Gal rumbles a deep chuckle and gestures for Tank to lean in close. The other follow as well while I sit back with a resigned sigh. “Okay, so. It’s a flea flicker, right? But the joke is, instead of flicking a flea, we’re flicking a bean.” He mimes a quick gesture for that, and I wince, subtly checking around the room to ensure no one else witnessed him doing it.
Tank falls apart laughing. “Gal, if you’re doing it like that, you’re gonna be sleeping in the doghouse with the fleas.”
“That’s the Gal Technique!” he exclaims. “The ladies love it!”
“Ain’t no ladies lovin’ whatever that was,” I quip over the rim of my water glass.
“Oh yeah? Then how do you do it?”
I smirk and shrug one shoulder. “With my tongue, usually. Smooth circles. Alternating flicking my tongue over the tip.”
“Mm, that’s men, Gin,” Aleks interjects.
My smirk grows. “Them, too.”
God, if my momma heard me talking this way, she’d wash my mouth out with soap.
Raising my hands in a gesture of surrender, I say, “Okay, okay. We should stop before—” My eyes catch on Gallon, who has his tongue out and is trying my “technique” on the tip of his pinky finger. The others follow my gaze before we all burst into a round of guffaws so ridiculous we can’t even thank the waiter when our food is placed in front of us.
✧ ✧ ✧
It’s thirty minutes before curfew when I reluctantly swipe my key card over the panel on the door of the hotel room assigned to Avery and me. I’m praying he’s off somewhere else—I wouldn’t even report him to Coach if he switched rooms with someone—but when I step inside, my eyes immediately find him sitting up in his bed, back leaning against the headboard.
Avery doesn’t look up from his phone when I walk in, so I take a second to study him. If it wasn’t for his foul attitude, he’d be quite the catch. Messy hair, just long enough to grasp, that toes the line between blond and brown, the locks soft and smooth. The baggy tank he’s wearing shows off his lean biceps, but it’s the smattering of freckles on his pale skin, the bit not sun-kissed from practicing in our team jersey, that has my eyes momentarily glued to his broad shoulders. Those freckles match the ones that dust across his high cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. I know because when we line up head-to-head in practice, I have a hard time focusing on anything else.
But then he scowls, and I remember those freckles belong to a man who went and got himself nicknamed Sour because of his attitude.
“Hey,” I greet softly, closing the door as quietly as possible so as not to disturb any neighboring rooms. “I didn’t see you downstairs. Did you get something to eat?”
He looks over at me in a way that, for some reason, makes me want to instinctively apologize for speaking. Without a word, he lifts one finger, not even bothering to remove his hand from his phone, to point in the general direction of the desk on the opposite side of the room. Below it is a trash can, and inside that, I can just barely see the plastic edge of a to-go bag.
“Oh, good. What’d you get? The burgers downstairs were pretty great—”
“Do you plan to talk all night?” His voice is low, as it always is whenever he deigns to grace us with it. Gravel bites at his first few words, as if he hasn’t spoken in a long time before now, and his infliction is bitterly cold.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him off for being an asshole, but the stress from earlier catches up to me. I barely have the energy to maintain my polite smile, much less return his rudeness. “No worries,” I whisper nearly inaudibly before raising my voice a bit. “Listen, I know it’s your first pro game tomorrow. The coaches room us like this—rookie and veteran—to help with any questions or concerns you might have. Even if it’s just that you forgot what time we’re meeting for breakfast. I want you to know I’m here.” When he side-eyes me, I raise my hands in a placating gesture. “I’m shutting up now. Good night.”
Avery says nothing as I grab my pajamas and toiletry bag and head to the bathroom, but I can feel his eyes on me. Not constantly, but flickering between his phone and me. I’d think he’s checking me out if I didn’t know any better. But I do. I’m not sure why he’s watching me, but it makes me feel like prey being stalked, like Hendrix is a jungle cat simply biding its time before pouncing.
Ridiculous. This is ridiculous. I am a grown man. There is no reason for me to be nervous about turning my back on a guy whose only personality trait is a scowl.
I shake my head to myself as I enter the bathroom. Tonight has just been a weird night. Changes to my usual routines always throw me off. I know that.
Looking at myself in the mirror, I know the changes have only just begun. My affirmation notes are wrinkled in my toiletry bag, mocking me. I won’t be posting them on the mirror—can’t without my new roomie thinking I’m crazy. Aleks didn’t even give me the one he promised me, so what’s the point?
My frustration from earlier returns with a vengeance. Before I know it, my fist is balled inside my bag, and the three notes are crumbled beneath my fingers. I want to let it out—to scream, to punch the wall, to go back downstairs and ask for their strongest spirit. I—
Knock, knock.
Knowing my composure is still a minute or two away from returning, I don’t make a move to leave the bathroom. The knocks came from the outer hotel room door, so I figure Avery can get his scowling ass out of bed to answer it.
I hear the sound of footsteps, a heavy door opening, and soft voices.
“Hey, man. How are you?” The first muffled voice belongs to Aleks, and I let out a relieved sigh. Has he followed through after all? “We missed you downstairs.”
“I ate in,” Avery offers in a clipped tone.
“Well, even if you order out, you’re always welcome to sit and eat with us.”
“Hmph.”
“Is Gin in there?”
“He’s in the—”
I yank open the bathroom door with a full smile. “Here. I’m here. Hi.”
Aleks, appearing to be more sober than when I last saw him downstairs, holds out his hand, a neatly folded note between two fingers. “Did you think I forgot about you, my love?”
Rolling my eyes at the return of his antics, I sidestep Avery with as much distance as the small entryway can provide. “My lord, you did but make me wait for you ’til the candle burned low.” I don a horrible British accent in a mock of his earlier. “I thought it might yet reach curfew before you came.”
Avery takes two steps back, utter confusion clouding his face.
At least he isn’t scowling for once.
I try to snag the note from Aleks, but he holds steady. My eyebrow lifts inquisitively as I tug again to no avail.
“My love note require payment,” he declares, brogue. “Perhaps a kiss in exchange?”
