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Maybe she was drunk and it meant more to me than to her.
But damn, did having my hands on her make me want to do it again.
She let me know she got home okay, but I want to talk in person not by text.
Which won’t happen today because I have a pile of team stuff lined up.
“We’re going to run some drills, easy to start,” the coach says. “Fall festival is this week, and the stadium’s sold out. Let’s put on a show.”
The season is off to a rough start early for the Kodiaks. There are some obvious weaknesses the team has to shore up if they want to compete.
“You need to jump through a few hoops,” Miles says with a grin.
I cock my head and tug on my jersey. “That so?”
“Mhmm. Doing my laundry and shit.”
“How about I do this?” I grab the ball from his hands and cut past him for the basket, going up for a dunk.
The guys holler. But when I turn back, Jay’s leaving the court.
“What about Jay?” Atlas says.
“You mean because he’d sooner run Clay over with his Kobes than pass to him?” Rookie says.
Looks like this is going to be harder than I thought.
I grab a Gatorade off the bench before I head in the direction Jay went.
“Where you going?” I call.
“Can’t find my practice jersey,” he grinds out.
I follow Jay down the hall toward the changing rooms.
“Jay—”
“I need my jersey.” He stomps into the changing room and rifles through his locker. “Fucking hell.”
It’s strange the team doesn’t have all the equipment ready.
“Here’s one,” I comment, reaching past him and holding up a crumpled shirt.
“I changed my number.”
“When?”
“Start of the season.”
That sinks in. Ours used to be reversals of one another.
He breezes past me toward the laundry room.
I stalk after him, the shirt still clutched in my hands. “Jayden. You’re going to have to talk to me.”
“Until when? You decide it’s inconvenient?” He spins to face me, ripping the jersey out of my hand.
My nostrils flare. A confrontation was bound to happen since I rejoined the Kodiaks, but I didn’t expect it to happen today.
