A thin trail of hair led down from his navel and disappeared beneath the towel. I could see the outline of his dick pressing against the fabric.
My brain registered it before I could stop it—the definition, the size—and heat flashed through me.
No. Stop.
I forced my eyes up to his face.
“Didn’t expect you to sprint like that,” he said.
I opened my locker. Pulled on a dry pair of briefs. “Yeah. Well. Good race.”
Braden scoffed. “You were supposed to chase. You know that, right? Eldridge put you behind us so we could set the pace.”
“That’s one interpretation,” I said.
His eyes narrowed. “You think that was some kind of statement?”
“No.” I grabbed my tee-shirt. “It was a race.”
He pushed off the locker. Stepped closer. Too close.
“You think you’re above everyone just because you’re a Harrington.”
There it was. This bullshit family rivalry I wanted no part of.
I sighed. “Braden, I don’t have the energy—”
“Of course you don’t,” he snapped, voice rising. “You Harringtons are always cheating, just like your father.”
I froze.
“That’s not true,” I said.
Braden blinked. “Excuse me?”
“I don’t care about whatever rivalry our dads had,” I said, turning to face him. “I don’t care about old race tapes or who hated who thirty years ago. That has nothing to do with us.”
“It has everything to do with us,” Braden hissed. “Our families built this program. Legacy is the whole point.”
“Not for me.”
He laughed. “You think you’re better than the rest of us?”
“No,” I said. “I’m just not interested in reliving someone else’s drama.”
He stepped forward again. Chest brushing mine. “Then maybe you shouldn’t have won.”
A muscle jumped in my jaw. “Maybe you should fix your form.”
For a second, I thought he’d swing. The air tightened between us.
Then—
“Wow.”
Ethan strolled in like he owned the place.
“I leave you boys alone for five minutes and it turns into Real Housewives: Legacy Edition.”
