Read Online The Year We Fell Down by Sarina Bowen - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sarina Bowen
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“I see. Wow.”
“Yeah,” I agreed, while Hartley snorted.
“Hey, Corey?” Dana said. “You’re getting a Skype call. It’s Damien. Should I answer?”
“Sure, thanks.”
Dana handed me the laptop, and my brother’s face materialized on the screen. “Hi shorty,” he said. “What’s shaking?”
“Not much. I’m just hanging out. Are you still at work?” I could see office furniture behind him.
“Yup, it’s a glamorous life.” My brother was working as a paralegal for a year before he went to law school.
Beside me, Hartley plopped down on the sofa, a bottle of tequila in one hand, a cocktail shaker in the other. “Whoa! It’s Callahan! How are you, man?”
“Dude. Why would you be in my sister’s room, and not at practice?”
“Well, Captain, the reason would be the giant fucking cast on my leg. These days I can only play hockey on a screen, and your sister has the sweet TV. This is how we party in the gimp ghetto.” Hartley looked down at the other supplies he’d brought. “Fuck. I forgot the limes. Be right back.” He grabbed his crutches and stood up, ambling toward my door.
Damien waited a moment before crossing his arms and hooking his eyebrows. “Please tell me you’re not seeing him.”
This made me laugh. “I’m not seeing him. But — God, Damian — why do you care?”
“He’s not who I would pick for you.”
Well I’m not who he picked, so it looks like you don’t need to worry . “That’s funny, Damien. Who would you pick for me?”
“Nobody, of course. You’re my little sister.”
“I see.”
“Please stay away from the entire hockey team. They’re pigs.”
“I think you just called yourself a pig.”
My brother’s smile was wide. “I just call ‘em like I see ‘em.”
“I have a video game to win here, bro. I’ll talk to you later.”
Damien frowned. “Don’t let Hartley get you drunk.”
“Really? You’d lecture me about drinking? Ease up, okay? Or I’ll tell Mom what really happened to that bottle of cooking sherry that went missing when you were in tenth grade.”
He grinned. “Later, shorty.”
I won our first game. Afterwards, instead of rubbing Hartley’s face in it, I told him that I needed a little advice.
“Yes, you should trade your goalie to another team. He’s weak.” Hartley was squeezing lime juice into a cocktail shaker. I watched him pour the tequila in, and then add a dollop of honey. He had been told to stop icing his knee, so the plan was to use up the rest of the bag of ice Bridger had brought him on margaritas.
“No, seriously. It’s about the Screw Your Roommate dance. Dana wants me to set her up. But since I live under a rock, I don’t know who to call.”
He shook up our cocktails. “What’s her type?”
“I’m not sure. She’s not really into sports. I could see her with a theater nerd, or a musician.”
“Then you might be asking the wrong guy for help.” He uncapped the shaker and strained the results into two dining hall glasses. “I wish I’d thought to snag some salt. Cheers.” He handed me a glass.
I took a sip. “You know, I thought the honey was a strange choice. But it’s quite good.”
“Stick with me, babe.”
If only I could.
“Tell me this,” Hartley said, bending his knee a few degrees, and grimacing. “If Dana asks me for advice about who to set you up with for Screw Your Roommate, what should I tell her? There are a couple of frosh on the hockey team who would like to go. I don’t know their game schedule, though.”
I shook my head. “I’m not going.”
“You don’t want to be screwed?”
I felt my face heat. “Gosh, I wonder if that joke has ever been made before?”
“It’s a tough crowd here for a Friday night,” Hartley grinned. “Look, it’s really kind of fun, and a low pressure way to meet people. No offense, Callahan, but you’re not exactly getting out there.”
I nearly choked on my drink. “Hartley, if I wanted someone to nag me
“Yeah,” I agreed, while Hartley snorted.
“Hey, Corey?” Dana said. “You’re getting a Skype call. It’s Damien. Should I answer?”
“Sure, thanks.”
Dana handed me the laptop, and my brother’s face materialized on the screen. “Hi shorty,” he said. “What’s shaking?”
“Not much. I’m just hanging out. Are you still at work?” I could see office furniture behind him.
“Yup, it’s a glamorous life.” My brother was working as a paralegal for a year before he went to law school.
Beside me, Hartley plopped down on the sofa, a bottle of tequila in one hand, a cocktail shaker in the other. “Whoa! It’s Callahan! How are you, man?”
“Dude. Why would you be in my sister’s room, and not at practice?”
“Well, Captain, the reason would be the giant fucking cast on my leg. These days I can only play hockey on a screen, and your sister has the sweet TV. This is how we party in the gimp ghetto.” Hartley looked down at the other supplies he’d brought. “Fuck. I forgot the limes. Be right back.” He grabbed his crutches and stood up, ambling toward my door.
Damien waited a moment before crossing his arms and hooking his eyebrows. “Please tell me you’re not seeing him.”
This made me laugh. “I’m not seeing him. But — God, Damian — why do you care?”
“He’s not who I would pick for you.”
Well I’m not who he picked, so it looks like you don’t need to worry . “That’s funny, Damien. Who would you pick for me?”
“Nobody, of course. You’re my little sister.”
“I see.”
“Please stay away from the entire hockey team. They’re pigs.”
“I think you just called yourself a pig.”
My brother’s smile was wide. “I just call ‘em like I see ‘em.”
“I have a video game to win here, bro. I’ll talk to you later.”
Damien frowned. “Don’t let Hartley get you drunk.”
“Really? You’d lecture me about drinking? Ease up, okay? Or I’ll tell Mom what really happened to that bottle of cooking sherry that went missing when you were in tenth grade.”
He grinned. “Later, shorty.”
I won our first game. Afterwards, instead of rubbing Hartley’s face in it, I told him that I needed a little advice.
“Yes, you should trade your goalie to another team. He’s weak.” Hartley was squeezing lime juice into a cocktail shaker. I watched him pour the tequila in, and then add a dollop of honey. He had been told to stop icing his knee, so the plan was to use up the rest of the bag of ice Bridger had brought him on margaritas.
“No, seriously. It’s about the Screw Your Roommate dance. Dana wants me to set her up. But since I live under a rock, I don’t know who to call.”
He shook up our cocktails. “What’s her type?”
“I’m not sure. She’s not really into sports. I could see her with a theater nerd, or a musician.”
“Then you might be asking the wrong guy for help.” He uncapped the shaker and strained the results into two dining hall glasses. “I wish I’d thought to snag some salt. Cheers.” He handed me a glass.
I took a sip. “You know, I thought the honey was a strange choice. But it’s quite good.”
“Stick with me, babe.”
If only I could.
“Tell me this,” Hartley said, bending his knee a few degrees, and grimacing. “If Dana asks me for advice about who to set you up with for Screw Your Roommate, what should I tell her? There are a couple of frosh on the hockey team who would like to go. I don’t know their game schedule, though.”
I shook my head. “I’m not going.”
“You don’t want to be screwed?”
I felt my face heat. “Gosh, I wonder if that joke has ever been made before?”
“It’s a tough crowd here for a Friday night,” Hartley grinned. “Look, it’s really kind of fun, and a low pressure way to meet people. No offense, Callahan, but you’re not exactly getting out there.”
I nearly choked on my drink. “Hartley, if I wanted someone to nag me
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