Alec anxiously pleats his fingers together. “Leave him alone. We have to play on Sunday.”
Did I mention I hate Sunday afternoon games?
“I played last season with two broken fingers,” Pecan dismisses. “Dyers can throw the puck around with a busted nose.”
Alec shoots me a disapproving look. “Your temper’s insane.”
“Denny’s his trigger. I told you to back off this video BS, Alec. You’re the one who started this.”
“I just want him to post a video to the team account, Pecan! I didn’t ask him to break my best forward’s nose!”
I stomp over to my cubby. “Would you let anyone talk shit about Freya?”
“I wouldn’t bust bones over her, no.”
“Great boyfriend you are. Just because you suck, doesn’t mean that I do. Anyway, if you want him and me to play together, then you better keep him clear of my cubby. I’m not dealing with his shit, especially after what I saw him snort earlier.”
Alec’s eyes flare wide at my words. “DEREK!”
Dyers, who was picking himself up off the floor, jerks back and falls on his ass again at Alec’s volume.
Pecan smirks at me once the captain stalks over to Dyers and tears him a new one.
“Don’t think I didn’t hear about you asking Denver if she’d help you with that assignment you both have in organizational communication, Gregg,” I grouse at the fucker.
He lifts his hands in surrender. “She refuses to see my charm.”
“Good.”My mouth tightens. “And what a douche you are. You wanna date her but don’t defend her against the likes of Dyers?”
Gregg’s expression crumples. “Yeah. You’re right.”
“Do better, dickface.”
Myor elseis silent.
Pecan shoves his way into my personal space. “How the fuck is Denver the only person who doesn’t know you have a ‘keep away’ fence around her?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Hell, people don’t stay far enough away in my opinion.
Callan, for one.
The bitch of it is—Alec wasn’t wrong about me being distracted.
Denny nearly missed my last goal because she was so busy talking to him!
What’s the point of?—
“Yeah, right.” Pecan snaps me with his towel. Doesn’t take much to rob players of their inhibitions, but Pecan’s the only fucker who’ll walk around balls swinging. “When did Gregg ask D out?”
“Does it matter?”
Pecan, scoffing, wafts his hand up and down in front of my face. “Apparently it does!”
Ignoring him, I use towel-drying my hair as an excuse to hide my expression.
Eventually, Pecan excuses, “Alec has his panties in a wad because it’s homecoming in two weeks.”
