Page 101 of Relationship Goals

“Someone needs to get him up to his room, and the sooner the better.”

Lexi sighs, her nose wrinkling in annoyance. “Between the three of us, we should be able to get him upstairs.”

Gold chooses that moment to leap off the table, then slowly crumples to the floor. After a long moment, he tips back his head and laughs.

“Well, shit. I take that back—we might need a little help.”

Marino materializes out of nowhere, grinning from ear to ear. “Amore, did you say you needed help?”

Lexi rolls her eyes at him. “Yeah. You wanna get your drunk captain upstairs? I’d appreciate the assist.”

Times like these, I forget Gold is the team captain. Better him than me, though—I can’t think of anything I’d like to do less.

The other two trainers share a look.

“I will help.” Marino puts his hand over his heart. “It would be my honor.”

“I don’t fucking care who does it,” I bark. “Just get him out of here before he pukes.”

“Why aren’t you helping, then, if you’re so worried?”

“Because my fucking knee hurts, and I want to go ice it,” I admit, surly about it. My head’s aching, too, but nothing out of the usual after a tough game.

“Okay. We’ll get Gold to bed, then I’ll come work on you.” Lexi’s grin is pure evil.

“Fuck that,” I tell her. “If I want to make it hurt worse I’ll hit it on the doorknob.”

“Rude.”

“We’ll bring you some ice and ibuprofen,” the other trainer says with a laugh. “No massage necessary.”

“Yeah, fucking take notes, Lexi,” I say, scowling, but she just laughs.

She’s probably the best out of all three of them, but I’ll never tell her that.

She’ll just take it out on my glutes if I do.

“He is in good hands,” Marino calls out as I start to wind my way out of the bar. “We will take care of Gold.”

“Thanks, Marino,” I throw over my shoulder. “You played good today.”

Surprise turns to a wide smile on his face, and I frown at him.

Why the fuck is he acting like I never say anything nice?

Probably because I don’t.

Chapter Twenty-eight

Abigail

“This is thebest part,” I whisper to Michelle. On-screen, the cars whip around a city block, towing a bank vault.

“You’ve said that after every car chase scene,” she says, grabbing a handful of popcorn and stuffing it in her mouth.

I harrumph. She’s right.

“That’s the whole point of these. They’re ridiculous. Over the top. Absurd.”

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