The post-workout pump is pumping. Shoulders broad. Arms veined. Chest tight. Skin flushed. I tilt my head slightly.
Not bad, Buterbaugh.
A devilish thought creeps in, so I grab my phone.
Snap.
The mirror selfie catches everything from the waist up. I crop it, add a light filter, and send. A response comes across nearly instantaneously. I imagine a man as busy as Spence is glued to his phone twenty-four-seven, so that comes as no surprise.
Spence:Seriously?
I snicker.
Me:I can't find you anywhere on social media. It would be a shame for you to miss this post. Thought I'd send it to you myself.
Spence:Attention whore. [eye roll emoji]
Me:Not really. I'm actually quite shy.
Spence:Uh-huh, sure.
My grin widens.
Me:Hit the gym with me tomorrow night.
Spence:No. Goodnight, Ryan.
“Cold,” I mutter, chuckling.
I drop my phone and strip down for the shower.
Turning sideways, I glance back at my ass in the mirror and give it an approving nod.
Then I sing-song, quietly to myself so any lingering teammates don’t hear, “Your loss, Spence… your loss.”
I wrap a towel around my waist and head toward the showers, up nodding my bud Marquis as I pass his locker.
One thought dominates my brain as I rinse off:If I can win over The Bettys, I can win over Mr. Surly Pants.
Or at least…
Get him out of them.
Six
3AM Eternal
Spencer
My eyes snap open instantly when my alarm goes off at3:00 a.m. No grogginess. No lingering. No snoozing. I reach to the nightstand, grab my phone, and silence the alarm before the second tone even has a chance to sound.
I try to move but something heavy is pinning my chest.
I glance down, already knowing I’ll find two yellow eyes staring back at me. The black cat perched squarely on my sternum flicks his tail once, completely unimpressed.
“Alright,Fucker,” I sigh. “You need to move.”
He doesn’t.
