Page 22 of Cross Check

“Since I don’t remember the title of the book, can we circle back to the volleyball player?” Ethan pulls on my sleeve. “Am I allowed to message her, G? Pretty please.”

“I don’t care what you do, E. Just don’t send pictures of it happening to our group chat,” I say.

“I will throw my phone into the ocean if I have to see photo evidence of Richardson’s dick,” Liam barks out. “It better not ever make an appearance on my screen.”

The room turns noisy.

Ethan tries to tell Liam about the benefits of penis piercings, and I’m surprised when our grumpy goalie lasts three whole minutes before he storms to the kitchen. Maverick passes around a plate of chocolate chip cookies and Riley tosses Connor a water bottle. It’s chaos as usual, and it takes some wrangling to finally get everyone back on track.

When we do, Maverick sprints down the hall and drags over a whiteboard I didn’t know he owned to make a list of the best terms of endearment in romance books.

“Princess is hot,” Ethan says, and Maverick scribbles it down. “But mama is hotter.”

“How many moms are you hooking up with?” I ask.

“You’d be surprised.”

“Sweetheart is the best,” Riley adds, and Hudson hums in agreement.

“A well-timed baby when you’re in the moment gets the job done.” Maverick puts it at the top of the list, underlining it twice. “And I love getting the job done.”

“I’m going to head out,” I say around a yawn, having nothing to add to this conversation. “I haven’t been sleeping well with the trade deadline coming up.”

“What are you worried about, G-Money? You’re stuck with us forever,” Maverick says. “No one is going anywhere. We finally have a lineup that works, and Coach Saunders would be stupid to change anything this late in the season.”

“Don’t jinx us, Cap.”

My round of goodbyes takes ten minutes. Out in the hallway, I look at Betsy Buchanan’s profile one more time. I scroll through the photos of the beautiful woman, waiting for a flash of attraction. Nothing ever comes, and I sigh, tapping over to my sister’s contact information and calling her instead.

“Hello?” Hannah answers.

“Hey,” I say. “Are you busy right now?”

“I’m always free for ice ream.”

“Pick you up in ten?” I ask, and I can tell she’s smiling through the phone.

“See you soon, G.”

TEN

GRANT

Hannah is waiting outside her apartment building when I pull up. Eighteen months younger than me and a professional figure skater, we could pass for twins if it weren’t for her blonde hair.

“It’s about time you called,” she says when she climbs in my car. “We live eight minutes away from each other, and I haven’t seen you in three weeks.”

“I’m a working man, Han.” I turn the radio down and peel out of the parking spot. “How’s your night?”

“I spent the last four hours planning a new routine for a competition next year, and I’m probably in over my head.” She shrugs and adjusts the air vents that are pointed in her direction. “But what fun is life if you don’t take risks?”

“You medaled at the World Championships and now you need to create a new routine? What happened to not fixing what isn’t broken?”

“I hear you, dear brother of mine, but as a perfectionist, I’m always dreaming about what I can do next, and how I can do it better than anyone else out there.” Hannah smiles. “I know how it sounds, and I’m talking about it with a therapist.”

“Self-awareness is a great quality to have.” I drum my fingers on the steering wheel. “Speaking of being a perfectionist, the playoffs start in a month. Are you going to come to a game?”

“I could be persuaded. Are you going to give my number to any of your teammates?” she tosses back with a smirk.