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I let my hand drop, not wanting to show any weakness. “I’m fine.”
Nixon’s eyes narrow as he watches me. “You don’t look fine.”
“I don’t remember asking for your opinion.”
Nixon glares at me. “Whatever,” things in hand, he slams his locker shut. “It’s your funeral.”
With that, he marches toward the bathroom, leaving me alone. Or as alone as one can be in a room full of guys. Taking a step closer to my locker, I slide my hand into the duffle bag stashed inside.
“Listen up, assholes,” Scotty yells. “There’s a party at my place. I expect to see you there. Spread the word.”
Tossing my towel over my shoulder, I prowl through the bag until my fingers wrap around the plastic bottle. I flip off the lid, only to find it empty.
Motherfucker.
“Wentworth?”
My back stiffens at the sound of my name. I force myself to swallow down the knot in my throat before turning around and finding a few teammates watching me. “You coming?”
“Yeah, sure.” I lift my shoulder in a shrug. “Gotta shower first.”
Dropping the bottle into my bag, I grab my phone and scroll until I find the familiar number.
Me:
I need more.
I don’t even get to lock the phone before the reply comes through.
Unknown:
I’ll see you at Scotty’s in an hour.
Talk about fast.
* * *
“That wasone seriously awesome game, Wentworth.” A hand slaps me over the shoulder so hard I feel every bone in my body rattle. “Loved that catch in the third. It was a beauty.”
“Thanks, dude,” I nod at Xander, who’s already engrossed in something his date of the night is whispering to him. “Spencer around?”
“I think he went to grab drinks.”
God, I need something to drink.
With a slap over his shoulder and a quick thanks, I make my way toward the kitchen.
I scan the space, trying to find Manolo somewhere in the crowd. Every step I make hurts like a bitch, and if I don’t take something soon, I think I might puke.
I notice a few of my teammates are already here, solo cups in one hand and girls under the other. I nod in their direction before slipping into the kitchen, where Spencer is flirting with two girls. He notices me first, pulling another shot glass and filling it to the brim with amber liquid.
I guess alcohol will have to do.
“Great game, dude,” Spencer grins.
“You weren’t even at the game,” I point out, tossing down the drink. The alcohol burns its way down to my stomach, leaving warmth in its wake.
“It’s the only thing people are talking about. Kind of hard to miss.”
