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“Of course not. This is me speaking.”
“Then how is what I say or do with her outside of the group project any of your business?”
“You're making this more difficult than it needs to be, Perez.”
“Yeah, how’s that?”
“You and I know you play around with a different girl every week.”
“And you don’t?”
I ignore that half-truth.
“You’ve had girls on rotation since you came for training camp. You're not a serious person, not when it comes to relationships, and I’m not saying you should be. But what I am telling you is that Kennedy shouldn’t be part of that rotation. She’s off-limits. She's not one of the ones you fuck around with ever. Period.”
“Is that right?”
“Yeah.” I puff up my chest.
“That’ll be a little difficult when we're working on a class project together.”
“Then make itnotdifficult. I promise you, Lorenzo, you don't want to make this an issue between us.”
“Is that a threat, hockey boy?”
We’re at a point in this conversation where I didn’t want to go when his teammates file out of the game room. If one of them even motions to clench a fist, I’m chopping throats.
“Is everything all right over here, Enzo?” the biggest one of them asks.
“I don’t know,” Lorenzo glares at me. “Is everything all right, Sullivan?”
I can’t believe the balls on this asshole.
“I said what I needed to say,” I tell him. “The next move is up to you.”
Not that I needed them to back me up, but I feel much better when a few of my teammates stroll through the door and find us all standing here.
“What are we talking about over here?” Bass asks when he approaches, always ready for a fight. “Baseball shit?”
“Well, if it isn’t the corny Valencia ice mafia,” a guy I think is a short stop on their team says mockingly.
“What did you say?”
Before things escalate, I jump in. “It’s just a personal matter between me and my project partner, Lorenzo. We’re good.”
“Yeah,” Lorenzo agrees hesitantly, probably sizing up my teammates and deciding they might not fare well in a physical altercation with us. “We’re good.”
I lift my duffle back on my shoulder and give him one last warning look.
“See you in class,” I tell him.
“Or at your next home game,” the fucker smirks.
kennedy
“Is this your car?”I gasp.
Shane pulls up in front of my apartment building in a fully loaded BMW 5 series, wearing grey sweats with wet hair.
