Page 81 of Call the Shots
“Say it again.”
My hand crept up the curve of her back. “You were right. I was wrong.”
“Again.”
“You were right,” I breathed out. “I was wrong.”
The song ended as someone yelled from the backyard. “Who thefuckbrought Tickle Me Elmo?”
Oh, shit.
June and I glanced back at each other at the same time, blurting the name together, “Montoya!”
CHAPTER 31
JUNE
YOU’LL SEE HOW SOFT I AM
The two ofus raced to the backyard to see what the party was jeering over. Elijah—goddammit, Elijah—was being shoved by a guy in a viking costume, and there was Montoya. Baby Montoya, who had the biggest dimples on the team, stood on shaky knees, confronted by some frat boy.
“This doesn’t fucking concern you,” the frat boy snapped.
“There’s—there’s a nicer tone you can use for my teammate,” Montoya stuttered.
“A nicertone?”
“I—I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You don’t want to hurtme?” He grabbed Montoya by the shoulder. “Who do you think you are?”
I bristled, but Bear was one step ahead of me. He elbowed his way through the crowd, a snarl exploding out of him. “You don’t touchmy fucking kid!”
My mouth fell open as Bear’s fist struck the frat boy’s jaw with a resoundingcrackand the crowd cheered. The night erupted into brawls, Bear wrestled a chair from another guy when he tried to hit Bear with it, Elijah was fighting with the viking in the corner, rolling in the dirt, and Nick passed by, rolling up his sleeves.
I could see Montoya sucking in deep breaths in preparation, but before he could join, I ducked through the warm bodies and snagged him by the bed sheet.
“I can help!” he pleaded.
“No, youcan’t.” I scanned the crowd. “Fridge!”
“I’m too drunk for this!” he cursed, ducking into the fight, accidentally ripping off someone’s toga.
This was out of hand, but I was the only one who thought so. As long as the cops weren’t called, fights were considered a sign of a great party. No one was interested in stopping it. How wasIsupposed to stop it?!
I didn’t call Fridge to throw punches, he was the calmest hockey player on the team. People actually listened to him! I dragged Montoya along, darting to where Fridge was smacking a guy with his own plastic shield.
“Fridge!” I yelled and someone crashed into me. My heels stumbled over each other and I hit the grass with a sharp pain in my ankle. “Shit!”
Montoya dropped down to grab my ankle. “June?—”
“No, Montoya! Stop touching it!”
“Did you break it? Oh no, are your bones coming out?” He gagged. “I’m going to throw up?—”
Fridge kicked away his opponent before taking Montoya’s place next to me, his face dewy with sweat. “June, are you okay?”
“It’s been forever since I’ve worn heels,” I admitted, embarrassed. “Fridge, we have to stop the fight?—”
