Page 68 of Blitz

After that came the rum. Bryce kept cutting it with Diet Coke, even though I hate Diet Coke—the aspartame gives me a headache. At some point we ordered a mountain of pizzas. There were at least twenty people there, and everyone ate their fill. I wonder who paid. I probably owe them money.

There’s a vague memory of calling Tucker on video chat. He was shirtless, tucked up in his bed like a good little boy. He’s going to meet me at the bus, I remember, and then the nausea comes back in full force.

He’s going to meet me at the bus.

I hobble to the bathroom and lean against the cool tile of the shower. The hot water helps make my world make sense again. I am never drinking again. It only gets me into trouble.

Fred knocks on the door. “Let me in. I need to pee.”

“It’s open.”

We live together, and we share a bathroom. We work out together. There’s nothing she has that I haven’t seen before.

The door opens and some of the steam escapes. I mourn the loss of warm air as she pads into the bathroom.

“You good, girl?”

Fred groans. “Did I make out with that pole vaulting guy?”

“Only for, like, five minutes, before we pulled you off of him. He was certainly… enthusiastic. It looked like you were five seconds away from vaulting on his pole.”

“Shit. How am I supposed to look him in the eye now?” She flushes.

“Since when have you cared?”

“Since he’s on the fucking team.”

“You hooked up with Mark last week,” I point out.

She snorts. “Mark is like the team bicycle. Everyone’s been with him at least once. Except for you.”

“Nope. Never, not once,” I smile smugly to myself. I don’t need him. I’ve got a man of my own.

A pasty white hand sneaks into the shower curtain and turns the water from nearly boiling to freezing. I shriek and jump away from the stream of ice pellets masquerading as water.

“What the fuck, Fred?”

She laughs. “Enjoy your shower.”

Muttering under my breath, I fix the temperature and resume my shower. We have team breakfast in an hour and then we hit the road. I should probably try to study a little on the bus ride home since I’m missing my abnormal psychology study group. I’m sure the precious few hours remaining in my weekend will be taken up by Tucker, Tucker, and more Tucker.

I miss him. I get to see him in five hours. That will have to be enough.

Fred is packing. She laughs at the sight of me, shivering in my towel, and ducks into the bathroom for a shower of her own. Briefly, I debate retribution. Eventually I decide against it. I don’t want to sink to her level.

My phone has half a dozen texts. One is a wall of text from my brother—I ignore that for the bus ride, when I’m sure I’ll need a distraction from fifty horny athletes bored out of their minds.

The other texts are from Tucker. They’re all marked for shortly after two o’clock in the morning, a time when I would have sworn he would be asleep.

Are you okay?

Baby, talk to me.

What’s going on?

Mason.

You’re really worrying me.