Page 90 of Play Dirty

“Fucker got flattened,” Caleb added, shaking his head. “I felt that hit from the bench!”

Zack leaned back in his seat, grinning like a man who had absolutely no regrets.

“Worth it.”

“You’re one to talk,” Asher said. “Half the reason they’re chasing us is because you poisoned the bathroom.”

Zack didn’t even try to deny it.

“They started it,” he said.

“With what?” demanded Caleb.

Zack pointed a finger like he was about to make a very important legal argument.

“First of all,” he said, “that bathroom was in bad shape before I got there. It smelled like that one time we tried opening the basement door, and—”

“We don’t talk about that!” growled Caleb. “Remember?”

“Fine then,” Zack conceded. “It smelled like someone microwaved a cod in there.”

“A cod?” Dorian chimed in.

“A rotten cod,” Asher corrected.

“Exactly!” Zack nodded. “I was only defending myself.”

“You carpet-bombed a public space,” Caleb said flatly.

“It was tactical,” Zack insisted. “Besides, why should I be subjected to something so foul, without some retaliation of my own?”

Laughter rolled through the bus. Loose. Relieved. Still riding the edge of something that wasn’t quite a loss. No one said anything about the seven goals I let up. Not even Mercer. Yeah, sure, some of the breakaways were on penalties that never got called. But the rest were straight up on me.

I eased into a seat near the back, dropping my gear with a heavy thud and leaning forward, elbows on my knees.

My breathing slowed. Eventually.

But my head didn’t.

Because no matter how loud the bus got— I couldn’t stop seeing it:

Her. Stepping out of Grayson’s room.

His shirt.

His sweatpants.

I exhaled slowly, through clenched teeth. It didn’t mean anything. It didn’t have to.

Except that it probably did.

Fuck.

I stared down at the floor, my jaw tightening slightly as the bus rattled over a rough patch of road. I’d told myself not to get involved. Not like that. Not here.

I was the new guy. Barely holding onto a spot. Still trying to prove I belonged.

All of which meant— I didn’t get distractions. I wasn’t allowed the luxury of complications. And I certainly didn’t get to screw this up because I couldn’t keep my dick in my pants.