Page 109 of Ice Me Out

“Chill with the bedroom acrobatics before your back gives out and we both end up on the floor.”

I kissed her roughly, trying to hide my smile. She returned the gesture with just as much fervor. I pulled back just enough to say, “Not a chance in Hell.”

***

“Alright, Sugar,” I said, popping in one earbud before dialing in. “Mind the speed limit and keep your hands at ten and two.”

“Statistically, you’re more likely to die by the suicides your coach will make you do for missing your meeting than my driving,” she replied with a casual shrug.

“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” I said, unconvinced, staring at the speedometer that slowly ticked up.

I propped my phone up on the dashboard, angling it so everyone could see my face and not Vera. Earlier, we discussed our timeline for going public, and while we didn’t plan on hiding any longer and would tell the ones closest to us, we weren’t going to flaunt our relationship or post about each other until PR had their shit in order.

I joined the call, and a few seconds later, Coach was glowering at me through the screen.

“Thanks for deigning to grace us with your presence, Myers,” Coach greeted, voice dripping with enough sarcasm to validate Vera’s suicide prediction.

“Wouldn’t miss it, Coach,” I said, keeping my expression subdued. I ignored the snorts from some of my teammates until Coach squinted at the screen. He leaned in, and I waited for him to state the obvious.

“You in the Bronco, Myers?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you’re… in the passenger seat?”

I fell back against the seat, notepad in hand, and waited to catch hell. A chorus of “No way,” and “Who’s driving?” erupted through the speaker.

“Maybe it’s DeAndre,” Rossi offered naively.

“DeAndre, my ass,” Chandler responded. “What’s her name?” he asked, pointing his water bottle towards the screen.

“It could be a he!” Christiansen blurted. “Let’s continue to be inclusive.”

Marlon laughed from the front row, clearly enjoying my misery, knowing damn well who was driving.

“My bad. What’s his or her name?” Chandler asked seriously with a raised brow.

Vera’s eyes flicked toward me for half a second before she focused back on the road. She was smirking—enjoying being the center of a full-team investigation.

Another voice chimed in, “When’s the wedding date?”

I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed. “Can we focus on the meeting?”

Coach crossed his arms. “I run this meeting, Myers. And we’ll focus on the meeting when I say so. Who’s behind the wheel?”

My eyes ticked toward the speedometer when I felt the shift in speed. “Someone who doesn’t believe in minding the speed limit.”

Vera shook her head. “It is too early for you to be this passive-aggressive.”

“Yeah. Gon’ head and pull over for me because I’m not doin’ this with you.”

My teammates’ raucous laughter erupted through my earbuds.

“She got the Texas coming out of him,” Rossi joked.

“I like her already,” someone added.

“Pull over,” I hissed.