“I always figured they were like shit cramps.”
Both women scoff.
“Yeah, no,” Melina says. “You can’t shit out your period and make the cramps go away.”
“How’s the ankle?” Talia asks.
I tweaked my right ankle a couple days ago and she’s been wrapping it. Sometimes her fingertips will trail over my bare skin for just a little bit while she’s doing it, and just that contact makes my dick twitch with awareness.
The more I’m around her, the more I want to be around her. She’s usually cryptic, careful with what she says and how she says it. But occasionally, I get glances at the fire that seems to always be simmering beneath the surface.
“Ankle’s good. You haven’t been watching Severance without me, have you?”
Her lips quirk. “Nope. But we need to watch the next one today, so work it into your busy schedule.”
“Hey, tomorrow’s an off day. We could always just binge the rest of it.”
Melina clears her throat—probably reminding me how dangerous it would be to spend time off with Turner’s daughter. I can’t help it, though.
“Maybe,” Talia says.
She’s nibbling on an omelet, and I wonder if she ate anything else before I got her. I don’t like her digs at herself over her weight and appearance.
“You want some steak?” I offer.
“No, thanks.”
“Hey, can I sit?” our backup goalie Preston Smith asks.
“Of course,” Melina says.
My gaze locks onto Talia’s again, and I think I see a note of playfulness there.
“Does anyone have time to stretch me before the game?” Preston asks Melina.
“Talia might be able to.”
A jab of aggravation hits me out of nowhere. Preston looks like a fucking male model. He’s been in fashion magazines, and a photo of him getting out of a pool wearing nothing but underwear went viral not long ago, with women thirsting over him.
“She’ll be busy stretching me,” I say, my tone authoritative.
There’s a moment of awkward silence before Talia says, “You can join us, though. It’s not like it’s a private thing.”
She’s looking at me as she says it. I play it cool, spending more time than I need to cutting my next bite of steak.
“You cool with that?” Preston asks me.
“Yeah, whatever.”
I’m caught off guard by my reaction to Talia telling him it was okay. I’ve been in a groove since our first stretching session together. She’s my lucky charm, and I don’t want to share her.
It’s not like I can say that, though. I have to pretend I don’t care.
“Trunk twists,” Talia says, avoiding my eyes. “Control your movements and get full range of motion.”
The closer we get to puck drop, the more she’s shut down. Preston is oblivious, standing a few feet away from me and following along with our stretching routine.
She doesn’t even quirk a smile over Isaac’s fart yoga today. That’s unlike her.
