Page 111 of My Brother's Teammates

Monday and Tuesday I kept myself entertained. Sitting in my room in Meghan’s apartment and sewing beautiful pieces of lace underwear kept my fingers busy so I couldn’t text or call the guys. I know they’re giving me space, I know they’re waiting for an update, and I know they want answers, but until I have them, I’m kind of in limbo.

It feels cruel to want to call them, talk to them, hear their voices, when I can’t tell them if we’re still even dating or not.

My heart stops. Fuck. I’ve spent the past week assuming they’re waiting for an answer from me. But other than Mateo’s playful wink at the game, there have been no other signs that they might still want to be a part of whatever we had.

Are they giving me space? Or are they done with me?

When it came down to it… did they pick Harrison?

If I pulled on some big girl pants and talked to them, I’m sure I’d find out.

I rub my tummy, but it doesn’t soothe the building ache.

It’s Wednesday morning. Meghan doesn’t have any ghost tours in the French Quarter on her schedule today, so she’s sitting in her living room, sipping iced coffee while she watches me fight with my sewing machine.

Yesterday, it was like a glorious extension of my body. Today, it’s rebelling against me like I’ve never learned how to sew.

“Ugh. Piece of shit.” I kick the table, then wince at the sting of pain radiating through my leg.

“Someone needs to get laid.” Meghan’s smug voice comes at me from the couch, and I want to throw the whole damn thing at her face.

Someone was getting laid. Very laid, in fact, by three delicious, athletic, generous lovers who all knew what to do with their hands, dicks, and tongues. And one who could cook like a Michelin star chef.

I only realize the growl isn’t in my head when Meghan laughs before drinking more cold brew.

There’s a knock at the door, and we look at each other. It’s eleven in the morning on a weekday. Who could it be?

Oh, maybe she ordered an early lunch.

“Food?”

She shakes her head and laughs. “Not guilty.” She holds up her hand like a stop sign. “I’ll get it.” When she peers through the peephole, she turns to me with such a hostile eye roll, I can’t help but bite my lips so the laugh can’t escape.

It’s Harrison.

“Oh, great. It’s the pussy police.” If there’s one thing about Meghan that I love most, it’s her unwavering loyalty to me—and apparently my reproductive organs.

But she hates him so much, I can’t help but wonder if something went down between them at some point.

Wouldn’t that be fucking rich? Shooing me off from his best friends while he casually dipped his quill in my best friend's inkpot behind my back.

“Are you going to let me in?” Harrison’s impatient voice sounds from the other side of the door.

“Depends, are you going to be an asshole?” Meghan plants her hand on her hip and pops her knee to make a point even though Harry can’t see.

They stand in a silent battle of the wills before Harrison sighs so loudly they could probably hear it in another state. “Meglet, please? I need to talk to her.”

Huh. Since when does he call her Meglet? I’ll be picking that apart later.

“No, Haribo.” She narrows her eyes at him, and for a split second, I’m not sure what the fuck I’m witnessing. “Not until you promise to leave your douchey self out there. Don’t be a dick.”

After a long, stretched-out pause where I imagine Harry squeezing the bridge of his nose and counting to ten on the other side of the door, he relents. “Okay. I won’t be a dick.”

She regards him with a head tilt, like she’s not sure that’s possible, but eventually, she takes a step back, opens the door, and waves her hand to guide him inside. When he’s through the door, she slams it with such force that Harrison and I both flinch.

“For fuck’s sake, Meghan,” he snarls. “I get it. You don’t want me here, but does the whole building need to know?”

She grins. “Yup.” Popping her ‘p’, she skips across the room, grabs her cold brew, and walks toward the bedroom. “I’ll be over here, pretending not to eavesdrop and making sure you’re not a dick.”

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