Larsen stops pacing. “What do you mean?”
“We… I…” I start, not quite sure how to say more without confessing Finley’s secrets.
Li shakes his head at me. “You didn’t.”
Those two words were enough, it seems.
Larsen turns to me, getting right up in my face.
I relish the anger in his eyes. If this is about me, it’s exactly what I deserve. “They told you not to! There was a clear, don’t-fuck-Coach lecture given.” His fist clenches, and I hope he hits me. Even if Finley’s conflict of interest is something completely unrelated, it’s still the least I deserve.
Instead, he stalks away.
“And she… agreed to sleep with you?” Li questions, his eyes narrowed, not out of anger, but in calculation. Like he’s putting together the pieces Larsen is missing.
“Jesus Christ, are you asking if it was consensual, Li?” Larsen snarls, turning his ire on Li. “It’s Kane, for fuck’s sake. Of course he didn’t fucking rape her.”
I cringe. “Definitely did not—”
“Of course he didn’t,” Li jumps in, still calm, still rational. “I was just thinking. Coach doesn’t sleep around. There’s never anything in the media about her being spotted with different men.” He looks at Larsen as he explains. “But she slept with Kane. Why?”
Jesus Christ. I regret opening my mouth.
“Because he’s fucking stacked and has that silver-fox look about him.”
I run my hands through my hair. “Am I going gray?” I know it’s off topic, but I can’t stop myself.
“No,” Li replies, his attention still on Larsen.
Larsen, though, gives me a once-over, his lips pulled to the side in thought. “You just look like you’re going to be a silver fox. I think it’s the way your chin is, like, really defined.”
“Can we please focus on the fact that our coach slept with her player and is now on leave?” Li asks. “Fuck. I thought there was no way this was a big deal. But, fuck. What if it is? If she told them about you, they’re going to fire her. There’s no way they won’t.”
I raise my palms in a placating gesture. “It might be okay.”
Larsen starts pacing again. “Of course you would say that, asshole. That’s probably what you told her, too, and look where we are now.”
My pulse rises. “Jesus, Larsen.” My gaze burns into his. “Do you think I somehowconnedFinley Blake into sleeping with me? We both knew what we were doing.”
Li cuts off Larsen’s retort. “When was this?” He’s clearly thinking much more logically than Larsen or me.
I lean back against the couch. “The night of the blizzard. She got locked out of her apartment and ended up staying here.”
Li nods. “And it was only once?”
“It was only that one weekend,” I hedge. Li subtly raises his eyebrows at the distinction but is fortunately classy enough not to act on it.
He runs his hand through his hair, his eyes darting back and forth. “But you were on IR that weekend, right?”
I nod. “Do you think it matters?”
“It definitely doesn’t make it okay, but it helps.” He walks toward the windows. “And you played less after it, not more. But that was the doctor’s recommendation, not Coach’s.”
I’m not sure whether he’s talking to himself or me at this point, but I let him keep going.
“But it’s not going to matter. They’ll never let her be your coach now that they know, and they can’t trade you—that’d be so bad. You’re the protected one here. They’re going to have to fire her.”
My throat closes. Hearing Li say it makes it real in a way it hasn’t been so far. Finley and I were too wrapped up in each other to think logically. Larsen is a hothead. But, Li? Li is thinking it through. He evaluated it the same way the team will.
