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My phone vibrates against the shelf in my locker.

BECKETT

Of course. Calling to give me shit about making another pass instead of taking the shot. I answer while shoving the rest of my shit into my bag.

“Calling to gloat?”

“Why the fuck is my sister wearing your jersey?”

Not what I expected.

“What?”

“I just got sent a picture from your game.”

“Shouldn’t you be worried about your own game? Heard Seattle kicked your ass.”

“Bish.”

I sit back against the locker. “What?”

“Why is Laney wearing twenty-two?”

“It’s her birthday.”

“No shit. I was there when she was born.”

“Want a medal?”

“I want an answer.”

“It’s a jersey, not jewelry.”

“You know as well as I do what it means when you give a woman a jersey.”

And I do know. It’s the reason seeing my name on her back distracted me all night.

I glance toward the locker-room door. “It’s a fucking jersey, D.”

“Your jersey.”

“You’d rather I put her in Archers blue?”

“She’s been wearing Archers shit since I got drafted.”

“Yeah, well, midnight blue doesn’t really go over that good in Ignite Arena. So excuse me for looking out for her and not sending her into a sea of green wearing rival colors.”

I close my eyes, feeling like shit because that might be a good enough reason but it’s not the real one.

“Besides, what else was I gonna get her? A fourth copy of Pride and Prejudice?”

“Three.” He corrects me.

“What?”

“She has three copies of Pride and Prejudice.”

“There’s a fourth one in a box.” I correct him this time.