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“It doesn’t.”
“Lies.”
Hollyn spreads her fingers so that her covered eye can see me. “Do me one better and tell me how you really feel about me. Do you think I’m stupid for liking Weston?”
“No,” I say, without having to think about it. “But I think you’re wearing rose-colored glasses for someone who hasn’t shown me shit to see the appeal.”
“You haven’t been around long enough.”
“Then give me three reasons why you like him.”
Hollyn drops her hand and straightens her spine as if she’s about to give me a novel of motives about why this would make sense. “He’s kind.” I roll my eyes. “He also loves kids.”
“So, I’m out.”
“You were never in the running,” she claps back, and I bark out laughing because goddamn this chick.
Hollyn might be off her shit a little with her crush on Weston, but she has no issue telling me what’s up.
“That hurt, Shorty,” I impart, placing my free hand on my chest. “Here, I thought you believed I was hot.”
“Why would you think that?”
“Why wouldn’t you think that?”
Hollyn opens her mouth, but then, in swoops, another body and arms wrap around her shoulders.
“Heyyy, Hollyn. I thought I noticed you over here.”
Wells.
I glare over at him, and he’s lucky that he straightened his spine and took his grubby ass hands off her because I’m definitely not in the mood for round two with him.
“Good morning,” she greets back as he pulls the chair she was in before and sits in it. “What are you doing here?”
He smiles at her, ignoring me, but I know he can feel it. The dude has been around me for years, so we’ve developed superpowers where we can read each other pretty damn well. “I brought you a present.”
I’m going to flip the damn table.
He lifts something from his lap and the number seven shows up in black bold. Wells turns it around, and it’s my jersey in his hand that he’s showing off to Hollyn right now.
Well, a shirt with my jersey number and New Brunswick’s logo.
“Thought you might want to wear something that fits you next time you come up to see—” Hollyn snatches it from his hands, dropping her fork with a thud along her plate and drapes it over her body.
“I love it,” she extolls, looking down at the fabric. “Thank you so much, Wells.”
“You’re welcome,” he replies, stealing a glance over at me from my peripheral. “I’m assuming Reid’s your favorite player. Next time, I’ll get you one that has my jersey number on the back.”
Like fuck you will, asshole.
“I wouldn’t know,” Hollyn mutters, running the pads of her fingers over the Wolverine mascot. “I haven’t seen him play yet.”
“Oh really?” Wells imparts with a shitty smirk. “I would’ve sworn he’d be showing all those kids his best moves.”
“Shut the hell up, killer,” I leer, losing my appetite now that he’s here. “We’re trying to finish up because I need to get her back home. So goodbye and fuck off.”
Wells rises to his feet and bends over to give Hollyn a hug, which she kindly receives.
