“Uh-huh.” Logan’s not buying it. He turns to Banks, who’s lacing up his skates two stalls down. “Banks. Tell him he’s being weird.”
Banks glances over, takes one look at my face, and returns to his skates. “He got laid.”
I choke on nothing.
“What? No. I—”
“You definitely got laid.” Banks doesn’t even look up. “You’ve got that look.”
“What look?”
“The look of a man who’s finally gotten what he’s been pining after for months.” Now he does look up, one eyebrow raised. “Congratulations. It’s about time.”
Heat creeps up the back of my neck. I want to deny it—should deny it—but the memory of last night floods through me unbidden. Tori in my bed, her hair spread across my pillow, the sounds she made when I—
I clear my throat and focus very intently on strapping on my shin guards.
Logan’s head swivels between us like he’s watching a tennis match. “Wait. Wait wait wait.” His eyes go wide. “Is this about Tori? Did you and Tori finally—”
“Keep your voice down,” I hiss, glancing around the locker room. The last thing I need is this spreading through the whole team.
“Holy crap.” Logan’s grin is enormous. “I knew it. I knew it! I called this like two months ago. Didn’t I call this?” He turns to Banks. “I called this.”
“You called it,” Banks confirms, sounding bored.
“I said, ‘Those two are going to end up together,’ and everyone was like, ‘No, Logan, she’s his PT, it’s professional,’ and I was like, ‘Watch. Just watch.’” He’s practically bouncing. “And now look! I was right!”
“You want a trophy?”
“I want acknowledgment of my superior observational skills.”
Archer appears from the shower area, towel slung over his shoulder, steam still rising off his skin. His hair is damp and pushed back from his face, and he’s got that calm, steady energy he always carries—the goalie zen that makes him unflappable in the crease.
He catches the tail end of the conversation and raises an eyebrow. “What are we acknowledging?”
“Zay finally made a move on his PT,” Banks says.
“The hot one who doesn’t take his crap?” Archer grins. “Good for you, man. She seems solid.”
“She is solid.” The words come out before I can stop them, and I sound like an idiot, but I don’t care. “She’s... yeah. She’s great.”
Great doesn’t even begin to cover it. She’s brilliant and funny, and she’s great with Maisie. She fits into our life like she was always supposed to be there.
And God, the way she—
I cut off that train of thought before it shows on my face. Too late, judging by the way Logan’s grinning.
“Oh no. He’s got it bad. Look at his face.”
“Shut up.” I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror mounted on the inside of my locker door. He’s right. I look... different. Softer around the edges. The permanent furrow between my eyebrows has smoothed out.
“You’re all soft and mushy. It’s disgusting.” But he’s smiling when he says it. “Seriously though, I’m happy for you. You’ve been wound so tight lately I was worried you’d snap.”
“I wasn’t that bad.”
Three voices say, “You were that bad” in unison.
This startles a laugh out of me—a real laugh, the kind that comes from somewhere deep in my chest. Banks looks mildly surprised at the sound, like he’s never heard me make it before.
