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7
Beau
Practice kicked my ass.
Ever since l’d started extra sessions with Gigi, my knee had been fucking killing me. Not that it ever stopped hurting. But at least it had been down to a dull roar.
Now it full on killed.
Much like my hip.
I hadn’t had any alone time with Gigi since the night of the big kiss.
Which somehow found its way onto the internet as well. There was no denying or misconstruing the video of us. That kiss had been hot and heavy. And now it was live on social media for anyone who wanted to see.
And it was shaky cell phone video. Not from any show cameras that might have been up at the time.
The weekend was a wash. I’d gone out with some of the guys and Trey had mouthed off to an idiot. The idiot didn’t appreciate it. They got into a fight. His friends intervened. Then we had to step up to save Trey’s ass. Again.
Currently, we were not on speaking terms.
I’d had a talk with him about pulling this shit again. I was too old for it and so was he. This was my shot at being captain, finally, for the first time, ever.
Doing messed up crap like this jeopardized the club’s reputation.
And Trey knew it.
It also messed up my reputation.
Trey also knew that.
We’d been called in to talk to Marcel and Angelique. They were not impressed, to say the least. Our new coaches would be arriving soon, and they had wanted us to make a good first impression.
So much for that.
I’d known Marcel and Angelique since I was just a kid. To me, they were more like family. Disappointing them made me feel awful. Especially since they’d trusted me to lead this team. Not drag it down.
Add all this up and the fact that it was Monday—and all I wanted to do was crawl back into bed with a bag of ice on my knee.
“What’s up with you? You looked like shit out there,” Luis said to me as he dried off.
“Tell me about it,” I said, ripping the tape off my knee.
He looked down at me. “Your knee getting worse? Go talk to the therapist.”
“Yeah, I should get her to look at it. But nothing they do ever seems to help.”
That was when we heard a loud screeching sound. All the guys shut up and looked at each other, dumbfounded. “What the hell was—”
The locker room door swung open, and a very angry Gigi walked through it. She was wearing a white, tight fitting tank top and white compression shorts. The woman was hot.
Aside from the look of murder on her face.
“Girl!” one of the guys shouted and there was a scramble for towels and clothes.
“What did you tell everyone?” she shouted, her hands now on her hips.
I stood, making sure to hold onto my towel. “What are you talking about? Calm down for a second.”
