She pointed, and I spotted Corey propped up against the couch, thanking Bridger for the wine delivery.
“Don’t mention it, Callahan,” Bridger said. “I’m going to have a sample,” he winked. “You know, quality control.”
“Sample the heck out of it, Bridge,” Corey said as he walked away.
“Happy Birthday, beautiful.” Without thinking, I pulled her in for a hug, which felt great. But then I felt her stiffen in my arms. I leaned back, hoping I hadn’t somehow offended her. Sure, we didn’t usually go full-frontal. But it was only a birthday hug.
“You went to the hockey game,” she whispered.
And then I understood. She’d smelled it on my jacket — that icy whiff that was so familiar. I’d had the same strange reaction only hours before, when I’d walked into the rink for the first time in months. Nothing else smelled like that.
I relaxed my arms around her. “Yeah. I took the gimpmobile. Did you want to go?”
“Nah,” she said quickly, trying to cover her reaction. “But who won?”
“We did, of course. And now we’re ready to celebrate.”
Corey looked around. “You brought all these guys? Awesome.”
“Sure. It wasn’t easy dragging them into a room full of singing group girls for a cold drink. But I managed. Hey — I’ll be right back, okay? I’m going to drop my jacket.” I let go of Callahan and crutched into her bedroom. I took off my jacket, and was just reaching into the breast pocket when Bridger came in, startling me.
“Hey, man.” Bridger chucked his jacket onto Corey’s bed.
“Good game tonight,” I said, even though it really wasn’t. But the unhelpful injured shouldn’t be too critical.
“Eh,” he said. “At least we won. Could have been worse. And now there’s a redhead showing me the ‘fuck me’ eyes.”
“You’d better get out there, then.” I needed him to leave so that I could sneak Corey’s birthday present out of my jacket.
“Yeah,” he said, but he didn’t move. “So what’s the deal with you and Callahan, anyway?”
That was a question I hadn’t really been expecting. “We’re tight, that’s all.” I gave the most casual shrug I could muster. Bridger wouldn’t understand. He didn’t have any girl friends, or even any girlfriends. His M.O. with women was simply to exchange body fluids and then move on.
“You two look awfully cozy,” Bridger crossed his arms. “She’d be a really big improvement over Stacia.”
“That’s real nice, asshole. I’ll give Stacia your love next time she calls.” But it was no secret that Bridger wasn’t the president of my girlfriend’s fan club. And the feeling was unfortunately mutual.
Bridger raised his hands defensively. “It’s just an observation. Corey is more your type than Stacia ever was.”
It was hard to argue that point. Before dating Princess Stacia, I’d always gone for the jock girls. Not just any jock. But there was something really sexy about a pretty girl who could also throw a football, and who didn’t mind watching the Bruins. But that was beside the point. “Stacia’s not going anywhere, Bridge.” He’d better get used to it.
“Too bad.” He turned and left Corey’s room.
Alone again, I pulled my gift out of my jacket and dropped it onto Corey’s pillow. Shit, if Bridger knew what was in this box, he would never believe that we were only friends. The birthday girl was going to blush like a tomato when she opened it. It was sort of a gag gift, but sort of not. Given the intense discussion we’d had a week ago, I hoped she’d understand.
“Good party,” I told her when I came back out into the common room. And it was. Tonight they were that room — the one bursting with energy and conversation.
Unfortunately, I was in no mood for a party. I had just spent the past two hours trying not to scream with frustration. It had cost me five dollars to buy a ticket in the student section to watch my own team play Rensselaer. And they’d barely eked out the win, breaking the 1-1 tie fifteen seconds before the buzzer. There was no less powerful feeling than watching your teammates struggle without you. And all the while, the cold air of the ice rink had slowly frozen my leg into a painsicle.
I felt selfish just thinking it, but what I really needed that second was a couple of hours alone with Corey, shooting the shit on the sofa. I needed the warm glance I always got from her when I walked into the room.
Whatever Bridger might make of it, I needed my Corey fix.
I flopped down on Corey’s empty couch, and patted the cushion next to me. She looked down, calculating the effort required to grab her crutches and relocate from the arm of the couch to the seat. It was Crutches Math 101. I did it all day long, too.
Saving her the trouble, I reached up and grabbed her by the hips. A half second later she landed next to me, her face startled. “Good thing this drink wasn’t full,” she said, staring into her cup.
“Good thing.” I arranged my aching leg on the coffee table. “Talk to me, Callahan. What’s the gossip?”