Page 18 of My Brother's Teammates

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Meghan’s chuckle pulls me from sinking further into my fantasies. “Don’t blame you, those are some hot as fuck men. Do you need help searching for a new job?”

Shaking my head even though she can’t see me, I decline. “Thanks, but unless you’re gonna buy a couple hundred thousand dollars’ worth of lingerie, then I’m stuck here.”

“Girl…”

“Don’t say it.”

She’s totally gonna say it.

“It’s my duty as your best friend to say it, Char. I love you.”

The “but” in her sentence is heavy. And imminent.

“But you’ve talked about starting your own sexy underwear business since college. I feel like it’s time to shit or get off that particular pot.”

She’s not wrong. I’ve dabbled in designing, scribbling down ideas for years, making things for myself and a few close friends… but I’ve never had the balls—or the expendable income—to make it happen. I wouldn’t know the first thing about setting up my own company or creating a real-life marketable product. But if I don’t start chasing my dreams soon, I’m going to be stuck in a job I hate, living with three sexy-as-sin men that are completely off-limits. And if my brother finds out, he’ll never speak to me again.

Something’s gotta give.

EIGHT

Mateo

It’s a good thing these guys are hockey players, because their acting skills are terrible. If Harrison weren’t such a good guy, he'd see right through these two idiots.

Jace has got his head so far up his own ass, it’s a wonder he can hold his stick. Coach had some of us running through shooting drills all morning, and if we were trying not to sink the puck in the net, Jace has done a fantastic job.

He’s quiet, twitchy, and a hell of a lot moodier than usual. You might as well give him a giant red flag to wave in front of Harrison’s face—and I’m not talking about the good kind of red flag that all those dark romance readers talk about on social media.

Roman isn’t doing much better.

He’s pretending none of us exist. Like if he doesn’t look at any of us in the eyes, he doesn’t have to admit he tried to bone our little Red over a few chopped carrots.

“Dude, if you can play like this on Tuesday, Florida isn’t going to stand a chance.” Harrison stops beside me, clamping a hand down on my shoulder, his mouthguard trapped between his teeth.

I lift my shirt to wipe the sweat from my brow and smile, because unlike my roommates, I am not playing like shit. I might have the bluest balls in existence, but I can still play fucking hockey. “Thanks. Must be my new good luck charm.”

Good luck charm, but I’m also really good with high stress situations. I don’t crack under pressure, I don’t freeze, and I sure as hell don’t panic. That’s probably the one good thing that came out of my teenage years.

When my dad died, I was crushed. When we found out all his secrets, demolished. I didn't have time to fall apart and act out. I had to grow up real quick. My mom needed help, and I was the oldest, the only one she could count on. She had four kids, a full-time job, and a world crumbling around her.

Between hockey and school, I didn’t have a lot of free time, but when I did, I’d be doing chores around the house or putting my brothers and sister to bed. There wasn’t time for anything else. Just a huge need to get shit done.

“Oh, yeah?” He nudges me with his elbow as we make our way off the ice and back into the locker room. “What is it?”

“Yeah, Mateo,” Jace grits out as he comes up behind us, nudging me much harder than needed. I know what he’s thinking, and I’m not the one that’s about to spill the beans. It’s cute Jace thinks I’m the weak link. “What is it?”

I glance over my shoulder, and as I give him a wink, I swear his entire face twitches. The look he gives me is a promise of death. He makes it too easy. And because I love to fuck with him, I take my time, tossing my gloves and stick in my stall. By the time I turn around, Harrison is staring at me, brow raised, and Jace’s face is so red it might explode.

He’s going to love this.

“It’s my new shirt.” I shrug off my jersey and wait until Roman has joined us to display the Team Ginger written in bold letters on the front of my T-shirt. I was lucky enough to find this beauty buried in the back of my closet this morning after the bacon incident, but none of them need to know that. Especially Jace. “I can get one for each of you if you’d like. We can match.”

Just in case they couldn’t quite make out the lettering, I pull the shirt away from me, stretching it so the front can be seen without any wrinkles hiding its glory, and I smile.

They make it too easy, they really do.

And if I’m being honest, I’m not truly enamored with the thought of keeping this secret from Harrison much longer. I’m not going to be the one that tells him, but I don’t have to like it. Secrets don’t sit right with me, they haven’t since… well, me—along with my entire family—discovered all the skeletons buried in my dad’s closet.

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