Page 45 of Unrivaled

But the truth made him sound soft and kind of pathetic, so he said,Ur right. Should wash body w fancy shampoo instead. Thx bud!

Just put it in your shower so my hair doesn’t smell like a teenage boy next time I’m over, Grady replied.

Next time, Max thought.

The fantasy replayed. In this version, he and Grady kept up their argument pro forma while walking the dog together, hand in hand.

It was probably the romcom talking, but he could deal with next time.

THE MONSTERSplayed in Philly the third week of October. Uncharacteristically, Grady looked forward to it. Sure, he could almost guarantee Max would do something to piss him off on the ice. But it was hard to be mad about it knowing Max would make it up to him with an orgasm later.

Not staying in philly :( down side of being so close, Max texted the day before the game.Your arena has a designated dtf zone right?

Grady had googled DTF two days into his internet dating adventure.I’ll come up with something.A players’ lounge or a trainer’s room would do.

Maybe he really had lost his mind, but when he and Jess were both in Pittsburgh last week for work, she commented on how much more relaxed he seemed. “Did you make a decision about the trade?” Then she narrowed her eyes. “Did you meet someone?”

“No.” If Grady hemmed and hawed, she’d smell blood in the water. In under a minute, she’d suss out that dating was terrible but he was getting laid semiregularly, and then she’d ask pointed follow-up questions that would quickly reveal the truth. “I’m trying a new tactic. It’s called not giving a fuck.”

Jess’s laughter startled the people at the next table. “That’s new?”

Grady mock glowered at her.

“Hey, I thought you were trying not giving a fuck.”

He dropped the act and replaced it with a smile. “Old habits.”

“Uh-huh,” Jess said, but she didn’t pursue the topic. “Speaking of not giving a fuck, how’s the team?”

That was a different kettle of fish. “Hit-and-miss. Some of them are convinced I think I’m too good for them, and nothing I say or do will change that.” If the coaching staff played them fewer minutes or in positions that played to their strengths, or if front office traded them or they retired, the Firebirds might have a fighting chance and Grady wouldn’t feel like he’d anchored himself to a sinking ship.

Grady didn’t blame them for not retiring, so he didn’t think it was fair they blamed him for wanting to leave.

“Sucks, bro.” Jess stabbed a roasted potato. “You wanna split dessert?”

In any case, Grady liked sex, and sex with Max was fun and easy. Therefore, he was looking forward to the game.

“You’re in a good mood,” Zipper commented when Grady joined the group for two-touch warm-ups. Zipper was fast, but he’d earned his nickname from the string of stitches he got for a high stick a few years ago, which had left a zipper-like scar along the corner of his jaw, bisecting a shaggy blond beard. “It’s weird.”

Coop hooted with laughter. “Grades, yourfaceright now.”

“Aw, leave him alone.” Mack caught the ball on the top of one of his size-fourteen feet and then headed it across the circle to Grady. “You’ll embarrass him and he’ll turn into a dick and start avoiding us again.”

Grady let the ball hit his chest and roll down to his knee, bounced it up, and then kicked it to Coop. “Thanks for the support, assholes.”

He wasn’t really upset, though. Chirping felt warmer and more natural than the stilted avoidance that had become the norm.

They finished the warmup, and Grady took his phone to his usual quiet spot.

This habit probably didn’t endear him to his teammates either. You could only get away with sitting alone in a dark room before a game if you were a goalie. It made Grady look like an antisocial snob, but he played better when he had a few minutes to decompress before joining the chaos in the locker room.

Normally he spent five minutes scrolling through a curated section of Instagram—mostly cute animals—or meal prep TikToks. But tonight when he opened Instagram, he got a suggested post from the Monsters’ account.

@NJMonsters: Mad Max lettuce on point

Instead of including one shot of Max in his pregame outfit, they’d done a whole faux fashion spread—Max laughing as he got off the bus, Max doing very dumb finger guns at the photographer, Max winking as he signed an autograph for a fan on the way into the arena. His hair did look good, damn it, wavy blond dishwater locks shining in the autumn sun. It looked soft. Grady wanted to touch it.

No, he wanted topullit.

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