Page 43 of On His Team

Except I accidentally send it to the group chat.

Me: I’m going to the away games with the team. Cole’s sick, so I’m taking his spot.

Mara: WHAT!

Mara: THERE ARE LIKE TWENTY HOT MEN ON THAT TRIP!

Me: They’re disgusting. I’ve seen their laundry.

Mara: I would eat their laundry.

Mila: Mara.

Mara: I would, and you know it.

I put my phone away, smiling.

Not because of anybody’s laundry.

Because I get to go.

By one, I’m on the equipment-room floor with the travel checklist on a clipboard and Donovan moving around me twice as fast as normal. We go through the game jerseys, socks, stick tubes, repair kit, skate tools, helmets, backup equipment, medical supplies, and everything else that apparently has to cross state lines because twenty men are incapable of existing without an entire rolling hardware store behind them.

The important part is that I know the list. I know what should be there.

When Donovan asks me how many spare cages we packed, I don’t have to check. When he sends me back for replacement buckles, I know which drawer. When the cases start going onto the truck, he puts me at the back and has me check off every single one.

By two-fifteen, I’m standing beside the bus with my backpack over one shoulder when Benson spots me. He stops.

“Why do you have a bag?” he asks, looking at it.

I clutch at it and say, “I’m running away.”

He stares.

I inhale. “I’ve thought about it a lot. Vegas.”

He grows annoyed. “G.”

Donovan passes between us carrying a case. “Cole’s sick. She’s filling in. Paperwork’s done and I need her.”

Benson turns back to me immediately. “Do you have your classes handled?”

“Yes.”

“All of them?”

“Yes, Benson.”

“Stats?”

I raise my brows. “Handled.”

His jaw moves like he’s still looking for something else to object to.

Then he says, “Sit near the front on the plane.”

I stare after him as he gets on the bus. I have no idea what sitting near the front is supposed to accomplish.