Page 87 of Crew Girl

“Could be Cam,” Josh said.

“Cam?” Rowing was everything to him. No. “Why do you think that?”

Josh put the shucker on the counter. “We kind of got into it this morning.”

Her heart sank. “About what?”

“His sunglasses were broken. I said he needed new ones, and he flipped out.”

Josh didn’t know the whole picture. She probably didn’t either, but she really couldn’t see it. “He’s been on edge lately, about a lot of stuff.” But she’d been shocked when he’d walked out on her at the dance, so… maybe? “I mean, it could make sense. Coach pulled Ryder but put you in stroke when it should’ve been Cam.”

Josh bristled. “You think Cam should be in stroke instead of me?”

Here she was again. Between a rock (Cam) and a hard place (Josh). “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“How did you mean it? And be honest.”

“Well, he deserves it.”

Josh looked pissed off. “What does he do that I don’t?”

“C’mon, Josh…” She waited for him to see it, but either he didn’t, or wanted to hear it from her. Fine. “Cam puts the team first. No ego, no personal agenda. He pulls for the boat.”

“And I don’t?”

She shrugged. She was calling it the way she saw it—from the cox’s seat. She saw things they didn’t.

“So you think I row for myself, not the team?”

She did.

“Is that how everyone sees me? You included?”

“I see you trying to prove you’re better.” Harsh, but also true.

He laughed humorlessly. “So you think I’m good enough to make out with, but not good enough for stroke?”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“I think it is.”

He didn’t storm off, exactly. He seemed more depressed than angry. Running after him wouldn’t help, telling him things neither of them would believe. Josh was a good rower. A great one, even. But whatever battle was playing out inside him right now probably wasn’t about his oar snapping. She used to think Josh didn’t care whether or not people liked him. But the version of him she knew now? That Josh cared. A lot. And he hadn’t deserved to have his oar cut.

Noah heaved a duffel bag out of the way. “Bunch of scofflaws. All of ’em.”

“‘Scofflaw’?” asked Teagan.

He tipped his head back in despair. “Does no one on this team have a vocabulary at their disposal?”

She winced in apology, working out the word’s meaning. “People who think they’re above the law?”

“Yes,” he said, sounding exasperated.

“Good word,” she said, then nudged the duffel with her toe. “Whose is this?”

“Quaid’s. He set up a speakeasy in the erg room, and the guys were partying instead of looking for the saw.”

“So you confiscated it?”