Page 95 of Unrivaled

It was almost perfect.

As if on cue, a notification popped up on his phone. Max, of course—though he’d missed one a few hours ago, from Jess.

Hers said,How’s the move coming?

All done, he sent back. He texted her a picture of the pileup of pizza boxes and beer cans.Hanging out with the boys.

Nice!!!!!

He decided not to think too hard about what it meant that Jess used that many exclamation points to mark her approval that Grady was making friends.

Max’s text provided a handy distraction. He’d sent a selfie taken on the team bus. He had his noise-canceling over-ear headphones on, with the waves of his hair fluffed out to the side like he was in a Disney movie that took place on a boat, and his expression as he stared into the phone camera suggested he was having his toenails pulled out with rusty pliers while being forced to watch paint dry. Behind him, just in frame, Grady made out the profile of the Monsters’ interim coach’s face as he addressed the team.

He winced in sympathy. Wells used Max like a blunt object when he was more of a Swiss Army knife, and then acted like it was Max’s fault he wasn’t a hammer.

He sent back a selfie of his own, sunglasses and all, pool in the background.

“Hey, are we taking pics for Insta?” Grady snapped his head over to see Dawg pulling himself out of the pool. He reached for his towel. “What’s your handle?”

“Dude.” That was Farouk. “Not everybody wants you in their thirst trap pics. Or to share their thirst trap pics with you.”

Oh God.Grady sent the picture, locked his phone screen, and hoped his sunburn covered any physical reaction.

Dawg wasn’t so lucky. He’d gone blotchy red down to his shoulders.

Did Farouk not realize Dawg had a crush, or was he giving him shit for it? Grady didn’t even know if Dawg was out.

Fuck. “It’s a private account. I pretty much only follow my sister and a dog.” It was Max’s dog—blessedly, Max had unblocked him after they made up—but Grady wasn’t going to give that away unless he had to. “I don’t post anything.”

Unfortunately, this invited a follow-up question from Mitch, who was lounging with his arms out of the pool, looking at Grady over the tops of his sunglasses. “So the selfie was for someone in particular?”

On the other hand, maybe he could be vague enough to discourage Dawg without spilling the whole story. “Yeah.”

Mitch grinned. “Nice. Get it, Grades.”

Probably not for another few months, but Grady grinned back anyway. “I will.”

Meanwhile, on the patio chair next to him, Dawg was vigorously rubbing a towel over his face. When he pulled it away, he seemed to have regained some chill. “Hey,” he said, “the Fish have a game tonight. We could watch, keep an eye on our competition.”

Farouk booed—a day off should include not being forced to watch other teams’ games, he said—but Mitch wanted to watch for a little early scouting on Baller before the Condors played the Fish in two weeks.

“Besides,” Dawg said, “we need to get Grades here hating on the Fish.”

“I hate them plenty.” Otherwise they’d have to kick him off the team. The Fish were the Condors’ main rivals. Grady knew how sports rivalries worked. He’d been part of one of the more volatile ones in the NHL for his entire career.

If, lately, hating another team seemed like a waste of energy, his new team didn’t have to know that.

“We could move the TV out here,” Mitch suggested. “Then Farouk doesn’t have to get out of the pool and Dawg can do his homework.”

So Grady and Dawg moved the TV, and Grady streamed from his phone. Ten minutes into the game, Farouk climbed out of the pool, shivering, and pulled over a patio chair.

Grady went inside to grab some extra sweatshirts. Even he felt a bit of a chill now that the sun had gone down and the breeze picked up. But when he slid open the patio door to go back outside, he found his teammates hunched forward facing the screen.

“Jesus,” Mitch said with a grimace.

Dawg blanched.

Farouk pulled his towel tighter around his shoulders. “Son of a bitch.”

---