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“Shh,” she hisses, glancing over at the lingering members of the team, but they’re too far away to have heard. Then she shakes her head with a sheepish smile. “Sorry. Your immaturity must be rubbing off on me.”

“Immature?” I mock gasp. “Moi? Never.”

“In answer to your question, yes. I think as the captain I should be there.”

I raise an eyebrow. “So only out of obligation?”

“No.” She averts her eyes and I swear she blushes a little. “Not just out of obligation.”

Aldo calls to her from the other side of the pool and she gives me a small smile before turning and heading over to him. He looks past her, giving me a smile that I can’t quite read. Is it pity? I hope to fuck it’s not pity. Annoyance bubbles in my gut, but as I watch him drape an arm around Joy’s waist, his hand sliding a little lower than it fucking should as they head to the locker rooms, my jaw clenches.

Is something going on between those two? I realize Masters and I are the only two left poolside and I turn to leave before he can try and talk to me. Laughter and chatter filter out into the corridor from the locker rooms and I all but stomp up to my office, throwing myself down on the couch and draping an arm over my face.

It shouldn’t bother me. Aldo ended things.Twice. And I know, in reality, nothing can happen between me and Joy. The two of them together make sense. I wonder if they know that they’ve both been with me. I snort at the idea of them comparing notes.Fuck. It pisses me off that I’m so twisted over either of them. This is not me. I don’t do relationships. Never have, never will. Roots and commitment make you lazy. Complacent. Besides, I have nothing to offer anyone beyond a decent one-night stand.

This team bonding event might be a good thing. I’ll do whatever needs to be done to show team spirit and then I’ll fuck off and leave Masters to it. It won’t be hard to find a willing participant to cleanse my system. I need to cast my net wider than the team. Everyone knows you shouldn’t shit on your own doorstep. Everything is so fucking close, I’m getting claustrophobic. I need a decent shag from someone who has absolutely nothing to do with Franklin West.

I push up off the couch and wander over to the window overlooking the pool, watching Masters collecting the crap the team has left behind. Yeah. This night out is exactly what I need to get everything back on track.

LANE

The Bluebell is a nice club. There were a lot to choose from in Portland but this one makes my job a whole lot easier. Under twenty-ones are allowed in, but they get a wristband and a stamp, so they don’t get served alcohol. When I called up and reserved a couple of booths for tonight, I asked the manager what would happen if they removed the band and washed off the stamp. She reassured me the ink was worse than a Sharpie and they’d be washing it off for days. Even now, the thought makes me chuckle. The underclassmen, however, are definitely not chuckling.

“Cheer up,” I say to Colton. “It could be worse.”

He glares at me, and I bite back a smile. He’s a junior and twenty-one in a couple months, but rules are rules. Almost all the team is here. The only no shows are Wes, because he’s the biggest damn introvert I’ve ever met, and Josie, a freshman, because her parents are in town, and she already had plans. Ten out of twelve. Not a bad turn out.

Laughter pulls my attention and I turn to the source, following the all too familiar tug at my soul. Joy looks incredible tonight, as always. Her skinny black jeans show more leg than not through the strategically placed rips and her dark purple top seems modest at the front, but it’s just thin crisscrossed straps at the back, showing most of her tattoo and no sign of a bra. Her sleek, black hair is up in a high ponytail, with loose strands framing her face in a way that reminds me of how she used to wear it back when . . . I rub at my chest.

Gripping my rum and coke, I head over to where she’s sitting next to Aldo, a smile lighting her beautiful face. She looks up as I approach, her eyes glancing over me, and I flex a little. I dressed to impress tonight in my favorite jeans and a black t-shirt with a deep vee neck that shows off my chest. And it’s all for her. My greeting freezes on my tongue, however, as I spot Aldo’s hand on Joy’s thigh under the table.

“Hey, Coach,” Aldo says, completely oblivious to the pain he’s causing me.

I force my face into a smile. “Hey. Enjoying yourselves?”

“I haven’t been here before,” Joy says. “It’s nice.”

All I can do is nod in response, the music just a little too loud for conversation. Maybe I should have suggested team pizza. But then there wouldn’t be alcohol and dancing. And those are two ingredients I’m counting on to help get me back on Joy’s good side. Well, more than her good side.Fuck. I want her back.

“I’m gonna get another round,” Aldo says, scooting out of the booth. “You want anything, Coach?”

I automatically go to tell him no, then stop myself. I forget sometimes that these kids have more money than they know what to do with. Joy used to be like that. She’d treat me all the time. I hated it at first, but then she’d called me out on my fragile male ego, and I’d sucked it up.

“Sure,” I say. “I’ll take another rum and coke.”

Aldo nods, heading over to the bar, and Joy stares up at me for a moment before gesturing at the space he left behind. My heart sings as I slide into the booth. Erik, Tara, and Theia are on the other side of the booth, but so deep in conversation they haven’t glanced up at me once.

“You look gorgeous,” I say against her ear.

Her eyes widen a little and she grips her almost empty glass with both hands, studying it closely. “Thanks.”

I internally kick myself.Fuck.I’m an idiot. Baby steps. Stick to safe topics, not the fact that she’s your perfect fucking woman and no one else has held a candle to her since you screwed up.

“Your times are looking great. I compared them with the latest PRs at the last Team USA trials and you match the top ten percent. I honestly can’t see you not making the team.” I talk against her ear to combat the loud music and hope I’m not shouting. “When are you going to try out? Spring break or before then?”

If I thought my comment on her appearance made her uncomfortable, the tension in the air multiplies by a thousand as I finish my desperate ramble.

I glance over at the bar, relieved to see that Aldo hasn’t even been served yet. “Did I say something wrong?”

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