Page 67 of The Bro-code

Equipment is discussed but nothing has changed since last year; not our suppliers, not the staff who take care of our equipment.

The same goes for our medical team and our nutrition specialists.

“What about our good luck charms?” Corey suggests. “Tucker, you didn’t wash your lucky underwear by any chance?”

Tucker barks out a laugh. “No fucking way. Why would I do that?”

Corey shrugs. “We all ribbed you a lot the other day about how much they stink, I thought maybe that made you self-conscious, I don’t know.”

Tucker shakes his head. “Nah, I don’t care what you assholes think. It’s not like your briefs smell like roses, am I right?”

We all laugh at the way Tucker wiggles his eyebrows but Topher interrupts the widespread hilarity with the hypothesis I was dreading. “Glad you didn’t wash your lucky boxers, but Corey has a point. Did anyone fuck up on our good luck routines?”

He goes around the room, asking each man if they’re doing their part. Everyone confirms that nothing is different, until Topher’s eyes land on me.

“What about you, Connelly? We’ve never heard who got the honor to blow you so far this season. Usually you share all the details with us.”

Usually I do.

I don’t even feel bad about the amount of lewd details I discuss in the locker room, because the bunnies actually expect and love to be talked about.

That’s how they gain popularity with the team. It makes us sound like a bunch of douche bags, but I don’t make the rules.

I open my mouth, but the lie I prepared doesn’t roll off my tongue as easily as I hoped.

I stutter a garbled, nonsensical jumble of words and that’s all it takes for everyone’s attention to land on me.

“Jugs,” Topher glares, using the nickname I can’t stand. “What the fuck is going on?”

Busted.

I have no choice but to fess up to the whole fuck up that got us where we are.

There’s a beat of silence around the room.

“I mean,” I say to no one in particular. “I doubt this is why we suck. We do this shit as a team bonding thing, but it’s just superstitions, right? Someone not washing his pants or using a certain stick has no influence on the outcome of our games or on our performance.”

“The fuck it doesn’t!” Tucker yells. “We’ve been talking about every single thing that could be making a difference and everything is the same. Except you getting blown before each game.”

We all know he’s right, but I argue just for the sake of it. “There’s no way to prove that it’s the case,” I bite out. “Besides, what am I supposed to do? Give in and take Candace on a date?”

More silence.

No words are needed to figure out how everyone feels though, as every single one of my teammates is glaring at me as if I was single-handedly responsible for everything that’s wrong with the world.

“Well fuck,” Topher breaks the silence. “Here we go. We finally know what, or shall I say who, has been messing with our winning streak.”

The accusation hangs heavily in the air and I squirm under everyone’s scrutiny.

“Oh come on, guys. Do you seriously believe?—”

“We do.” Tucker scowls, crossing his arms over his chest. “If I have to wear stinky underwear for the sake of the team, I don’t think it’s too much to ask you to take one for the team and find someone to blow you.”

Ryker agrees with him. “Is this Candace so bad? Regardless, if you’re anything like in high school, it shouldn’t be a problem for you to find someone to blow you outside the bunny circles.”

He’s right. The problem is that I don’t want to. I can’t say that though, so I opt for a noncommittal “It’s not that simple.”

That doesn’t go down well with my teammates.

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