Page 72 of Studs Up
The sound of giant machinery filtered in on the other end of the call.
“Where are you?” I asked.
“Just landed in Atlanta.”
“Lucky you.”
“Bullshit, it’s fucking hot.” At least we could agree on something. “You have to name her, you know,” he said.
“I am a grown-ass man, Monroe. I am not naming a fucking cactus.”
He laughed.
“Trust me,” he said. “You’ll catch the feels and end up naming her anyway.”
I rolled my eyes and heaved a great sigh.
“You know, You could do us a real favor and lose tonight.”
“Not on your fucking life.” He laughed again and hung up. Then the bastard had the audacity to get a hat trick and blow Atlanta out of the water. Dickhead.
Holden
“Can’t sleep?” He mumbled.
“How did you guess?” I kept my voice low since I had woken him up again for the umpteenth time.
I had developed this nasty habit of needing to hear his voice. Then and only then could I fall asleep.
“Well, it’s two fifteen in the fucking morning.” Was it that late?
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I shouldn’t be waking you up like this.” Especially since he had a game. Ours was tomorrow.
“It’s fine.” The groan in his voice said it wasn’t fine.
“Forget it,” I said. “Go back to sleep.”
“Naw, we can talk.”
“Okay,” I said, but I hadn’t prepared any topics, so I didn’t know what to say. “So…”
There was a silence. There were a thousand topics to talk about, and none at the same time. I didn’t want to talk about soccer. That consumed too much of both our lives. But I also didn’t want to broach subjects like family or favorite colors. That seemed too close to relationship territory, and I still needed to maintain some distance. Something nice and surface level would be perfect, except I had no ideas.
“I have a question,” he said after a moment.
“Alright.” Thank god he could pick the topic.
“What’s the deal with Marcel?”
I stopped. Shit. That was almost the very last conversation I wanted to have. Right down there with my family and the texts.
“That’s um…” How did I say it? How did I tell him without telling him? And then there was the fact he was Nolan’s teammate. What would that do? “Well…that’s, uh.” Nolan wasn’t going to let it go. He was a stubborn fuck. My brain wasn’t working fast enough to come up with an answer. So Nolan did it for me.
“You slept with him.”
I flinched. Fuck. I closed my eyes and scrunched my face. I couldn’t lie to him. I didn’t want to.
“Not in a long time,” I murmured. “A very long time. And I have no interest in doing it again.”
