Page 63 of The Roommate Game
“That’s cool.” I lowered my eyes as I traced his pelvic bone with my thumb.
“I think so too. It’s funny because I wasn’t sure he liked me, but he clapped for me yesterday. And it wasn’t sarcastic clapping, either.”
“You deserve it. Hey…are you doing an interview with Walker? Ty mentioned it, but?—”
“Ugh!” Rafe flopped onto his pillow theatrically. “I’m not doing it.”
“You’re not?”
“No, I can’t in good conscience lie to a million people. It’s wrong. Sure, maybe the exposure would be enough to whomever gets left off the roster, but it’s cheating.” He squeezed his eyes shut briefly. “I’m embarrassed that I’ve let it go this far. Whateverthisis. I rarely see Eli outside of the rink so I can’t believeanyonebelieves we’re in a relationship. It’s one thing to let the skating community at Smithton think we’re something we’re not, but to blast a lie on social media is just…no. I’ll talk to Walker tomorrow, and…grovel.”
“Walker’s cool. It’ll be okay.”
Rafe blew a raspberry. “Maybe, but Eli may throw me off a bridge. We’re in fierce competition for a spot now. I heard Smithton will get four entries—a duo, one for women’s individual, and one for men’s. Only one. It’s me or him. Not both of us.”
“You could make the interview about that,” I suggested.
“Maybe, but I think it’s best to concentrate on training. No games.”
“He’s worried that you’re doing too well.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“I do. Not everyone is going to be happy for you when you kick ass and take names. That’s how it goes.”
Rafe hummed thoughtfully. “Speaking of kicking ass and taking names…did you talk to your parents about your new job?”
I winced. “No.”
“Gus. You’re making it worse than it has to be. Unless…are you waffling?”
“Waffling? The only waffling I do is at a fucking IHOP.”
Rafe snickered. “Aren’t you supposed to get pancakes at the International House of Pancakes?”
“I don’t think they’re enforcing that law, and this might be controversial, but I’m choosing a waffle over a pancake any day.”
“Those are strong words.”
“I stand by them. Crispy waffle pockets hold the syrup till you need it instead of soaking the edges and leaving you with soggy pancakes and?—”
“Gus?”
“Yeah?”
He captured my chin, stroking my end-of-day beard as he peered into my eyes. “Call your mom. Trust me…you’ll feel better.”
“Augustus, darlin’, your timing is oddly impeccable. I was just about to call you.”
“Oh, yeah?”
I picked at a loose thread on my sweatpants absently and fixed my gaze at the dazzling sunlight dancing on the surface of the lake. I must have skipped fifty stones before I’d finally pushed Send. A hit off a joint would have worked wonders or even an early morning beer. But it was just me out here now.
“Yes. Honey, I’m a little beside myself. I thought you’d talked to Derek Collinsworth. I thought your internship was a done deal. You said you’d call him,” Mom accused in a smooth-as-molasses tone.
“I did.”
Mom gasped. “Did that weasel turn you down? What happened? Tell me everything, and don’t you dare leave out a single detail.”