“This team is unhinged,” Daniel mutters beside me, tossing his towel over a hook. “Also, Peter’s right. Cold water’s a bitch.”
And that’s all it takes. Suddenly half the guys are in on it—hips circling, water flinging from their tips, shampoo bottles rattling like it’s an earthquake of idiocy. Someone’s chanting “Clear the runway,” and I’m pretty sure Eli’s about to eat shit trying to spin in place.
“Jesus,” I mutter, stepping around Daniel, who’s standing there like he’s above it all—except he’s absolutelynot.
“You’re all basic,” Daniel says, smirking. “Mine sparkles, you should all get piercings. Yours just flap around like uncooked linguine.”
“I’m begging you never to say ‘linguine’ in here again,”Todd deadpans, and I swear he almost catches my eye before looking away.
I step under the far shower head, letting the hot water hit the back of my neck. I close my eyes for half a second—half a second of peace?—
Someone slips. There’s a crash. Laughter explodes again.
So much for peace. But somehow, I’m grinning too.
Welcome to the circus.
Eventually, the water runs cold and the guys tire themselves out—more from laughing than any actual hygiene routine. One by one, they file out of the showers, still dripping, still grinning, still tossing off jokes like we didn’t just witness Peter try to helicopter himself into the ER.
By the time I’m back at my locker, the air’s cooled, but the energy hasn’t. Everyone’s loud, still half-naked and half-dressed, deodorant flying, towels snapping, dirty socks being stolen and launched like grenades. I towel off, trying to tune most of it out—but not too much.
I’ve played on a dozen teams, but this locker room? It’s loud and dumb and weirdly… good.Home, in a way that makes my chest ache if I think too hard about it.
Across the room, Todd’s pulling on a hoodie over his damp hair, eyes flicking up when Daniel calls out.
“Frat party at Mason’s tonight. You guys in?”
Blue whoops, still shirtless and combing his curly hair with his fingers like it’ll help. “Hell yeah, I heard they got a beer luge.”
Peter perks up from where he’s tying his shoes. “Do I have to wear a shirt this time?”
“Yes,” three people answer in unison.
Daniel shrugs into his jacket. “I’m going. Could use a night to blowoff steam.”
Todd finishes pulling on his socks and shoves his feet into his boots. “I’m good. Gonna stay in tonight.”
And just like that, my decision’s made.
“I’m out too,” I say, straightening from the bench. “Got some stuff to do.”
I catch the flicker of surprise in Daniel’s eyes as he zips his hoodie.And there it is.He doesn’t say anything—but he doesn’t need to. The look is enough. He’s not dumb.
Todd doesn’t even glance my way. But I notice the way his shoulders shift, just a little.
It’s nothing. Just a regular night, turning into something that feels like anything but.
I grab my bag, say my goodbyes, and head for the door.
By the time I hit the parking lot, the sun’s dipping low and the breeze has that perfect fall edge. I slide into the driver’s seat of my Jeep, fingers drumming the wheel.
Then I pull out my phone and open Prism.
Me: Hope your “staying in” plans include ending up in my bed. Again.
I don’t wait for a reply before I pull out of the parking lot and head back to my place. He knows where I live, and we probably shouldn’t make a habit of being together right after practice if we are going to keep this a secret.
TWENTY
