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“Tell me,” she says, her hands sliding up my back until her fingers brush my neck. “Why do you hate him so much?”

I realize she’s never actually said his name. “Why doyouhate him?”

She tenses beneath my fingers briefly. “I asked you first.”

For a moment, we continue our intimate dance, fingers and hands, shared breath, and swaying hips. I could ignore her question. I don’t think she’d press again. But alcohol pulls the answer from my lips.

“Because the team is mine. I don’t want to share.”

It’s not the whole truth, but it’s truth enough for now.

Joy looks at me, her fingers teasing the hair at the bottom of my neck. “You know what they say. Sharing’s caring.”

“Yeah,” I say, letting my lips graze the shell of her ear. “But I’m selfish as fuck.”

I feel more than hear her intake of breath and let my lips press to the slender column of her neck. When she doesn’t pull away, I repeat the action, just below her ear, and her fingers grip the collar of my shirt.Fuck. I regret those vodkas with every fiber of my being. I’ve been drinking for long enough that I know I’m going to stumble off this dance floor. Already the music is fading in and out. I need to get my ass in a cab or I’m going to be in trouble. I’m falling apart and Joy has no idea she’s the only thing holding me together.

She turns her head, her nose brushing with mine, and our lips are so damn close. This is where I should leave. This is the full stop at the end of my night.

I slide my hand up into her hair and kiss her. The combination of alcohol coursing through my veins, pounding music and flashing lights, makes me feel more lightheaded than usual as I melt against her. Her lips are so fucking soft, I wonder whether someone slipped something in my drink. My grip tightens on her as she opens for me, my tongue starving for the taste of her. We’ve stopped moving to the music, our hips grinding to a rhythm of our own making.

When my hand slips inside the low back of her dress, my fingertips brushing the lace of her knickers, she pulls back, her lips swollen, and eyes still half closed.

I almost pull her back to me, but the club slides onto its side like I’m on a boat in a storm and I squeeze my eyes shut.

“I’m gonna catch a cab,” I mumble. “Enjoy the rest of your night.”

It was only a matter of time before the full force of my shots hit my bloodstream and I’d planned to be lying on the bar, not standing in the middle of the dance floor with a semi.

Grumbling to myself, I stumble toward the neon sign declaring the exit and somehow manage to get my phone out. I stab at the screen, thankful that my home address is already pre-registered. The bouncers eye me warily as I leave, and I salute all four of them. Wait. Two. Who fucking knows?

I need bed. I need water. I need sleep. I really need the world to stop spinning.

Fuck. Slumping against the wall, I try and hold on to my surroundings. I’m at a club. I need to focus. To stay standing. Why is my dick hard? The scent of an unfamiliar perfume lingers on my clothes. My lips feel tender as I bring my fingers to them, and I frown, trying to remember why.

I’m still standing, my fingers pressed to my lips and a frown on my face, when my driver pulls up, shouting until I blink out of my trance.

I don’t remember the drive home.

JOY

My skin burns for a hundred different reasons as I climb out of the pool and towel off. I’ve been dreading seeing Coach McMann again. I don’t know what came over me. Thank fuck none of the Bees saw.

I sneak a look at where he’s talking to Wes, Aldo, and Erik. It’s not like I haven’t noticed that he’s good looking. With his short, dark beard and messy brown hair, his demeanor screams rugged bad boy in all the ways that make you want to run away and toward him at the same time. I’d stake my trust fund on the fact he got laida lotin college. If the rumors are true, he still does.

My teeth tug my lip as I remember what his kiss felt like. The confidence in the way his tongue laid claim to mine. But then, he’d just walked away. Well, stumbled. I hadn’t realized quite how wasted he was until he stepped away from me.

Watching him now, I wonder whether he even remembers kissing me. It wouldn’t be the worst thing. If he does, it doesn’t seem like he has any intention of bringing it up. He’s treated me exactly like he normally would since practice began.

Slipping on my robe, I gather my things and head to the showers. It was a moment of insanity—a serious lapse in judgment—that will not be repeated. There’s taking risks and there’s just plain fucking stupid.

The chatter of the rest of the team is muted as I sift through my thoughts, trying to push him out of them. But no matter how cold I make my shower, I can’t stop thinking about the way our bodies fitted together.

I groan, squeezing the excess water out of my hair before heading to get changed. Maybe I just need to get laid. Andnotby Coach McMann. I pause, halfway through tugging my leggings on, caught on the thought of what he might look like naked. Does he have a hairy chest? Tattoos? He looks like he’s still in great shape, but he never gets in the water with us.

Huffing a sigh, I hurry through putting the rest of my clothes on, eager to get out into the cold winter air, hoping it will clear my head. I only make it so far as the corner of the building when the sound of someone jogging reaches my ears. As the footsteps slow, I turn, my stomach somersaulting as Lane draws level with me. His cheeks are pink, his breath pluming in bursts before him.

“Joy,” he says. “Please.”

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