Page 56 of Golden Goal

Wes does.

We’re friends.

But is it weird?

It’s weird, right?

Dropping my head into my hands, I close my eyes. I hear someone walk up to me, but I don’t look up. I can’t.

“Everything okay?” Hunter asks from my right.

“I don’t know,” I mumble. “I think I did something stupid.”

“Want to talk about it?”

Do I want to talk about it? I don’t know. Part of me wants to. But part of me doesn’t. I’m probably overreacting the way I always do.

“You’re overreacting,” Kat says, glancing at me through the mirror as she brushes her hair in the bathroom.

I lean against the doorframe, blowing out a breath. “It was my favorite shirt, Kat.” I hold up the button-down, the one with flamingos on it, so she can see the huge hole that wasn’t there when I put it in the laundry basket the other day.

She shrugs, putting her brush down and grabbing her face cream. “It was probably the washing machine.”

I shake my head. “It looks as though someone took scissors to it.” Like she took scissors to it. I know she hates it. She’s told me that multiple times. She thinks it’s childish of me to wear a shirt with flamingos on it.

She walks over and puts a hand on my arm. “Same thing happened to my favorite maroon blouse. You know the one with lace along the neck. I would show you, but I already trashed it.”

“Holt?” Hunter’s voice pulls me back to the present.

I run a hand down my face and meet his gaze.

“Just tired. It’s been a lot. I think it’s catching up to me.”

He tilts his head, studying me. “It wouldn’t have anything to do with what Sebastian told us on the plane, would it?”

I cross my arms. “Why would you ask that?”

He taps a finger to his temple. “Call it captain’s intuition.”

“For fuck’s sake. You sound like Wes.”

“Who sounds like me? And why are you sounding like me?” Wes asks, walking up to us.

Great, the peanut gallery is here.

“I was asking Holt why he was acting odd,” Hunter says.

I growl. “I’m a goalie, what do you expect?”

“I take that back. I was wondering why he’s acting as if someone stole his favorite helmet,” Hunter amends.

“I was not acting that way,” I protest.

“What’s going on Holt? Jealous Rebecca might be dating someone?” Wes plops down on the bench next to me, a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Why the fuck would I be jealous?” I glare at him.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Wes lifts a shoulder in a half shrug. “Because you like her, but you’re too chickenshit to say anything.”