Page 79 of Line Change

He waits, and I know that answer isn’t going to get me anywhere.

“What?”

“Do you like the team?”

Nolan is the first person I think of, which irritates me enough to keep avoiding the answer.

“They’re my teammates. I’m not a preschooler who needs to get along with his classmates.”

“I’ve met enough hockey players to know they’re less mature than preschoolers.”

“And yet you’re dating one.”

Grayson says, “Ugh, I know, it’s the worst!”

We both laugh, Grayson loud enough that the couple at the next table glances over. He doesn’t notice them.

“They’re good guys,” I tell him when he quiets down. “We had a rough start, but we’re playing better.”

“I know. Vasya keeps putting your games on.”

I wasn’t expecting that. “You watch them?”

“I work while he yells at the television. Sometimes I look up to make sure he’s not dying. He likes your line.”

Korolev knows hockey, so I like hearing that. “We’re getting there.”

I ask how work is, and he starts talking about a client who has rejected three versions of the same design while sending examples that contradict one another.

I lose part of the story. When he mentions Yoli, I ask whether she agrees with him. Grayson looks surprised for a second, then says she does and keeps going.

My phone vibrates again.

Grayson pauses with his glass halfway to his mouth. “You can answer it.”

“It can wait.”

He resumes his story. I listen until he looks down to silence his own phone, then take mine from my pocket.

Nolan has sent two more messages.

Rude. I was going to let you pick the game.

Then, two minutes later: Does busy mean no or later?

Normally I would have answered before the second message. We text after practice, from the grocery store, while one of us is watching a game the other one can’t see. Nolan sends me anything that makes him laugh and expects an opinion, even if my opinion is that it isn’t funny. Four messages aren’t unusual.

Being annoyed with him is still unfair. He asked if we were hanging out, and I gave him the least useful answer possible. I lock the phone and shove it back into my pocket instead of fixing that.

When our food arrives, the noodles are as good as Nolan said they would be. Grayson takes one bite of his dinner, points his fork at my bowl, and asks to try mine. I slide it across the table.

“Okay,” he says after taking enough to count as a side dish. “This is better.”

I let him take another forkful before I pull my bowl back. He smiles and goes back to his plate. I’m glad he came, and I wish Nolan would stop texting until I’m alone.

We’re playing well, and Gunderson has decided that means we should work harder. “Practice is going to run long tomorrow. Sorry I can’t show you much of the city.”

“I didn’t come for a tour. I can find something to do until you’re finished.”