Page 44 of Totally Opposed

“I’ve got your back, too,” Phillip says, switching his phone screen off and placing it on the bedside table.

“Thanks. Good night.”

“Night.”

***

Ryan was right. Lady Luck does like him better. Or at least she likes the Funky Monkeys better because they kicked our asses, again. Losing sucks, sure, but losing to Ryan stings a little less knowing his prize for winning is to get to do whatever he wants with me, and that means I win, too. But it also means that if Bart Erricson is looking to dump one of the new teams next year, the party Animals are not exactly showing him our best. But it’s early in the season, we play the OG teams soon, and that is where we get to really show him how amazing we are. If we can both kick their asses and he has to keep us all.

ALAN: So we have an hour before we have to head to the airport with the team. What were you thinking?

RYAN: Thinking about what?

He can’t be serious.

ALAN: About claiming your prize. Phillip already packed up his stuff and headed down to grab a meal with the guys. You could come to my room.

RYAN: We did agree on whatever I want, right?

ALAN: Yep. Anything at all. Did you want me to come to your room?

RYAN: No, let’s go down and grab something to eat, too. I’m starving.

He wants to eat.

ALAN: You’re choosing to get dinner as your prize when you can have whatever you want?

RYAN: No. I’m saying let’s get dinner with the guys and I’ll collect my prize later.

ALAN: I guess I’ll see you downstairs.

RYAN: See you soon.

I throw the last of my things into my bag and head down. Leaving my suitcase with the others piled up beside the doors of the hotel ready to be loaded onto the bus taking us to the airport,I make my way into the restaurant. The room is packed, and I scan the faces, looking for the guys.

“Wow, everyone is here,” Ryan says from beside me.

“Yeah, you sure you would rather be here than…you know?”

A soft pink blush rises to his cheeks.

“Yeah, I’m sure. We’ll have plenty of time once we get to the next hotel,” he says, stretching an arm up to wave at Duckie, who is standing on a chair on the other side of the room, trying to flag us down. “Come on.”

“Allllllaaaaaannnnnnn,” Duckie calls out, and a bunch of people turn to look my way as we weave through the sea of people to the table they’ve secured by the back wall.

“You okay?” Gordon asks as I take the open seat next to him. Ryan is sitting three seats down between Stevie and Tim Sage, and I hear him laughing at something someone has said. I love the sound of his laugh. It’s like a song for my heart, filling it like air fills a balloon.

“Fine, just tired.”

“Well, you can sleep on the plane. There’s plenty of food. Did you want a beer?”

“No, I’m good. Water is fine,” I say, reaching into the middle of the large table to grab the tongs resting on top of a bowl of what looks like beef and black bean noodles. The whole middle of the table is filled with a bunch of different dishes, and everyone is sampling from whatever they like.

“Here, have one of these, too,” Gordon says, handing me a slider.

I dig in, chatting with the guys near me and trying not to let my attention keep drifting to what Ryan is saying.

“How is your arm?” I ask Gordon. His pitches are perfect when it comes to accuracy, but I noticed today they were a little slower than we’ve seen him. Ryan’s looked like they were doublehis speed. They weren’t, not really, but it was noticeably slower for sure.

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