Page 142 of Play Dirty

“No,” Sebastian said. “Movie first. For inspiration.”

“That’s not how inspiration works.”

“It is if you believe in it.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re all unbelievable.”

“And yet,” Ares said, stepping closer, “you’re still here.”

That look again. That awareness.

God.

“No,” I said, cutting through it. “We’re not doing either of those things.”

Three sets of eyes turned on me.

“We’re watching film,” I added. “Motor City Barrage.”

“Right now?”

“Yes. Right now.”

I headed straight to the couch, without looking back. My laptop was already linked to the television. I hit a few buttons, and footage started playing.

A minute later, we were all settled in. If you could call it that.

Ares stretched out along one side of the couch, arm draped across the back like he owned it. Sebastian dropped down on the other side, close enough that our shoulders touched immediately.

I ended up in the middle, of course.

Grayson stood beside us, alternating dumbbell curls, eyes locked on the screen. I had to give him credit. The golden boy of the team never gave up a chance to multi-task. He was also taking Mercer seriously, and that was good.

For the next couple of hours, we actually worked. Breakouts. Entries. Defensive gaps. Goalie tendencies, and how to take advantage of them.

They were good when they were locked in — all three of them. Sharp. Observant. Competitive in a way that made everything move faster. I found myself getting pulled into it — into the rhythm of calling things out, rewinding, pointing.

By the third hour, I was losing them fast. Ares went to get up, but I hooked him with my leg and kept him pinned.

“Hold on,” I said. “Before we’re done, I want to show you something.”

They looked back at me curiously.

“What is it?” Sebastian asked.

Instead of answering, I switched clips. Scrolled. Loaded a different game.

Ares frowned.

“What’s this?”

Grayson leaned forward slightly. His expression changed.

Subtle, but I caught it.

“It’s us,” he said.

Sebastian shook his head immediately.