Page 25 of Rookie Moves

With the urge to launch whatever is causing his brows to furrow to the moon, I weave through the swarm of people and stop in front of him.

He must be so engrossed in whatever is causing that pissed-off look on his face because he doesn’t notice me until I nudge his foot.

“Guess what?” I say, loud enough for him to hear me over the raucous lobby.

He jumps in his seat, his phone flipping through the air before landing in his lap, and he shoots me an unimpressed look.

“What?”

“I managed to sweet-talk Nelson into trading rooms with me.” I waggle the slipcase containing the room keys. “We get to be roomies for the weekend.”

Maybe we can make out and maybe get started on your list, I silently suggest with a wiggle of my brows.

Luckily, he seems to pick up on my unspoken words. He bites down on the inside of his cheek and asks, “Really?”

“Really. Now, come on, let’s get out of here before we’re dragged into playing a game of ping-pong or some other shit.”

“I like ping-pong,” he says, picking his bag up from the floor.

“Of course you do. Because you’re good at it,” I tease, flashing him a wry grin over my shoulder. “Because you’re good at everything.”

He huffs out a breath. “If you say so.”

I lead him toward the bank of elevators and press the call button. He seems… distracted. The muscle in his jaw ticks, eyes darting around the lobby like he’s expecting someone to jump out on him. I follow the direction of his glare, but nothing looks unusual. Aside from our team, the other team staying here, and some family members, nothing jumps out as being suspicious. I hate that the actions of other people who are unable to respect boundaries have caused him to be so on edge everywhere we go, but it can only mean whatever has caused the heavy rain cloud to hang over his head must have come from his phone.

“We’re on the fourth floor,” I tell him. “Coach wants us down in the lobby at five for a strategy meeting before dinner.”

He doesn’t reply, his attention snagging to the phone as it vibrates in his hand. His shoulders tense at whatever is on the screen, and then he lets out a grunt and shoves his phone into the pocket of his sweatpants with an air of irritation.

What the fuck has happened in the last twenty minutes since we got off the bus?

“Is everything okay?” I ask cautiously.

“Yeah,” he answers, but his clipped tone says otherwise. “Just the same shit.”

“Seriously? They’re hounding you already?”

His nod is heavy and tired. “Yeah. I don’t know how they got my student email though, which is a first. Coach made sure it didn’t go on the directory when I started.”

“Block them.”

“I have, but they keep sending it under different emails.”

“Assholes,” I hiss. “Want me to sign them up to one of those annoying e-card sites that sends those really loud, obnoxious emails every day? Or the spammy newsletters where they send you eighty thousand emails?”

That earns me a chuckle. “Nah. They don’t deserve the time.”

Before I can argue that I’d happily do anything for him if it meant people would back the fuck off, the elevator doors open. We step inside the car, and I quickly press the button to close the doors before anyone else can join us.

As soon as the doors slide closed, I decide it’s time to distract Colby in the only way I know how.

I lean in, crowding him against the shiny wall, and lower my voice. “Being roommates for the weekend means we have plenty of time to strategize our next move of play. Maybe even get a few practice drills in.”

The hitch in his breath goes straight to my groin. His eyes lock with mine, and his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows.

“It, uh… only makes sense to utilize the time to improve our skill.”

My lips tip in a slow, wicked smirk. “Exactly.”