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There’s a roar from the front of the bar.
“Hockey team is here,” Pat announces. He cups his hands around his mouth and shouts, “You’ll get them next time, boys!”
“God, stop that,” Lauren hisses. “They’ll come over here.”
“Hey, sis.” Brian Joseph appears at the end of our booth, and his eyes light up when he spots the beer. He grabs a plastic cup and pours himself some. “Thanks.”
“Come on, Brian,” Lauren says. “Buy your own drinks.”
“We just got our asses whipped—I need it. Thanks for coming to the game, though.”
“That was rough, man,” Jason says.
“Brutal,” Brian says. “Coach chewed us out for twenty minutes. I know they’re ranked first, butdamn.”
Lauren and Sadie switch back to discussing outfits for this weekend. I tune out the guys’ conversation entirely until I hearhisname come up.
“What was his name?” Jason asks.
“Reid. Elliot Reid,” Brian replies.
“Right. I’m looking up his season stats. He’s gotta be going pro, right?”
“If I had a slap shot like that? Be riding that right to the bank. He’ll probably go first round. Maybe first overall, even. Maybe my old man would show up for a game if I played like that.”
I slide out of the booth and go to the bathroom. The line is long, like always, and Brian is gone by the time I return. Twenty minutes later, we all head for the door. Putnam’s is within walking distance of Greek Row, which is a large part of its appeal. Sadie is in training to become a campus tour guide, and she spends the three-block trip walking backward, spouting random trivia. Jason and Pat play along, asking her ridiculous questions. Lauren is on the phone with a friend. I’m lost in my own thoughts, so much so, I don’t spot the figure on our porch until we’re feet away. Jason and Pat’s frat is just two doors down from Alpha Pi Gamma, so they’re still with us.
He rises from the porch stairs as we approach. “Hi.” He’s wearing aUniversity of Boston Hockeyhoodie and a pair of sweatpants with his number printed on them.
“Hi,” I repeat, watching his eyes flick away and over my companions. There’s a soft gasp to my right that makes me think at least one of my friends has figured out who the guy in front of the house is. “What are you doing here, Elliot?”
“Trying to talk to you.”
“You could have called. Or texted.”
“You could have replied to me earlier.”
I flush.
“I’m holding up the whole fucking team, Denny. Five minutes. That’s all I need.”
I pause, but not because I don’t know what to do. Of course I’m going to talk to him. “Fine. I’ll see you guys later, okay?” Pat nods slightly as I aim the words at him. I feel a twinge of guilt, but we’re not dating. Even if we were, I can talk to whomever I want.
I walk across the yard and up the stairs. Elliot follows me inside and up to the second floor. He doesn’t say a word, even once we’re inside my room. He looks around the small space that feels far tinier with him in it, studying the papers spread out on my desk and the clothes strewn across my bed, the photos on my wall, many of which feature him.
“Talk, Elliot.”
“You dating one of those guys?”
“I—I’ve gone out with one of them. A few times.”
“Did you fuck him?”
I flinch at the shift in tone. “That’s none of your business.”
“That’s not a no.”
I close my eyes, inhale, and exhale. “Yeah, it is, actually.” I open them to see relief flash across his face. “But if I had, it wouldn’t be any of your business.”
