Why did I feel like punching his face? Justin always talked like his mouth came from a garbage dump. It hadn’t bothered me before, but I found that I didn’t like him talking that way about her. Besides, his stone-hard, gelled blond hair irritated me today.
I pulled off my sweat-soaked shirt, balled it up, and, without guilt, threw it at Justin’s face. It boggled the mind how his blond hair stayed in place. He must have used epoxy.
“What the fuck, dude!”
Cameron laughed, but he sobered as he turned to me, his gaze piercing mine. He had the eeriest blue eyes I’d ever seen.
“Everything good?” he asked.
Opening my locker, I reached for my bag and straddled the bench to rummage for a fresh shirt and jeans.
“Yeah. Just need to get laid.”
Justin snorted. “Like you’d have a problem in that department.”
If he knew how hard I was shut down last night, he’d laugh his ass off. God, if he knew I couldn’t even get Red’s phone number, I’d never hear the end of it.
This morning on my way out, I’d stopped by her room and suggested she give me her number so I could text her the lock code to my apartment door. Simple request. But nooo.
“Just tell it to me,” she said.
“What if you forget it?” I waved my phone at her. “It’s easier if I text you.”
“I can memorize it,” she insisted, raising her chin in challenge.
“Don’t you have a phone?”
“I have a phone,” she huffed. “But it’s only for emergencies. Texts cost me a dollar each.”
I stomped to my room to find a Sharpie.
“Hold out your hand, then.” I wrote the code on her palm.
Stubborn girl.
I was closing the locker door to head for the showers when my phone burped a text. For a second, I was excited, thinking it might be Red. But there was no way she’d be texting me. Since I didn’t have her number, she didn’t have mine.
Sandra Bodelli: Hey, handsome. Want to come over? My roommate won't be here tonight.
I frowned. “Who’s Sandra Bodelli?”
Justin sneaked behind me to look at my phone. “Damn. You’re the man, Cal. Remember the girl from engineering who came to practice last week?”
I looked at him blankly.
He shook his head. “How can you forget? She put her number in your phone. Blond, big eyes”—he cupped his chest with his hands—“beautiful ass…ets?”
I shrugged. “I’ll take it.”
Justin roared like a maniac. I ignored him and texted Sandra that I’d meet her in an hour.
I’d forget Red tonight.
* * *
Slightly drunk and running on fumes, I stumbled back home at two in the morning. It was dark, but I didn’t bother turning on the lights as I stripped out of my clothes in the living room.
Opening the fridge, I grabbed a carton of orange juice and—because I heard my mom’s voice in my head telling me not to drink from the carton—grabbed a glass from the cupboard and poured. I chugged three glasses and let out a loud burp.