He shrugs. “Idiot,” he says with perfect French disdain.
“Fitting.” I laugh, but then realize I shouldn’t be involving my personal feelings with the team. “Don’t tell anyone I said that.”
Carlos leans a shoulder into mine. “Anything we can do? Slash his tires?”
Sebastian nods thoughtfully. “Light kidnapping?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Moderate kidnapping?”
“Carlos.”
“Just checking.”
Sebastian nods solemnly. “You give the word.”
“Not today.” I smirk. “Just give him a good show on the pitch so he can get what he came for and get the hell out.”
“Yes, PR Queen,” Sebastian says, giggling as he pretends to bow. They both saunter back toward the locker room, and I’m left thinking about their kit suggestion.
Bradshaw. 8.
His name. On my back.
God help me, I like the sound of that way too much.
I’ve got Oliver’s kit on under my jacket, and no one knows.
It’s stupid. Maybe even reckless. And it wasn’t even my idea.
Carlos and Sebastian suggested it, like some kind of tag-team dare they didn’t expect me to actually take. They have no idea what a weighted choice it truly is.
And as I walk through the tunnel toward the locker room corridor, my skin tingles with a feeling that has nothing to do with the chill in the air.
I spot Pippa waiting with Luke, bouncing slightly on her toes, hair tucked into a ponytail. Her eyes light up when she sees me.
“There you are,” she says excitedly.
“Yeah, sorry I’m late.” It took me forever to get here today. Not because of any crowds or traffic. I paced back and forth in my apartment for hours, debating whether to wear Oliver’s kit or not.
A few of the players trickle into the hallway after coming in from warmups. Oliver passes by me and smiles, completely oblivious to what's under my coat.
“I need to talk to you about something,” Pippa says, loud enough that it echoes through the tunnel.
“Okay,” I say slowly, already suspicious.
“Are you seeing anyone?”
I blink. “What?”
“You heard me,” Pippa says. “Romantically. Sexually—”
“Oh god,” Luke groans, looking horrified. “That’s practically my sister, Pips.”
She shoots him a look. “Shut it, or you won’t know anyone sexually either.” Then she turns back to me with a wicked grin. “As I was saying, I have thisfriend, Callum. He’s really great, Ads. Very cute. Plays piano in a jazz band.”
“And?”
