I lean over and kiss his cheek, well aware of all the phones pointed in our direction.
Tripp laughs as he pulls me down the chute. “You’re such an attention whore.”
“It’s not my fault you’re irresistible. In fact, it’s your fault I can never stop touching you, and you should take pity on me.”
“Why? I’m the one being smothered with attention.”
“Oh, no,” I mock. “My husband loves me.”
“I swear, any excuse for you to use the H word.”
“I know how much you like hearing it.”
“I prefer the L word myself.”
“Loser?”
“Fuck you.”
“Naw.” I ruffle his sweaty red hair. “Look at you being all affectionate.”
Tripp bats my hand away. “You’re bad for my image.”
“Sure, because it’s my fault you’re known as the sweetheart of the league.”
“I don’t even know where that reputation came from.”
“It’s your big, pretty eyes.”
Tripp scowls. “My eyes aren’t pretty.”
“They’re very pretty. The rest of you …” My gaze tracks over his sweat-soaked jersey. He might be wearing too much padding to make out his body, but I’ve seen it enough now that my mind can fill in the blanks.
“Keep looking at me like that and we’re not going to make it to celebration drinks,” Tripp sings.
“You really think that’s going to stop me?”
“If you don’t want me mauling you in public, it is.”
And as hot as that sounds, I’m happy to leave the public sex up to Oskar. “Fine,” I relent. “I will stop eye-fucking you.”
“Good.”
“As long as you fuck me later.”
Tripp answers by squirting his water bottle at me. I snatch it from him and spray him back, and by the time we stumble into the locker room, we’re both wrestling and roughhousing. Exactly like we’ve always been, but better.
Most of the team have already started their cooldown, but there are a few still hanging around.
I let Tripp go and cop another shot of water to my face. “Cheater.”
“You were open.”
I grin as I swipe at my cheeks. “I don’t think this is what people mean when they talk about water sports.”
Tripp cringes dramatically, but a loud scoff comes from behind him.
“Do you two ever stop? The rest of us don’t want to hear that.” Fensby has already stripped out of his pads, and he’s glowering at us from in front of his cubby.
“How dare we have fun. Stop, Tripp, it’s disgusting!”
Tripp pretends to sniff. “Smells like homophobic dickweeds in here.”
I snap my fingers. “That’s what that smell is. I thought it was sweaty ball sacs.”
“Easy mistake to make.”
“Fuck you both.” Fensby sneers. “Won’t be so cocky when one of you is traded.” And he must see the worry cross my face because he stands. “Rumor has it Coach has been shopping around for a new goalie. You really think you could screw with team dynamics and get away with it?”
“Did you?” I lean forward. “You think we don’t know what you did?”
He eyes me, clearly confused, but I’m done with not saying anything, and if the trade rumors are true, I have nothing to lose.
“Jessica told us everything. Including how she was using you.” I pretend to cringe. “How embarrassing for you to go for my ex-girlfriend and my position on this team and then fail at both.”
“Dumbass Dex at it again. No one will believe that shit.”
“They don’t need to.” I wink at him, not letting his taunt get to me. “We know what’s up, big guy.”
“You say that like it matters. As far as anyone is concerned, you two are trouble. Good luck with your”—he uses air quotes—“marriage.”
I slap Tripp’s ass. “Come on, hubby. Let’s cool down and shower. We’ve got drinks with our names on them.”
And before he can respond, someone clears their throat behind us.
I jerk around to see Coach standing there. He doesn’t say anything, just cocks an eyebrow, gives us all a pointed stare, and then turns on his heel and heads for his office.
Fuck.
We were told no more drama, and here we are bringing it to the locker room.
Tripp and I share the same concerned glance.
We might have just sealed our fate.
One of us is getting traded.
Thirty-Two
TRIPP
Dex has been freaking out since Coach witnessed us in the locker room having it out with Fensby. He’s convinced one of us is about to get a call that could tear us apart, and so he keeps staring at his phone as if willing it to ring—like if he looks away from it, they might call me instead.
He’s also had the sports channel on the TV nonstop in case news breaks there first. Most teams are good at telling the players they’re traded before announcing it but not always.
Fensby said the rumor was about me, but I don’t believe a word that comes out of that douche’s mouth.
The only reprieve we’ve had was when my parents flew in for a few days and took us out for a “really married” celebration dinner.