“Not to me.” I sigh. “How about we reassess after the next game.”
“What if you score both goals in the next game?” Christine asks and arches one of her pale eyebrows. “I won’t have time to organize anything.”
“Then you can kick my ass for ruining this media wet dream, and I will let you,” I retort. “You clearly don’t get how impossible that is.”
“We’ll talk after we beat San Diego,” she says firmly and shoos me out of her office with a wave of her hand. “Watch that video I sent, jerk. And stop ignoring my work texts.”
“Okay. Sorry.”
I take off and power walk it back to the video room. No one frowns or balks when I walk in late. Coach must have mentioned I had a meeting. I slip in and take a seat in the middle row next to Crew. He leans in when the goalie coach is highlighting a play for our goalie and whispers, “Movers texted and said they’re done. Both houses are swapped and it went smoothly.”
At least something is going great.
A couple seconds later, he also whispers, “And the guy said the lady of the house was very sweet and offered them lemonade.”
“That’s my Mallory,” I say before I can catch myself.
Dude, you’re a bit crazy, I chastise myself. I’ve only been sleeping with her for three days. Nights, actually. Three absolutely fantastic nights. Last night was my favorite. Doggie style on the couch. She initiated it too. And fuck me if I didn’t come so hard I saw stars. Mallory is bolder than I thought she would be. And comfortable with her sexuality. I thought that night in the hotel, the way she let go of her inhibitions was a fluke, but it’s the norm.
Mallory was always a topic of conversation between me and the hometown guys. She was undeniably pretty and smart. But most everyone blew her off because for some of them, she was too smart and they were intimidated. For others, she just seemed too reserved and shy. She was marriage material and nobody wants that… yet. That's what excuseItold myself for not going for her when we were younger. I wanted a wild girl.
If I’d known she’d be comfortable being spread eagle on my bed, begging for my cock in her mouth, and letting me smack her ass while we fucked, and then trot off to her own room for the night, bare ass swinging like she doesn’t have a care in the world, I would have definitely made a play for her years ago.
“YourMallory?" Crew echoes his deep baritone melancholy.
“No. Not like that.” I shake my head. “I mean… like that, but not.”
“You are such a cliché.” Crew covers his wide mouth with his tattooed hand to stifle his laughter. “You’re banging your nanny.”
I frown at him. And then Coach calls his name. “Westwood! You paying attention to this? Because if the co-captain isn’t listening then why should anyone else.”
“Yes sir,” Crew says, immediately focused and serious. “I’m listening.”
We both shut up until after the meeting. But then he’s back on me. “She’s a very pretty girl, but she also seems like marriage material not, like… your type.”
Ouch. That sounds mildly insulting even though he’s right. “We are both in a place where this works. She needs someone, and I definitely need someone, and it’s not like I can call on my regulars and say ‘Hey, just ignore the baby and let’s bone.’”
Crew laughs freely now since we're not in a meeting. "No, I guess you can't say that. But are you sure that she doesn't have… other ideas? That this isn't more than just a mutual friendly arrangement for her?"
“I’m sure.”
I am sonotsure. But Mallory willingly leaves my room every night, even on the nights when I'm cuddly after the sex and I foolishly entertain the idea of asking her to stay and maybe just doze off with me. So I'm fairly confident we're on the same page.
“What are you two talking about that’s so important you catch shit in a meeting?” Nash asks, coming up beside his twin. He looks angry, which is rare for Nash who is always serious but rarely publicly annoyed.
“My move. His move,” Crew replies, ignoring his brother’s energy. “Today is the day we swapped places.”
“I still don’t get why that’s a thing that had to happen,” Nash gripes, still in a salty mood. “If you wanted to live somewhere new, sell your place and buy something else. Same with you, Tate. And why did it have to be done right now? We’ve got big stuff to focus on. Move in the off-season.”
“Are you fucking done being a Karen?” Crew snaps at his brother.
These two are rarely this aggressive with each other. They are definitely polar opposites and rarely see eye-to-eye, and they bicker, but they don't fight. This is a fight. Nash is glaring at Crew now. His eyes, which are a slightly lighter shade than his brother's, are narrowed and his mouth is set in a hard, flat line. He looks a lot like his dad, the world-famous Avery Westwood, right now. In general, he looks more like his dad than his fraternal twin, but that's likely the attitude. My dad played with Avery and told me once Avery was more serious than a heart attack, all the time.
“If you’re going to be a co-captain then?—”
Crew stops abruptly and spins to face his brother. They're toe-to-toe and both look more ornery than a wet cat. Crew is almost growling his words they're so low and venomous. "In case you forgot, my wife, who picked out that fucking house, also cheated on me in it, in my fucking bed. So, if you can't get why maybe I need a change of scenery then fuck you, brother. I've done fine at my job and I'll continue to do fine."
Crew storms off and I’m left standing there with Nash, who isn’t as shaken by that face-off as I am, even though it was directed at him. The rest of the team has already disappeared from the long curving concrete hallway so nobody else witnessed that. I kind of wish someone had so I wouldn’t feel so awkward. Nash sighs, turns, and drops his back against the wall. The anger has left his face and he looks kind of remorseful. Tenley and I bicker and we’ve had an occasional full-blown fight and I’ve always felt like Nash looks right now.
