Page 59 of Him
I yank off my shirt and then my shorts. The more of my skin that touches his, the happier I am.
Then? His phone rings.
I swear to God, if that’s Holly…
Since I’m lying on his body, I swallow my annoyance and ask if he wants me to get it.
“Just check the number,” he says lazily. “It’s probably nothing.”
But Jamie’s phone doesn’t usually ring at this hour, so I look. It’s not Holly. The display says KILLFEATHER.
“Um… It’s a camper.”
He lifts his head up quickly. “Really?”
I hand over the phone, and he answers.
“Hello?” He frowns. “Where are you? Where?” Another pause. “I’ll be right there.” He ends the call.
“What’s the matter with your goalie?”
Jamie scowls, and I can’t help noticing even his grumpy face is hot. “That was Shen using Killfeather’s phone. Apparently my goalie is drunk with two of your forwards. They’re not far away, but Killfeather won’t come home, and they didn’t know what to do.”
I reach for my shirt. “Let’s go. Where are they?”
“Behind the high school.”
“That’s original. When I got you drunk, it was on the roof of the Hampton Inn.”
Jamie laughs, tugging his clothes into place. “They can’t all be Ryan Wesley. The town would have to double the size of its police force.”
By silent mutual agreement, we leave the dormitory like thieves in the night. If it’s necessary to call in reinforcements, I’m sure Jamie will do it. But sometimes it’s just better to handle things quietly.
Once outside, we book it toward the high school. There’s a fence around the place, but Jamie points to a two-foot gap. When I squeeze through ahead of him, he puts a warm hand on my back, and I shiver slightly.
I’m so gone for him. I hope he can’t tell.
We find our charges sitting on their asses in the gravel under a sign that says “The Blue Bombers”. It’s fitting, because these kids are bombed. Especially Killfeather.
Jamie crouches down to talk to them. “What seems to be the trouble here?”
“We’re, like, drunk,” Davies says. “Annnnd Killfeather won’t go home. But we can’t leave ’im here.”
“I see.” Jamie somehow keeps a straight face. “Why won’t you go home?” he asks his goalie.
“Just…sick of it all,” Killfeather slurs, his head knocking back against the brick wall. “Tomorrow we gotta just do it all over again.”
“I see,” Jamie says again. “How much did you all drink?”
Shen makes a face. “A six-pack.”
Wait, what? “Each?’ I ask sharply.
Killfeather shakes his head. “No.” He pushes a six of longnecks into the light. The bottles are empty, of course.
“What else?” I demand.
Looking sheepish, Davies pulls an empty liter bottle of some local beer out from the shadows. Jamie takes it and reads the label. “Okay. Anything else?”
