Page 24 of ClickBack

“I’m not sleeping in these clothes.”

“I can get you a shirt.”

“That would help.”

We go back to the bedroom. I take an old Georgetown T-shirt from the drawer and hand it to her. She looks at the front, then at me.

“You had to find one with Georgetown on it.”

“You got a preferred institution for sleepwear?”

“Temple, since you’re taking requests.”

“You weren’t complaining about what Georgetown produced last night.”

She presses the shirt against my chest. “You Georgetown men.”

I grin. “This one treating you right?”

At the bathroom door, she glances at her bag. “Now I understand women who keep a toothbrush in their purse.”

“New ones in the cabinet.”

“Good. You’re still on probation.”

She closes the door. I sit on the bed and send Von a message telling him I’ll call tomorrow, then silence the phone. I’ve got nothing useful to add to the apology by text or in my head. When Giselle comes out, I move over and let her decide where she wants to settle.

She puts her folded clothes on the chair and her bag beneath them. In my shirt, with her face washed, she looks different enough that I want another chance at the moment I spoiled.

I don’t ask for it.

She gets into bed and stays on her side for a while. Then she turns toward me.

“He always call you before big games?”

“Most of them.”

“He sounded nervous.”

“He’d tell you he’s annoyed.”

“He can be both.”

I smile a little. “He was twelve when I left for school. Called me about everything. A bad game. A girl. Mom telling him no.” Saying it brings back how young he sounded then. On television now, he’s all shoulders and certainty, and I can forget. On the phone, especially after a game, I still find myself listening for whatever he hasn’t told me yet.

“And you answered.”

“Usually.”

She looks toward the phone. “Go Monday.”

I had expected a question about why I haven’t decided. Maybe I owe her an explanation, but she isn’t waiting for one. She rolls onto her side, facing away from me, and asks me to turn out the lamp.

I do. A few minutes later she reaches back, finds my wrist, and draws my arm around her. I move closer only when she makes room.

Her fingers rest over mine. I lie there until her breathing evens out, thinking about how quickly she had found her glasses, how close I came to watching her leave, and how little effort it would have taken to say her name.

Chapter 5