Page 69 of Chasing Hope

“She definitely knows what she’s doing,” I grunt.

“How is it without Caleb?” he asks as he picks up his water bottle.

Shrugging, I murmur, “Weird.”

O’Connor smirks at me, shaking his head as he squirts water into his mouth.

“What?”

He chuckles. “You and your one-word answers.”

Thankfully, my face is already flushed from the drills, otherwise my sheepish blush would show. “Sorry, it’s just?—”

He claps me on the shoulder. “Nah, no apology necessary, Valenti. It’s just you.” Changing the conversation back, he asks, “How is Caleb?”

Snorting, I roll my eyes. “He’s got his hands full.” I wish I could whip out my phone and share the photo I received this morning against my will.My poor retinas. “Four women, and get this, he’s taken in five cats.”

“What the fuck? He’s a hazard.”

“He claimed they flock to him just like the Greek women.”

O’Connor and I skate back, our water break long over as Coach Foster blows her whistle at us. “Jesus, let’s just hope he makes it back home in one piece.”

“Hope can only go so far.”

Johnson slams his locker shut, his hands clenched by his sides as he roars, “Irving!”

O’Connor whistles beside me, shaking his head. “Here we fucking go.”

Irving all but swaggers around the corner from the showers, still dressed in his sweaty clothes from training. He has far too much confidence as he leans against the lockers, smirking at Johnson’s red face. “Yes, Johnson?” he purrs.

He stalks toward Irving, his menacing frame not making Irving flinch at all.

Kieran stops beside O’Connor and me, grimacing as he asks, “Should I go grab Crawford?”

As I grunt, O’Connor leans back on the bench and murmurs, “I don’t think anything or anyone could stop this shit show.”

Kieran takes a seat beside me, crossing his arms over his chest. “May as well enjoy this, then.”

“Did you switch all my clothes?” Johnson is now screaming.

Snickers and laughter break out as Irving dips his chin, a full-blown smile lifting his face. “Thought you could use some workon appreciating women. What better way than to try and walk in their shoes for a day?”

At his sarcasm, Johnson stalks back to his locker, ripping it open and throwing the contents at Irving, including various pairs of G-strings. “Give me my shit back!”

As if nothing is happening, Kieran turns to me and asks, “How’s the code going?”

Irving’s cackles and taunts finally have O’Connor standing to mediate. “Okay boys, let’s calm down. Irving, where’s Johnson’s clothes? You can’t let the poor bastard go home in a G-string.”

Shrugging, I lean forward and unlace my skates. “It’s going. There was a fucking comma that did my head in the other night, but besides that, we’re on track.”

He claps me on the shoulder, squeezing. “Fuck, I’m so excited for this, Valenti.”

That has my lips twitching, threatening to pull into a smile. “Me too. It will help a lot of kids.”

He nods. “Yeah.” Suddenly, he stands, our conversation done as he strides over to help O’Connor de-escalate the situation, which has turned into a panty-tossing fight.

Crawford, the sorry bastard, walks into the room right as Johnson flings a red G-string at Irving. Only, it hits Grayson square in the face.