But I know the drop in her tone all too well. “What did you do?”
“I—” But no, it’s not the reception. Rather, she’s reluctant to reveal something.
A spike of nerves zips through me because, although I might be the master prankster in the family, my sisters rule our roost.
“Rhi...” I start.
“I have a very important incoming call. I’ll be in touch with the details.” The phone goes silent.
A long sigh escapes because Rhiannon did something involving me and the dating show and it can’t be good.
I’m ayesman, a people pleaser, unless the opposing team is playing dirty, then it’s a solid no. Also, a no when it comes toPizza. She was forbidden then and she’s forbidden now. I pause outside the team lounge door as a future scene belatedly hurtlestoward me. Freddie, my best friend, is getting married next autumn. That means she’ll be there.
From behind the door, Declan waves at me.
As I enter the team lounge, the guys talking in conspiratorial tones send those nerves zipping back. Then again, I’m not sure they left, considering I just realized I’m going to seePizzain about six months.
I’m a nice guy, easygoing, and looking for lasting love. So, why is it that I often get roped into situations...because I sense my sister is brewing one in London. Possibly two, if the expressions on my teammates’ faces tell me anything.
There’s Declan Printz, wide receiver, Irish-born, and a born hooligan. Connor “Wolf” Wolfe is number twenty-four, our safety, and a wolf among sheep—and by that, I mean the ladies. Then we have Grey, a linebacker. He sits off to the side, brooding like usual. I’m pretty sure Coach has him keep an eye on us, so we don’t get into too much trouble.
All that’s missing is Rylen, our running back, who is on his honeymoon. Lucky man.
“We could glue his hands together while he’s sleeping,” Declan suggests with his typical mischievous smile.
“Dude, he’s our new center. We kind of need him to have use of his hands,” Grey says, making a valid point.
“Yeah. Coach Hammer said his hands are gold.” Wolf grunts because he’s more of a show, don’t tell kind of guy and will believe it when he sees it.
Jumping into the conversation, I lift and lower one shoulder, eager to give our freshman player the benefit of the doubt. “The commish said he’s like the rising sun and any team would be lucky to have him.”
“Luck has little to do with it. I say he’s in it for the paycheck.” Wolf cuts his eyes in my direction.
Grey sniffs like he’s reluctantly preparing to play ref.
“Now, now. Let’s give him a chance,” I say. “You felt the same about me.” I sharpen my eyebrow, referring to my start on the team as a legacy player.
“You proved yourself,” Wolf says.
“So will Brandon.”
“He’ll have to do more than prove himself. He’ll have to endure our killer practices, show that he’s a team player, and not a showboating—” Wolf finishes his thought with what the coach calls locker room words.
Brandon Campos, the newest player for the Boston Bruisers, will certainly have to prove himself. Based on the conversation I walked in on, first, he’ll be initiated.
“How about we replace his toothpaste with mayonnaise?” Declan wrinkles his nose as though even speaking the idea out loud grosses him out—and for good reason. Rumor has it, he had a late night and got the munchies, which included French fries and a mayonnaise concoction. Let’s just say he didn’t make it to practice the next day.
I tilt my head from side to side. “We could always use the old standby.”
“No. We’re not covering the toilet seats with plastic wrap. Coach Hammer made me clean it up last time. Never again, man,” Wolf grinds out.
“Doughnuts filled with mayo? Mayo in Oreos?” Declan suggests, his slight Irish accent coming through.
“I thought you quit mayo?” I ask.
Wolf’s lip curls. “I know what we’re going to do.”
“Oh, boy. He has that look.” Grey shakes his head. “Whatever it is, I’m not sure I want to take part.”
