Page 84 of Winning Brynn

Roman:Another win in the bag, boys.

Alex:You're welcome.

Roman:Bitch, you didn't even score.

Leo:He didn't, but I did. *smirk emoji*

Alex:What happened to not using that word, huh, Ro?

Alex:Fucking hypocrite.

Chapter Twenty-seven

Leo

"Solid game today, boys,"Coach Carter says, leaning against the wall as we celebrate our win in the locker room. "You played well. Quick on the ball, good reactions, you really listened to what I had to say at halftime, and I appreciate that." He runs his fingers across the silver stubble on his jaw, silent as he thinks.

"But we still made mistakes. Sully, your goal in the first quarter was brilliant, but you slowed down in the second half." I nod in agreement. "Arun, you saved some great balls, but you almost conceded in the eighty-seventh minute. Spend some time studying the teams we're playing in the coming games to better anticipate each player's favored scoring tactic. Wolfe, you almost got carded. The boys are looking to you as their captain to set the standard, so be better next time." Alex looks down at his feet. "And remember, success isn't accidental. If we want to win the league this year, we need to be tenacious, determined, and hard-working. But most of all, we need to love what we're doing and love that we're doing ittogether. We can achieve greatness as a team this season but only if we love the game enough. So, tell me, boys, do we love the game? And do we love this team?"

A chorus of yeses rings out, some more enthusiastic than others, but it appeases Coach enough to leave us with a sturdy nod and a few claps on the back. I fight back an eyeroll. Five years living in the States, and I'm still not totally acclimated to the cultural differences. I'm far more comfortable with a coach calling me a prick than I am with them slapping me on the shoulder and forcing me to declare my love of the game.

I am, for the most part, a stereotypical Englishman: reserved and sarcastic with a dry sense of humor and a preference for driving on the left-hand side of the road. Which are all, really, just nice ways of saying that we're grumpy bastards. So, while the joviality and optimism of the average American often makes me uncomfortable, I can at least be self-deprecating enough to admit that it's a problem with the stiff upper lip instilled in me by my home country.

Why shouldn't Apple employees greet me in the store like a soldier returning home from war? It's not hurting anybody. And besides, maybe if we found more needless shit to celebrate back home, scientific research wouldn't have discovered that British people are literally born to be miserable.

As if to prove my point, Alex stands to my right-hand side with a wide-ass grin on his face as he windmills his dick between his legs. "My parents came to the game today."

My eyebrow twitches in amusement. "Interesting topic of conversation when you're playing with your knob."

He doesn't acknowledge my words—doesn't stop swinging his dick either. "Wanna come say hi?"

Shit.

Until now, I've never had any hesitation about seeing Jack and Libby. They've always been wonderful to me, but now there's a nervousness twisting in my gut in anticipation of looking them in the face since I started sleeping with their daughter.

Will Jack take one look at me and somehow know I've been fucking Brynn six ways from Sunday? Will he break my nose for doing so, just like Alex will the second he finds out? Would I be justified in defending myself, or would I simply have to stand there and take it?

Probably the latter.

There's a slim chance of Alex ever forgiving me for sleeping with his sister, but I'd be dead to him if I punched his elderly father in the face on top of that.

Not that I'm a violent man, anyway. I'd never hit Jack. I'm simply assessing my options.

Finally covering his genitalia with a pair of sweats—no underwear because, in his words, he "likes to feel the breeze on his balls"—Alex finishes getting dressed and looks to me in expectation, and I realize I never answered his question.

"What?" I choke.

He tilts his head to the side. "You wanna come and say hi to my parents?"

"Oh." I clear my throat. "Sure, yeah."

He frowns, and my pulse skyrockets.

Can he read it all on my face?

Can he tell my secrets by the guilty flush on my cheeks?

Leaning against the bench, he keeps his narrowed eyes on me as I finish pulling on my black sweatpants and t-shirt, throwing a ball cap on my head that Brynn will undoubtedly steal later.

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