End Game (Bellevue Bullies 4)
Chapter Nineteen
Sofia
“So, have you texted him?”
I shake my leg nervously as I look out on the ice. Amelia won’t like my answer, which is why I’m stalling. “Not yet.”
When Amelia groans, I don’t even look at her. Instead, my eyes are on the ice as the Zamboni moves along it, cleaning the surface after warm-ups. It’s my first college hockey game—well, first hockey game ever—and this place is packed with people. The rink is buzzing with excitement, and I have to admit, I sort of dig it. With the way this crowd acted, screaming and cheering on the Bullies as they warmed up, I’m curious to see how the game will go. It’s a rivalry matchup, against Lipsome, and according to Amelia, it’s sure to be a chippy game.
Not sure what that means, but she insists I’ll enjoy it.
“And why not?”
I bite the inside of my lip as I lean back, crossing my legs as my foot continues to tap. I’m not sure why I’m nervous. I don’t know if the reason I haven’t texted Ryan is because I haven’t seen him since the party, which was only two days ago. Or if it’s because I really wanted to and I don’t want to sound dumb. I don’t know what to say. Hi may seem like the right choice, but then, what do I do after that? I don’t know, and not knowing is really fucking with me. I feel like an idiot, completely clueless.
I wish I could be more like Amelia.
“I don’t know. It’s weird. Like, what do I say?”
She gives me a blank look. “‘Hey, it’s Sofia’ is a wonderful start.”
I roll my eyes, crossing my arms over my chest. It’s freaking cold in here. “Well, I know that, but then what?”
“Have you never texted a guy before?”
“I’ve only texted my mom. And now, I text you.”
She doesn’t seem surprised by that, which should embarrass me, but it doesn’t. “Okay, so just talk the way you would with us.”
I press my lips together. “I don’t know. It seems silly. Like, I’d rather just speak to him.”
“That’s understandable, but when you can’t, you text.”
I think that over, pressing my fingers into my ribs. “I don’t know.”
She seems frustrated by me, but she doesn’t say so. Instead, she puts her feet on the ledge by the glass, lacing her fingers together. Looking around the rink, I notice a lot of the student body is around the top, but we’re at the bottom with teachers and people in suits. “Why aren’t we sitting up there?”
“These are my uncle Shea’s seats. He buys season tickets to support the team. Usually, Shelli and I or my mom take them when he can’t come, but I asked for them for us.”
“Oh, that’s nice.”
She flashes me a wide grin, her eyes dancing with excitement. “Yeah, I wanted you to have a front-row seat to your first game.”
She waggles her brows, but I’m still thinking about Ryan. It’s weird, and I feel so off. I’ve never done this, but ever since that kiss, the ripple of his muscles under my fingers, and then all the rest of him… Yeah, there is no getting that guy out of my head. “Does he even want me to text him?”
I meet her annoyed gaze, and she doesn’t answer me. She looks down at her phone, tapping a few things before holding it up for me. Leaning forward, I see it’s a text thread between Ryan and Amelia.
Bubba: Did you give her my number?
Me: Yes. Leave me alone.
Bubba: Why hasn’t she texted me, then?
Me: Maybe she doesn’t like you.
Bubba: Yes, she does. Tell her to text me. OR give me her number.
Me: I’m not disrespecting my friend like that. You’re gonna have to wait.
Bubba: UGH! I’m dying here.
Bubba: Please tell her to text me.
Me: Jeez, you’re so dramatic. Be patient.
Bubba: But I want to talk to her.
“So, I think he may want to talk to you.”
I look up from her phone to meet her gaze, and every nerve in my body is firing off like crazy. He wants to talk to me. A small little satisfied grin pulls at my lips before I shrug. “Yeah, I guess.”
“So text him.”
My phone feels like a hundred-pound weight in my hand as I gaze down at it. “I can’t right now.”
“Why not? You can wish him good luck. He has his phone.”
I furrow my brow. “He does?”
“Oh yeah. Before the coach talks, all the guys just sit with their phones.”