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“Ugh.” I wrinkled my nose and took a big bite out of my drumstick.

“Salmon’s good for you.” He placed the lid beside the container, lining it up with the edge of the table. “It’s a complete protein, high in omega-three fatty acids. Cuts down on inflammation. Which, given what we put our bodies through, is important.”

“No, yeah. I know that. It’s just the smell, man. My room’s gonna reek for days.”

The corners of his mouth dipped. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t think about that. I can take it back to my room.”

I extended my leg, nudging his shin with my socked foot, and he raised his eyes.

“No, it’s okay.” I smiled at him. At least I hoped it came across as a smile. I was trying my best here, but this was really fucking awkward, and things seemed to be getting worse by the second. “Just, maybe like, no fish next time. Yeah?”

I watched his shoulders relax, his lips forming a small, shy smile. “Yeah, I can do that.”

I broke off another piece of chicken and let him eat the rest of his stinky meal in peace.

When we were both finished, he put the lid on the container and wiped his hands and mouth on a napkin. He stashed it all away in his bag and folded down the top. “I thought the briefing was useful.”

“Oh yeah?” I grabbed my water bottle and lifted it to my mouth, swallowing down a few big glugs.

“Yeah. For starters, I had no idea we couldn’t sign an endorsement deal that puts us in direct conflict with a league partner in the same product category.”

I thought back to the first day of camp, when I realized Cally looked like the type of guy high-end brands would be tripping over themselves to sign—and that was even before I’d known who his dad was. “You got something lined up already?”

“Nothing big,” he said with a slight shrug. “Just stuff with my dad—his old partners wanting to run ads featuring both of us together.”

I couldn’t stifle my snort of disbelief. Nothing big. His dad had been everywhere at the height of his career. I picked three I remembered off the top of my head. “Just GMC, Tag Heuer, and Reebok.”

He shook his head. “God no. Nothing like that. I just meant like skates and stuff.”

“Sure, Jan.”

He tilted his head to the side. “Who’s Jan?”

I barked out a laugh. “Please tell me you’re fucking with me?”

His eyebrows dipped, forming twin creases between them. “I’m not?” His words came out sounding like a question more than a statement, like he wasn’t sure he didn’t know the answer himself.

“Do you really not know The Brady Bunch?”

“I mean, I’ve heard of it, but I didn’t really watch a lot of sitcoms growing up.”

I shook my head, letting out a light chuckle. “You are so much fun, Cally.”

“Because I don’t know The Brady Bunch?”

“No. Because you never say what I think you’re going to say. You keep me on my toes.”

A weird sort of warmth settled in my belly.

He scratched at his forehead, looking dubious. “And that’s a good thing?”

I slumped further down in my chair, trying to get more comfortable. “Like I said—fun.”

“If you say so,” he murmured, his voice telling me he didn’t believe me and was growing uncomfortable.

“I do.” I gathered up my garbage and tossed it in the bin in the bathroom, then settled back across from him.

From there, the conversation drifted to who we thought would make the final roster, and I was surprised to learn he had very strong thoughts about one guy in particular. Cally didn’t strike me as someone who paid attention to social politics, but it turned out that was just another thing about him I’d gotten wrong.