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Bex’s text is three simple words.
Can we talk?
I call her instead of texting back. This feels too important for a text, and fine, maybe I want to hear her voice.
“Callahan,” she says when she picks up.
“Bex. What’s up?”
“Where are you?”
I glance around. A bunch of girls in jerseys—some in seemingly nothing but the jersey, their shorts are so short—wave to me as they cross the street and head into McNamara’s.
“Downtown Moorbridge, at McNamara’s. You can’t talk over the phone?”
“Not about this.”
My grip on the phone tightens. “Are you okay?”
I hear keys and a beep; presumably she’s unlocking her car. “I’m fine. I just think if we’re going to discuss the terms of this... arrangement, it should be in person.”
“Arrangement, huh?”
“I’ll come to McNamara’s.”
“Where are you? I’m sober, I can pick you up.”
“Pine Ridge.”
“Where’s that?”
She laughs. The sweet, throaty sound makes my heart beat a bit faster. “Not too far. I’ll see you soon, Callahan.”
“You can call me James, you know.”
There’s a pause, then I hear her car turn on. “I know.”
I search for Pine Ridge as soon as she hangs up. It’s not too far from here, about thirty minutes or so. What was she doing there?
Maybe she’s got a new boyfriend, my mind taunts.
I force myself to head inside, although all I really want is to wait out here. I should celebrate the win, after all. We crushed Notre Dame tonight. As soon as I enter the bar, I see my brothers and teammates waving to me, so I head over to the pool tables in the back. Coop hands me my non-alcoholic beer—which tastes almost the same as a regular beer, even though he never believes me—and nudges my shoulder.
“What’s going on?”
I lean back against the wall, getting comfortable. “She’s coming here to talk.” I feel more relaxed already. Whatever Bex wants in exchange for tutoring, I’ll give her. A ridiculous hourly rate, whatever. I can afford it. And the fact it means I’ll be seeing a lot more of her? Not complaining about that either.
“About the... thing?”
I roll my eyes. “Yes. The thing.”
“Fucking A,” he says. “That’s great, man.”
I watch as Seb lines up for his next shot in the game of pool he’s playing against Demarius. One of the things I like best about him is that he can fit in anywhere. He’s never spent time with these teammates of mine, yet he looks perfectly at home. His attempt goes wide, and he laughs at himself, accepting another shot from Demarius.
“Every missed turn is a shot,” Coop murmurs. “We’re going to be wiping him off the floor at the end of the night.”
“Is he your brother?” someone asks. I turn; there’s a girl at my elbow, giving me doe-eyes as she sips her beer. She’s pretty, with bleach-blonde hair tucked back over one shoulder and pouty lips. Her V-neck shirt shows off the top of a lacy pink bralette. Seeing that she has my attention, she leans in a bit, her hand grazing my bare arm.
