Page 65 of Delay of Game
“Seriously?” I studied his face, but it remained impassive. “Well, most people like trivia. I, for one, love trivia. Lily and I go nearly every week. I love picking out goofy team names.”
“That’s literally my least favorite part.” He shook his head, annoyed in that way that gave me an overwhelming urge to annoy him more.
“Like the Sherlock Homies.”
“Please tell me that’s not your team name,” he groaned, even as his lips tipped up. “Because I’ll think less of you.”
“You will not. How about The Little Bitty Quizzy Committee?”
“No.” His smile moved from potential to undeniable. My body heated under its sheer luminosity, and I pushed off the worktable before I did something I’d regret.
“Risky Quizness?” I groped in the sink for a sponge, returning a safe distance from Rob as he wiped off the worktable.
“Are you even old enough to understand what movie that reference?”
“I am, thank you. I can probably come up with some football ones. How about Icing the Quizzer?”
He raised an eyebrow, wiping his hands off on his apron. “I’m honestly impressed you came up with a name that quickly. Even a truly terrible one.”
“It’s pretty good.”
His eyes wandered from my eyes down to my lips, and he straightened. “So, what’s your team name?”
“I Refuse to Say This Team Name.”
“Seriously?” He reached across the table and pulled the sponge out from under my hand.
“The place we go has some pretty risqué names and since we’re a bunch of teachers…”
“You picked something lame?” His lips tipped up as he cleaned the other half of the table.
“Something funny and sort of lame,” I conceded. “Well, trivia is the best, but if you’re that anti-trivia, dinner is a very practical and extremely lame team building activity. Or you could poll some other people for ideas.”
“I like your ideas, Astrid,” he said, handing back the sponge. “Thanks.”
TWENTY-FOUR
ROB
I walkedinto a crowded locker room, water dripping off my hair and body worn out from a full day on the field.
“Hey, Grant!” Trent Vogt called, his eyebrows furrowed and focus on his phone. “Did your identity get stolen or something? I got a text from you.”
“I got one, too,” Diego said, holding up his phone triumphantly.
“Ah shit, Rob got taken by a scammer. They’ve got access to his phone.” Cole Lakeland wandered into the locker room from the inner recesses of the stadium, not a drop of sweat on him. To be a fucking punter… “The scammer asked me out to dinner. A little forward, don’t you think?”
“Fuck you guys,” I grumbled, pulling on a t-shirt. “I sent that text. Captain’s dinner. I’ve got an idea.”
“He’s got an idea.” Lakeland’s eyes widened, a smirk forming on his lips. “And he’s taking us out to a fancy steakhouse. The Gables? What did we do to deserve that?”
“Does this invite mean we’re friends?” Trent wrapped an arm around my neck, pumping his fist too close to my face.
“We’re not friends.” I pushed him away, the smell of obnoxiously aggressive body spray flooding my nose. “And I’m not spending money on you assholes.”
“Your text clearly says, ‘dinner’s covered,’” Lakeland said, holding up his screen for the locker room to see. “Don’t get me wrong, buddy. I want to hang out with you, but it’s last minute and a free meal certainly sweetens the deal.”
“You cheap bastards.” I shook my head. “Don’t worry. It’s covered.”
