys agree. After the workout we just had on the ice, I’m sure they’re all as hungry as I am.
Lars, on the other hand, stays silent and frosty as always as he gets dressed further away from the rest of the group.
“You in, Lars?” I call over, trying make sure everyone’s included.
“No,” he gruffly replies.
No even a casualnopeor anah—he had to drop the full-onNo.
“Come on,” Shane prods him, “it’ll be fun.”
Lars just slings his bag over his shoulder after stepping into his shoes and turns, striding towards the exit. “Got plans,” is all he says, not even sparing any of us a glance as he walks out of the locker room.
Aaron shrugs. “I’m sure he’ll come around eventually.”
I hope so. But Lars is a freaking glacier, and I haven’t noticed any signs of his frosty exterior melting yet.
It’s only been a couple weeks that we’ve known each other, though. Some people take longer to warm up than others.
“In the meantime, more Wanton Soup for us,” Shane says chipperly. I can already tell he’s not a guy to let much of anything spoil his good mood. “Let’s go, I’m fucking starving.”
We make small talk as we walk from the practice facilities to Chang’s. But about two blocks from the restaurant, I suddenly stop for a moment; my feet feel frozen to the ground, and I fall a couple paces behind the rest of the guys.
It’s because, from a distance of about three or four blocks, I spot a flash of bright red that catches my eyes and makes me forget about anything else for just a moment.
I’d bet anything it’s Phoebe.
