“Took you long enough,” Dax says, pulling his bag out of his locker. “We were just deciding where we were going to get tacos.
Owen brushes my shoulder as he moves past me to his locker. I glance around the room, scanning the open doorway and the hallway beyond it.
The coaches aren’t here.
Good.
I clap my hands once to get the attention of the room.
“Alright,” I say loudly. “If anyone's hungry, tacos are on me tonight.”
The team cheers.
“Evans is buying?” someone yells.
“Say less!”
“Where at?”
I jerk my thumb toward Dax. “Our place.”
His jaw drops, and his eyes widen as he takes it in.
“Our—wait. What?”
I shrug. “No restaurant is going to be able to cater to all of us. Best place is ours.”
“Ours?” he says pointedly. “So, are we official now, Evans?”
Before I can answer, the locker room erupts. Guys are grabbing their bags, shoving things into their lockers and already talking over each other about food.
“Shotgun the couch!”
“Do you even own enough chairs?”
“Someone call ahead!”
Dax just stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. “You know what? You really need to get your own place.”
Reese laughs. “Too late now. Your living room belongs to the team.”
Dax groans and tightens the towel around his waist.
“I swear, Evans,” he mutters. “One more stunt like this and I’m kicking you out.”
I clap him on the shoulder before I head to the showers.
“Don’t worry, I'll pay for any damages,” I say before adding, “Next time we’ll do wings.”
Why isn't it matching up?
Stepping back, I tilt my head and squint at the wall, hoping a different angle will make the uneven wallpaper seam look better.
Nope.
It's just four millimeters off, but I can't unsee it. Stepping forward again, I press my palm flat against the edge of the panel, looking for the section that overlaps.
“I honestly can't see anything, Honey,” Olivia says from behind. “And I don't think our baby boy is going to measure out the stripes to check either. He's just going to be happy that his aunt loved him enough to spend an entire afternoon doing thisfor him.”
