Right Man, Right Time (The Vancouver Agitators, #3)(29)

“Very fresh,” Posey says before biting into an egg and sausage sandwich. “Fresher than ever. Don’t you think, Holmes?”

“I don’t want to be a part of this,” Holmes replies as he folds his arms across his chest.

“That’s because you don’t want us to treat you the same way when it comes to your crush,” Pacey says, pointing out the obvious. And because Holmes doesn’t ever want to engage in whatever shenanigans we have going on. He prefers to stay silent.

“Back to Taters,” Hornsby says. “I would say he is the most fresh we’ve seen in a while.”

“Can we cut it with the fresh shit?” I say as I sit at my locker. The guys waste no time closing in on me.

“So . . .” Pacey says, “care to tell us what the fuck happened last night?”

Yup, getting straight to the point.

“Not much to talk about,” I say. “My girlfriend came over, we ate some pizza, and we talked.”

“Why haven’t you ever talked about her before?” Posey asks. “That’s shitty, man. We’re your boys.”

“Because I didn’t need you butting in on my life like you do all the time. Like right now, the four of you, breathing in my space.”

“Oh, so it’s okay for you to do it?” Hornsby asks, knowing full well I gave him plenty of shit when he got Pacey’s sister pregnant. “But the moment we give you any sort of shit, you try to shut it down?”

“Glad you can see it that way.” I pat him on the shoulder. “Now, get the fuck out of here so I can get ready.”

“Uh, do you really think that’s going to work on us? You didn’t even tell us where you met, how long you’ve been dating, or what she’s like,” Hornsby says.

“Well, seems like you have something to look forward to, then,” I answer as I stand and tear my shirt over my head so I can get ready for weight training this morning.

Pacey stands, puts his hand on my shoulder, and pushes me back onto my seat.

“Nice try. You’re not leaving this room until you answer questions.”

Hell.

“How long have you been dating?” Hornsby asks.

“A few weeks,” I answer.

“Where is she from?” Posey asks.

“Portland,” I say, glad I know that answer.

“She’s young,” Pacey says. “Just how young are we talking?”

I swallow. “Uh, twenty-one.”

“What the fuck?” Hornsby says as all the guys shift back.

“Dude,” Holmes says with a shake of his head.

“I know, okay? I don’t need shit from you four about her age. I didn’t know she was that young at first. It doesn’t seem like it matters, though. You can’t even tell.” Lies. Going to her dorm makes me feel like some sort of creepy pervert. I don’t belong there.

“Is it serious?” Hornsby asks.

“Very,” I answer and then stand. “I’ve answered enough of your questions. Now leave me the fuck alone so I can get my training done.” Clothes in hand, I storm off toward the bathroom, where I’ll get changed to avoid them.

That could have been way worse, although I don’t think it’s over.





Chapter Seven





OLLIE





To: Ollie Owens

From: Alan Roberts

Subject: Internship

Miss Owens,

I’m writing to advise that I’ve chosen to extend your internship through the end of the college year. I assume you’ll be able to handle the workload. I’ve already been in touch with your adviser. I suggest you accept.

Roberts

I stare blankly at my computer, confused, elated, worried . . .

It’s rare for an internship to get extended. I know it happens, but only to a few choice candidates. And when they’re extended, you’ll most likely be offered a job at the end of the year.

A job straight out of college would be everything I ever wanted.

It’s what I’ve been working toward. To prove to everyone, especially my dad, that I don’t need their help and can make it on my own.

Yeah, I might not have been entirely truthful with Silas last night. I don’t want to go back home because I don’t want to hear it from my dad, who has told me time and again that a job in journalism will get me nowhere. That I was wasting his money and my time by going to school up here. He couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t want to follow in his footsteps and take over the family business when I graduated from high school.

The family business is a small print shop in Oregon where he prints menus, brochures, and any other miscellaneous things he can get his hands on. The business was passed down from his dad, and he was hoping to do the same, but I have zero interest in it. Last Christmas, we got into a huge fight about it. He told me I was wasting his money by going to school for something that would never pay the bills. I told him his business was a dying trade, and then we parted ways.

So this is a huge opportunity . . .

“I see you got my email,” Roberts says behind me, startling me right out of my thoughts.

“Oh Jesus,” I mutter and catch my breath. “I didn’t see you there.”