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The ghost of a smile passed across Adam’s face. So fast, so quickly replaced by his scowl, I almost questioned whether I’d even seen it.

“Well I guess it’s a first for both of us, then,” he suggested.

“Oh yeah?”

Maybe it was my imagination, but I wanted to think there was a hint of something at least adjacent to pride in my teammate’s voice. Brayden did enjoy being first.

There was a pause, one in which it was clear Adam was waiting for Brayden to say something. Until, finally, he grunted in exasperation.

“So?”

Brayden waved his arms, as if the whole situation was ridiculous but - despite that - he’d deign to play along.

“Fine, fine. We can get something to eat.”

“Go on a date,” Adam pushed.

The glare that triggered had flattened rivals, even before the first grapple. That Adam seemed immune suggested my cocky teammate could’ve met his match.

“Yes,” Brayden muttered, through clenched teeth. “A date. Sure.”

Adam nodded, not looking anywhere near as smug as I figured he was entitled to. He shot me a ‘you’re my witness, right?’ look, then grinned at my raised eyebrows.

“Pick a restaurant,” he instructed Brayden, the demand as crisp and unarguable as any of Coach’s orders. He jerked his chin at the spreadsheet. “And pick a streamer, too. One of them. We’ll cancel the rest. If you’re still bored you can read a book.”

“Whatever you say, sir,” Brayden replied, not so much grudgingly as murderously.

Adam just grinned. “I’m gonna go shower, then.” A wink, and then he grabbed up his towel and slipped out of the room.

The door clicked shut. I realized I was holding my breath; let the air slide out slowly as I turned to look at my big bro.

Brayden seemed shellshocked, still slumped on the chair. Blinking in apparently confusion at the open laptop, and the rows of numbers Adam had been so scathing about.

He turned, realizing I was watching him.

“Not a fuckin’ word, lil bro,” he snapped, his cheeks flushing. “Not a fuckin’ word.”

I zipped my grin shut.

Chapter Thirty

“You could’ve pinned him after the double-leg takedown.”

Panting, my hands braced on my knees, I stared at the floor between my feet. The splashes of my sweat looked like tiny explosions, more falling with each rasping breath.

“Yes, sir.” My voice was dry and hoarse.

“And your far-side cradle was too loose. Your elbow was sloppy. We’ll work on that this week.”

I swallowed, each gulp seeming to demand equal effort to the match I’d just fought. “Yes, sir.”

“It’s about efficiency, freshman. Not putting on a show.”

I forced myself to stand upright, to hold Coach’s eye as I nodded. Ignoring my aching lungs, and the burn in my legs, and the fact that I knew I was flushed and disheveled.

“Yes, sir.”

Brayden leaned over. “He did win, Coach.”