Page 146 of Butterfly Effect

Coach cuts him off. “Does anyone here have questions about something other than Boehner’s love life?” It would come off as rude, but he’s smiling and his tone is playful, hands drawing circles over the table. “His consistency, maybe? Or extraordinary stats this season? Or anything about hockey?” There’s more chittering. “If not, I think we’re good,” he confirms with Jules and Elliot. “Good night, everyone.”

The rustle of backpacks and shuffled footsteps fade as the press exits one way, and we exit the other.

We change out of the pullovers and back into suits before leaving the arena. Fletch kicks me in the shin for cutting a hole in the blazer pocket where he usually stores his phone. I almost pissed myself watching him drop it in the hallway again and again.

“You’re a douchebag.” He glares as I pass him on the bus.

“It’s ajoke.”

“So’s your reading speed, but you don’t see me breaking your Kindle over it.”

Guess he’s still mad at me. “I’msorryI didn’t finish reading Kingdom of the Feared, okay?”

He harrumphs and slaps on his headphones.

“I said I was sorry!” My index finger jabs into his neck between the bus seats. “You’re a pain in my ass.”

Fletcher returns an angry whisper. “No, that’s the butt plug lodged up there.”

I curse myself for mentioning last week’s exploration and prepare to beat the living daylights out of him when Jaeg growls.

“Move and die.”

“You heard what he?—”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have yapped about all the ’glorious backdoor action’ you’re allegedly getting from your not-girlfriend.”

“That was the pain meds talking after I dislocated my shoulder! Wouldn’t have happened ifsomeonewasn’t wanking off against the glass instead of?—”

My defense falls on deaf ears. Our captain remains shut-eyed, cozied into his travel pillow. “Let that be a lesson to you.”

“‘Let that be a lesson to you?’ What are you, eighty? Who says that anymore? Am I right?” I seek validation through a high-five, but no one’s paying attention. Except Theron. The dude would high-five for any reason. I accept it with a resigned sigh.

I lean past the aisle and whisper toward Derrick. “And that was private information.”

“Then stop screaming it from the rooftops. Now go away.” His hand grips my shoulder and jostles me back to my seat. “And stay there.”

The drive to L.A. from Las Vegas gets us to the hotel around 3 a.m., and I text Gabe my room number in case she wants to drop by.

Two hours later, my eyelashes tangle with hers.

What a way to wake up.

I groan happily and roll until she’s on her back, gripping my biceps for support. She flexes her thigh twice against my boner.

“Well, good morning.”

“Hi.” My voice rattles—dry and gravelly from sleep deprivation—against her smooth skin as my lips greet her freckles.

“How’s your shoulder?”

“Better now.” We share lopsided smiles. “You get some rest?”

“Not really,” she says. “You know how redeyes go. Nothing caffeine can’t fix.” Her hands glide across my bare arms and back. “Got you a cup, too. It’s by the TV.”

“You’re a genius.” I steal a coffee-heavy kiss and balance on my elbows, getting a better look at this absolutely angelic creature. It’s the first time I’ve seen her in black and gold, and my body retreats, surprised. “What are you wearing?”

Gabe lifts to her knees, uncrumpling the number twelve plastered over her tits.

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