So much for being good luck.
Then again, I was doing just fine until Quinn interfered.
I shouldn’t have made that joke about us kissing. I could tell by her face she was shook. It was stupid, but I couldn’t help myself. Besides, with all the smack talk, there’s no way Noah could’ve overheard.
“That’s a good look for you, DeLaurentis!” McCoy shouts, pointing and cackling like a hyena.
“I make everything look good,” I shoot back, resisting the urge to give him the finger. This is a family affair, and Coach would have my ass for representing the team that way. “Too bad the same can’t be said for you and your boys.”
McCoy smirks and as the baseball players turn to go, he raises a hand to high-five Quinn. I can’t hear what he says, but when she slaps his palm, a bright smile on her face, something ugly twists my gut.
Fucking baseball players.
“I don’t want to alarm you,” Reid says, approaching the tank the way one might approach the lion exhibit at the zoo. “But I think your unicorn is broken.”
“My unicorn is just fine, fuck you very much.” It’s the best I can manage with my attention fixed on Quinn.
Reid laughs and shakes his head. “Either way, that was the funniest thing I’ve seen all day. Remind me to thank Coach for cutting practice short.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
We make plans to meet up after the carnival to grab something to eat, and he takes off with Carter and the rest of the guys, no doubt rehashing my tumble into the ice bath.
Christ. I hope they didn’t catch it on film. I have no interest in becoming a meme. Especially with my father’s re-election campaign reaching a fever pitch. The old man wasn’t kidding when he said Mullaney was turning the screws. The polls show them neck and neck, and if anything goes wrong—if I embarrass him in any way—there’ll be hell to pay.
It’s just a fundraiser.
Yeah, fuckin’ right. The media can twist even the most innocent footage when there are clicks to be earned. Growing up a politician’s kid, I’ve seen it time and again.
It wouldn’t be so bad if it only affected my asshole father, but shit rolls downhill and when the senator isn’t happy, no one’s happy.
Just a few more months.
The words have basically become my mantra, driving every decision I make, both on the field and off. Once that NFL contract is signed, I’ll be free.
Until then, I’ve got to walk the line.
A new player approaches the tank and I push all thoughts of my father—and the election—from my mind.
The next half hour flies by. There’s a steady stream of traffic, but no one manages to hit the target.
Thank Starlight Twinkle for small favors.
Mid-October in Central Pennsylvania isn’t exactly freezing, but it’s not what you’d call a tropical paradise either.
When Noah gives the signal to close up shop, I grab my unicorn and get my ass out of the tank. No need to give Quinn another opportunity to dunk me. Not when she’d likely take the universe up on the offer.
I’m rifling through my bag, looking for something to use as a towel, when a throat clears to my left.
I glance up to find Quinn watching me.
“Here to gloat?” I ask, rocking back on my heels.
My swim trunks are still damp and cling to me in all the wrong places, but it is what it is. I might be a jackass, but I’m not about to scratch my balls in front of Quinn.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She flutters her lashes, doing her best to look innocent. I’m not buying. “I tripped. It was an accident.”
“Right,” I drawl. “I’ll bet you didn’t have any accidents when Jeremy was in the tank.”
