Page 24 of Changing the Playbook
“If this is Maine’s mom again…” Rook starts, clearly desperate to return to safer comedic ground, and taking the right of reply after Maine’s earlier quip.
As Maine launches himself at Rook with a war cry, I escape to the showers, knowing they’ll be wrestling like overzealous puppies for the next ten minutes or so. But even as I refuse to intervene, I’m glad to be back among my guys, because while doing new things is fun this is also part of who I am.
Balance.
Under the shower, the hot water pounds against my shoulders, each drop a tiny fist working out the knots. I close my eyes and I stay under longer than necessary, letting the heat and white noise wash away practice, guilt, and the phantom memories of being with Sophie.
Stop it. She made it clear. You’re done.
I sigh and open my eyes, finishing my shower and toweling off. And, when I return to my stall, towel around my waist, Cooper’s pulling on a Pine Barrens hoodie. His hair sticks up in damp spikes as he locks onto me, and it’s clear he’s got something to say.
“How’s Andy?” he asks, voice deliberately casual. “She still with Declan or what?”
I point at him. “Don’t even think about it, Coop. She’s deliriously happy with her artist boyfriend who’s probably painting her naked in Paris as we speak.”
Cooper raises both hands like I’ve drawn a weapon. “Easy, Cap. Just asking. She’s pretty, is all. Smart too. But message received. She’s a no-fly zone.”
“Fucking right she is.” I laugh, even as my brain helpfully points out the hypocrisy of declaring my sister off-limits while I’ve already crossed every line with Coach’s daughter. “But if any of you assholes want pizza, I’m buying at Lorenzo’s in twenty.”
The responses cascade:
“Organic chemistry waits for no man,” Cooper groans.
“Delta Sig party,” Kellerman says. “Cheerleaders confirmed.”
“Sleep,” Schmidt mumbles. He already looks half-dead. “So much sleep.”
“Meeting some football guys,” Maine adds, releasing Rook from a headlock.
My radar pings. “Football guys? Since when do you hang out with them?”
Maine’s grin goes sharp. “Diplomatic relations, Cap. I’ve got to keep the peace.”
“You mean scope out their house for pranks.”
“That too.” He doesn’t even try to deny it. “Multitasking is a life skill.”
“Just don’t get arrested.” I pull my t-shirt on. “Rook?”
Rook hesitates, clearly torn between pizza and whatever fiction he’s about to spin. “Can’t tonight. Got a date.”
The locker room erupts in exaggerated disbelief, guys howling like Rook just claimed he could dunk from half court or get straight A’s. I don’t begrudge them their mockery, because Rook’s romantic life exists purely in theory, like dark matter or Maine’s study habits.
My phone buzzes. It’s Andy:
Pizza clock is ticking, nerd. Every minute you’re late = one less slice with your name on it.
I type back:
Five minutes. Don’t you dare touch my pepperoni.
I head out of the locker room and the arena, and the walk to Lorenzo’s takes me past the rink’s parking lot. My stupid brain immediately scans for Sophie’s car, even though it’s not likely to be there, and because apparently I’m a masochist who enjoys emotional self-flagellation.
She looked at you like something she stepped in.
Dating would be chaos for youandher.
Move. On.
