“Fine, your satisfaction then.”
“Elaborate…”
I pull back, blinking past the loud clearing of a throat behind me. The leg of my desk getting kicked in the same motion.
Eli. When had he come in?
I don’t understand what game Iceman is playing at, but it seems like he’s winning. He’s getting to me, and even worse, I’m letting him.
My embarrassment unexpected as it settles into my skin.
Cole’s jaw squares, widening with his displeasure. Those cerulean eyes never look past me to Eli, and it makes this all the more confusing.
“Elaborate,” I repeat. Less huskiness in this one word than before.
He doesn’t retract right away, staying in his hunched position. On a drawn-out sigh, he finally relents, and I think I can breathe again. Standing back to his full height, he grabs for the item I hadn’t noticed before on his shoulder.
I try and cover my surprise, but I’m not sure if even I would buy it.
Never would I have expected to receive this.
“Don’t make it more than it needs to be,” he taunts flatly. Leaving the room before I can get a word in or give it back.
I don’t bother looking up. Mostly because I can’t pull my eyes away long enough to be sure, but I think class has already started.
Cole’s little disturbance would no doubt be all over the hallways of KPA by the end of the day. Usually, anything dealing with a hellhound made top gossip.
Now I’m certain it will be after what he’s left behind for me.
My fingers slowly start at the bottom and work their way up. Tracing over the large number two, passing it on my way to the last name inscribed across the entire back.
Cole’s last name.
Jolting, my hand pulls away when the teacher comes by and sets a test down on top of it. I feel all topsy-turvy inside. This seems like more than a gesture of friendship.
That test the hardest one I’ve taken in my life. My brain’s sole concentration on the jersey that sat inside my bag with the weight of a loaded gun.
thirty-eight
Cole
Rorystillhasn’twornit. Three games later and nothing. Nada. Zilch. Zero. Zip.
I shouldn’t be surprised; this is Princess we’re talking about. My girl never does anything until she’s damn near, mindfuck, annoyingly ready.
I’m not offended that she hasn’t put it on. It’s only tradition to hand out our extra jerseys. Girls have been sporting Finn, Eli’s, and our other team members’ all season.
Proud and appreciative, that’s what they are. Our jerseys are worn with pride and honor. Especially if you manage to snag a hellhound for a game. A prize Finn is never shy about giving out.
Mine is probably sitting in a dresser. If not a trash can.
Not upset about it. Nope, not one bit.
Speaking of, I finish typing out a response to her text. She’s sent me a funny picture of herself with her tongue poking out. We’ve been doing this more. Not every day, but most she’ll find something to send or I, her.
“We still on for your house tonight?” Eli asks, pulling my attention from my phone.
“That works. I should be able to get away by eight.”