He nods. “Because now they’re looking for reasons to trust you.”
“Yeah,” I say. “And reasons not to.”
He tenses slightly under my hand. “You okay?” he asks.
“I will be.” I pause. “I have four games. That’s it. Four chances before the real season starts. Summer League was about flashes. Preseason’s about not fucking up.”
Rafe’s mouth curves faintly. “You’re very good atnotfucking up.”
I smile despite myself. “That’s not actually comforting.”
He huffs a quiet laugh, then sobers. “Anyone give you a hard time?”
“Kirk was there,” I say.
Rafe’s jaw tightens immediately. “He’s such a dickbag.”
I may have complained about him a time or ten.
“He didn’t say anything,” I add quickly. “Not tonight. Just… existed loudly.”
“That might be worse.”
“Yeah.”
We sit with that for a beat, the unspoken understanding passing between us. Kirk isn’t the problem yet. He’s just a warning.
“I got invited to dinner,” I say.
Rafe glances up. “Oh?”
“Dan’s wife. She wants to feed the rookies before the season eats us alive.”
“That sounds nice,” he says genuinely.
“It is,” I agree. “I should probably go.”
“But,” he adds quietly.
“But,” I echo.
I lean back against the couch, staring at the ceiling. “Everyone assumes things. About my life. About what it looks like. They’re not being invasive. They’re just… filling in the blanks.”
Rafe doesn’t interrupt.
“They see me as someone unattached,” I continue. “Available. Flexible.” My voice tightens despite my best effort. “And the fucked-up part is that it makes things easier. For them. For the team.”
“For you,” he says softly.
I swallow. “Yeah.”
He shifts again, pulling his leg up, fingers tracing the seam of the cushion. “I saw the photo.”
My ribs draw in. Immediately I know what he’s talking about. “Already?”
“Yeah,” he says. “It popped up while I was packing up. You looked hot.”
I roll my eyes as heat spreads across my cheeks.
