Page 8 of Grumpy Puck

I step inside, and the first thing I notice is the musky—but not completely unpleasant—smell of sweaty men.The second thing I notice is the huge mess.

“Now what?”I ask.“You expect me to steal something from your teammates?”

If he suggests I grab some of the dirty underwear lying about, I’m going to smack him.

“No stealing.”He walks up to some sort of a contraption.“This machine is meant to squeeze out moisture from swimwear.You can use it to get your own clothes dry.”

Huh.“Wait here.”

I rush back to my dressing room and come back with my stuff.

“Look away,” I order him.

“Why?”he growls.

“Because I’m about to dry some unmentionables.”

Did he just turn away too swiftly?What did he expect to see, horror-movie granny panties?

Whatever.I stick my undies into the machine and press the button.

The thing sounds like a starving hippopotamus as it does whatever it does.Afterward, I check my panties.

Nope.Still too damp to wear comfortably.

Fuck.

I run the thing again—and get the same result.

I pull out my phone from the pocket of my jeans and thank goodness that it’s waterproof.I then test the machine on the jeans, and it works out a tiny bit better, in that they go from soaking wet to unpleasantly damp.

Hmm.“No luck,” I tell Michael’s back.I bite my lip, debating, then decide to go for it.“Do you happen to have a brand-new pair of underwear?”

His shoulders tense, and for a moment, I think he might snap at me.Instead, he walks to the locker with a large number eight written on it and rummages inside.Facing me, he hands me a pair of men’s briefs and a sweater, then turns around.

I put on the briefs.Interesting.“They fit me perfectly,” I tell him.And can I hope I’ll be less turned on now that I’ve hidden my bits?

“Do they?”he asks without turning.“I guess we have the same size derriere.”

So… with him being taller and bigger than I am, did he just imply that I have a big butt?I mean, I know that I do, but it’s not polite for a man to just?—

“Can I turn back around now?”The words are dripping with irritation.

“Whatever.”I walk over to a section of the locker room that is covered in white tile, but all I find are showers, toilets, and urinals.

“What are you looking for?”he demands.

“A dryer.”Even a hand dryer could be helpful, except they have the paper-wasting towel dispensers here.

“If there were a dryer, I would have taken you to it,” he grumbles.“I mean, the custodial staff must have one to dry our towels and such, but I have no idea where that is located.”

“Oh.”I look at him excitedly.“Can we look for it?”

“There is no ‘we.’Now that you’re not going to freeze to death, you can do whatever the fuck you want.”

“Asshole,” I mutter under my breath.

Pretending he didn’t hear, he strides toward the exit.

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