“I went back to the hotel,” I lie, the words dry in my mouth. “I was done. Not all of us have the stamina of a twenty-one-year-old rookie.”
“Liar,” Rhys says, not even looking up from his phone. “I saw you talking to some woman.”
Connor perks up immediately. “Ohhh. So which casino waitress was she?”
“No waitress,” Declan says calmly. “He doesn’t do waitresses.”
I arch a brow. “I don’t discriminate.”
“Bullshit,” Connor fires back. “You absolutely discriminate.”
Connor leans forward, eyes gleaming. “Was she hot?”
I don’t answer.
Because hot isn’t the right word.
She was— sunlight. Warmth. Trouble.
Rhys glances up finally. “She had on a yellow dress. Definitely not a waitress. I couldn’t see much else, but you looked like you were being led to the promised land, Captain.”
My heart skips a beat, but I keep my expression locked in bored indifference.
This is leadership. This is being the captain.
You never let them see you sweat—especially when you’ve accidentally married the coach’s daughter.
“She was just some girl, Rhys,” I say evenly. “I walked her out, got some air, and went to bed. End of story.”
“Boo! Boring!” Connor yells, tossing a peanut at my shoulder. “At least Kincaid here provided actual entertainment.”
“Drop it,” I say flatly.
Connor raises his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay.”
But his grin doesn’t disappear.
The plane begins to taxi, the engines humming beneath our feet, steady and relentless.
The banter continues, easy and familiar.
Safe.
For a while, I let myself get pulled into it.
The jokes. The insults. The camaraderie.
It’s effortless.
It feels natural.
Eventually, the conversation drifts.
Connor falls asleep and Declan puts in headphones.
Misha stares out the window.
Marcus leans back in his seat, flipping open a book like the chaos around him is just background noise.
