Page 107 of Unrivaled

“No sexting at the table,” Farouk said. “Save it for your hotel room.”

By the time Grady got there, he’d have just enough energy to take his clothes off and fall into bed. Their game had gone to a twelve-round shootout. He was whooped. And Max would just be finishing his game.

“Yes sexting at the table,” Mitch said, “but you have to read them out loud.”

Grady pretended to consider it. “Just mine, or Max’s too?” Not that he’d do either, but Mitch didn’t have to know that.

“Fuck,” Farouk said. “I take it back. Sext all you want, but keep that shit to yourself. I don’t want to know about any Fish’s weird sex kinks. Instant buzzkill.”

Victorious, Grady reached for his beer. “Agree to disagree.”

He fell asleep in his hotel room before Max texted him back. In the morning he had a new text message—That shootout goal was [fire emoji].

They kept up a steady correspondence while Max was gone. Grady loved playing for the Condors. Winning wouldn’t get old anytime soon. Having friends on the team—beyond Coop, who still texted him a couple times a week—made for a completely different experience even when they lost.

And he didn’t feel like the success of the team rested on his shoulders alone. He wasn’t sure if it was the team or the media or the fans or his own ego that made him feel that way in Philly, but he didn’t miss the pressure. And with Farouk on his line, he was scoring more points than he had in years.

Watching Max struggle while Grady flourished was weird. Max was one of the most consistent players in the league. It used to drive Grady crazy. It was strange to hate seeing him play poorly when not so long ago he would’ve reveled in it.

“I feel like I’m on another planet,” Max confided one night from Winnipeg. Grady assumed this wasn’t a comment on the weather, which was approximately the same in Winnipeg in February as it was on the surface of Pluto. “Why would they even trade for someone whose game is so different from their system?”

None of the usual reasons—cap relief, tanking for draft picks, incompetent management—applied, so Grady said, “They obviously think you can adapt. It’s been like a week. Give yourself a break.”

“Eleven days,” Max corrected.

“Oh, I’m sorry, eleven days, including a transcontinental move, some pretty severe jet lag, and your boyfriend fucking your brains out—”

Max made a tiny sound that might have been a laugh.

“—twice—”

“That’s pretty generous.”

“You’re right, there wasn’t much there to begin with.”

“Wow, you suck at this pep talk thing.”

Snickering, Grady thought,What would Max do?“You’re right. Let me try again. Suck it up, figure out what your coaches want from you, and when you get home, I’ll be mean to you in bed about it.”

There was a pause. Then Max said, “Hey, what are you wearing right now?”

So maybe Grady was better at this than he thought. Or at least he had a pretty good learning curve.

Unfortunately, he needed an entirely different skill set to deal with the other most important person in his life.

The day before Max returned from his road trip, Grady had just finished his morning swim when Jess, Polly, and Amanda showed up from Philadelphia with the rest of his plants.

“Hey, loser.” Jess pushed a cardboard box laden with herbs into his arms. “Nice place. Got room for a few more?”

“Come in,” Grady said belatedly. “And uh… I guess that depends how long you’re staying and how you feel about roommates?”

He set the box on the kitchen counter. Jess, Polly, and Amanda followed him in, each hauling a box of plants and with a duffel over their shoulder.

“Roommates?” Jess dropped her bag, gave him a hug—a quick one because he was still damp—then stepped back and narrowed her eyes.

Grady probably should’ve put on a shirt so he didn’t show off the bite mark Max left on his pec. “Uh, I mean, maybe more like occasional overnight guests?”

“Oh my God,” Jess said. “I admit that I wondered after that video went up, but you reallytook him back?”

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