“Nope.” Finn held out his hand. “Fifty bucks. Each of you.”
Mercer groaned and fished out cash. “I thought you were just hooking up.”
“Hooking up counts!” Finn crowed. “I said they were together. I win.”
“Technically Rook wins too,” Tate muttered, handing over bills. “He knew before any of us.”
I stared at them. “You... you bet on this?”
“Obviously,” Finn said, counting his winnings. “I've been watching you two eye-fuck each other since first practice. It was only a matter of time.”
“What?” My voice came out strangled.
“First practice,” Mace said. “Rook and I both noticed. You were staring at him like he was solving all your problems just by existing.”
“And Coach was staring at you like he wanted to bench you and fuck you in equal measure,” Tate added. “It was painfully obvious.”
My face burned. “Why didn't anyone say anything?”
“Because it wasn't our business,” Rook said simply. He moved to sit on a bench near me, elbows on his knees. “You're both adults. What you do off the ice is your call. We just needed to hear it from you.”
I looked around the room, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for someone to say they had a problem with it. Part of me almost wanted the outrage—at least that would be familiar. At least I'd know how to handle it.
But nobody said anything.
The silence stretched out, and I felt myself deflate slightly.
“So... that's it?” I said finally. “Nobody's going to freak out? Say something? Demand a trade?”
Callahan looked genuinely confused. “Why would we do that?”
“Because I'm gay. And I've been sleeping with our coach. And that's—” I gestured helplessly. “That's supposed to be a big deal.”
“It is a big deal,” Benny said. “But not because you're gay.”
“Then because?—”
Finn interrupted, standing up with sudden theatrical seriousness. “Wait. You're right. We should be outraged.”
I blinked. “What?”
“Guys.” Finn turned to the team, face grave. “We need to talk about this. This is serious.”
Mace caught on immediately, standing with exaggerated shock on his face. “Oh my god. You're right. I can't believe it. I just can't believe it.”
“What the fuck, Hart?” Tate stood too, putting his hand over his heart. “How could you do this to us?”
I felt a grin starting despite myself. “You're fucking with me.”
“Our coach?” Mercer stood, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “Of all people, you chose our coach?”
“He's not even that hot!” Finn threw his hands up. “He's like a six. Maybe a seven on a good day when the lighting's right.”
“And he's old,” Callahan added, getting into it now. “Like, ancient. Practically retirement age.”
I laughed. “He's forty-one, you asshole.”
“Exactly! Ancient!” Finn grabbed a jockstrap from his stall. “You could have done so much better!”
