Page 44 of Off Limits

Cal seems to accept that explanation. But then he looks at the time on his phone. “And it took you over five hours to get food and tell her that the professor is a confusing asshole? Where were you the rest of the time?”

Forcing out a chuckle, I cross my arms. “Is there a curfew I didn’t know about, Dad?”

He flips me off. “I’m just curious. No need to get all defensive. You’re usually home way before me, so you coming in late is strange, that’s all.” His scowl morphs into a look of excitement, and he hits the arm of the couch. “Oh, man. I just figured it out. You were with your mystery girl. The one from your class that you hooked up with. You saw her again already? Last night you were all evasive. Are you embarrassed? Is that why you won’t tell me who she is?”

I roll my eyes and head for my room. “I’m going to bed,” I call over my shoulder. “We’ve got offensive drills in the morning before classes start. You should probably go to bed too.”

Grumbling, he turns off the TV and hits the lights before following me down the hall. “I’m just the second string quarterback. Who even cares if I’m there?”

I stop in my doorway and stare him down, which isn’t too difficult since he’s several inches shorter than me. “Quit being a crybaby. You’re never going to get any playing time with that attitude. Show the new QB coach you’re a team player instead of a drama queen, dig in and go harder in practice, and maybe they’ll give you a starting spot again. But you sure as shit won’t get any time on the field even if Kilpatrick has to be pulled out if you’re pissing and moaning all over the place. For one, it affects your game. And for another, you don’t think everyone knows how you feel already? You’re not doing yourself any favors, dude.”

He stands in the darkened hallway, and I have to imagine the murderous glare he’s giving me, because I can’t actually make out his expression. But instead of responding with some kind of defense or another tirade about how he’s been treated unfairly, he sighs, his shoulders slumping in what looks an awful lot like defeat.

“Fine,” he mutters. “Whatever. Night.”

It’s not quite an acknowledgment that I have a point. But it’s better than I expected, so I’ll take it.

And that attitude, that reaction, is exactly why Ellie doesn’t want him to know about us. And since I’m the one living with Cal? I’m not too thrilled about the prospect of telling him either. I just need to figure out what to tell him instead without letting guilt about lying to one of my best friends eat me alive in the process.

* * *

Simon: Home game this weekend. You coming?

E: I do plan on *coming* this weekend lol. Preferably with you.

Simon: Preferably? Is there a second string I don’t know about?

E: I mean, I can do the job on my own …

Simon: Right. Definitely planning on taking care of that job for you. It’s even in my calendar. Now about the game …

E: Hold up. You have “make Ellie come” as a calendar entry?

Simon: I thought we were done with that conversation. We’ve circled back around to you attending the game on Saturday.

E: Did we? Because I’m still stuck on me being in your calendar. I can’t tell if you’re joking or not over text

Simon: Does it matter? And why are you avoiding my question?

E: Why are you avoiding MY question???

E: This is Autumn. I’m also curious about this calendar entry. But yes, Ellie and I will be attending the game. What number are you? We’ll wear your jersey. Or paint your number on our chests and flash the game every time you take the field.

I almost don’t get to finish reading the last text before Ellie’s number lights up my screen. Laughing, I hit the green button to take the call, but don’t even get a word in before Ellie launches in with, “Oh my god, we arenotpainting anyone’s numbers on our chests and flashing the crowd. Please ignore my crazy roommate. She’s unhinged.”

“Oh, I dunno,” I manage to calm down enough to say. “She might be onto something. Guys do it all the time. Why not you? I’m number forty-five, by the way.”

“What did he say?” comes a voice in the background. “Put it on speaker. I didn’t hear his number.”

“Shut up, Autumn!” hisses Ellie, her voice quieter like she’s pulled the phone away from her mouth. Then louder to me, “I’m sorry about her. I’m going in my room now! And locking the door!” She shouts the last thing, which is obviously for Autumn’s benefit as well as mine.

I hear muffled shouting, but can’t make out the words. The near-constant hum of conversation around me in the student center doesn’t help. “What’d she say?”

“She’s asking if we’re going to have phone sex and reminding me that even with the door locked, the walls are thin and she can still hear me if I’m a screamer. Oh my god. I’m so sorry you have to deal with this insanity.”

I’m still laughing. “I don’t mind.”

“You, Simon, are a saint.”

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