Free The Shameless Hour by Sarina Bowen Page B

those details, dude? Maybe you have a boner for Rafe? If you want a little man-on-man action, you can always come to me.”
    “Fuck you, Mat.”
    “I was thinking I’d rather fuck you.” Mat smirked.
    Bickley turned sharply toward our bedroom, stomped inside and slammed the door.
    Another soothing day at home. “Why do you do that to him?”
    “I got him off your back, didn’t I?” Mat’s grin was evil. “Besides, he makes it so easy for me.”
    “Isn’t that the definition of a bully?”
    He shrugged. “If I held his face in toilet water while I said it, then yeah.” He gave me a concerned frown. “You know, man. If you need to get laid again, I’m single now. You don’t have to hit the bars. I’m here for you.”
    I punched him in the shoulder.
    “Ow!” He whimpered with such girlish exaggeration that I couldn’t help but laugh. Then he grabbed my soccer ball off the floor. “If sex is off the table, let’s kick this thing around the courtyard for twenty minutes until brunch opens.”
    The offer caught me off guard. Mat rarely invited me to do anything except bet on football games. But what better offer did I have? “Sounds like a plan. Just let me change my clothes.”

    T hat afternoon , I retreated to my bedroom to sulk. In the bag that Alison had given me, I found a brand new iPod.
    Dear Rafe , the note read. I don’t expect you to understand. But I never meant to hurt you. This gift was meant to make it easier for us to communicate . And isn’t that ironic? I did a terrible thing, and I’m so sorry. More sorry than you’ll ever know. Love you always, Alison .
    I snorted. There was so much wrong with this note it was hard to tally it all up. Alison loved me enough to buy me a fancy toy. And yet she was sleeping with another guy.
    Her choice of a gift was another red flag. Alison had always found it weird that I didn’t have a texting plan for my cheap-ass phone. “It would be so much easier if I could text you,” she’d said more than once. In the first place, I didn’t text because I’d rather speak in person, or at least hear her voice on the phone. I’d said that. Many times. I hated that everyone on campus was always bent over, tapping on apps with their thumbs instead of watching where they were walking.
    I liked my gadgets vintage. I carried a pocket watch from the forties, for God’s sake. My cufflinks were made from old subway tokens.
    Alison had obviously not paid attention. Which only served to remind me that I hadn’t, either. I only saw the bits of her that fit the image I liked best.
    How utterly depressing.
    Still, playing with the first iPod I’d ever owned was fun, for about a half hour. It occurred to me that I would like to listen to music on my longer runs. And fiddling with the music library made for a good distraction for my misery, at least until I realized how tricky it was going to be to rip all my CDs on my laptop.
    Yay, technology . It saves you time, except when it doesn’t.
    Bickley wandered in after a while. “How’s the iPod?”
    “It’s apptastic. Hey, where’d you get that arm-band thing that holds your phone when you run?”
    Bickley shrugged. “At the bookstore, I think? For twenty quid or so.”
    Ouch. Maybe I could find one cheaper in the city.
    “So who was she, anyway?”
    “Not talking about it.” I kept my eyes on the little screen.
    “Well, are you going to see the mystery woman again?”
    That was the real question, wasn’t it? But I had a feeling it wasn’t up to me. “To be honest, I don’t know what to expect.” Bella was something of a mystery. I knew she worked with the hockey team as a manager, hence the team jacket. And I knew many of the players were her friends.
    I’d once heard a guy say that sleeping with her was part of being initiated onto the team. But that was just jocktarded smack talk, probably started by someone who couldn’t catch her eye.
    “But do you like her?” Bickley pried. He was desperate to