Page 107 of Goalkeeper
My phone rings, and I toss the book on my desk and answer, “Hey, Dad.”
“Uh, I never thought I’d need to say this, but I’m not your daddy, Spence.”
“Paige, hey, what’s up?” I sit up a little straighter in bed, which is dumb, because she can’t even see me.
“Spence, I need a favor.”
“Anything,” I reply, not caring how eager I probably sound.
“You’re a damn treasure. So, I can’t make it to class tomorrow. Can you take notes for me?”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask her why she won’t be in class, but it’s none of my business.
“Uh, yeah. No problem. I’ll give them to you tomorrow night. Or I can email them, whatever.” Fuck me. I’m such a try-hard with this girl.
“Thank you! And tomorrow is fine,” she answers, but her voice is going in and out, like she’s in a tunnel or something.
“Are you driving?”
“No, sorry. I’m across the room. Hang on.” I hear a little rustle, and a small crash, a mumbled, “fuckity fuck” and then she’s back. “Sorry, I was trying to get a drink, but I can’t open it.”
“Everything ok?”
“Yeah, it’s my hands. Right after I texted you, I started doing a paraffin wax, which is why I had to call instead of text, and it’s taking forever to harden. So I can only use my left hand and I wanted a drink and I am not ambidextrous. At all.”
“You shoulda played hockey, Paige…” I laugh and shake my head.
“OMG, of course you’re ambidextrous.”
“Yep. Left-handed as a kid, but now I’m fully skilled with both hands.” My words hang in the air a minute.
“Well, that took a decidedly dirty turn.” Paige laughs that sweet, melodic laugh I’m quickly getting addicted to.
“Shit, sorry,” I mutter as the phone chimes again, and I can see she’s requesting a video chat. I click accept right away.
Her face comes into view, and I’m not even kidding—she takes my breath away. Her hair is piled on top of her head, the strands spilling out everywhere. Her face is free of makeup, but I’d bet cash money she’s got like eight moisturizers on, and she’s stunning.
So stunning that it takes me a second to realize she’s wearing another one of those teeny tank tops.
Sweet. Hell.
“I needed to see your face,” she tells me. “But, I must say, the abs are a bonus.”
I can feel my face heat up— one of the curses that comes along with the red hair.
“Spence, you’re blushing,” she tells me, like I don’t already now.
“Dude, it’s the red hair. It’s out of my control.”
“Why are you blushing, Spence?” she asks, totally disregarding what I just said. That whole pre-law thing is making so much sense now.
“Uh… I feel like this is a trick question. Or an interrogation. Should I be dressed for this?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Ok, then.”
“I just wanted to see you,” she says, but there's something in her tone that gets my attention.
