“I didn’t do it wrong,” Kara snapped as Marianne snickered. “Stop it. You didn’t get half as much shit as I’m getting now while you were ignoring your feelings for Greg. Why am I the one getting all the comments?”
“Because Graham is basically your slave, and you know it.” Serious now, Marianne settled down with her back to the wall, her feet extended until they nudged Kara’s. The three made a very interesting picture in the stairwell. “I know, without a doubt, you aren’t trying to lead him on. That’s not how you work. He probably knows it, too. But if you are serious about never even giving him a chance, you need to give it to him straight. Don’t play coy, or try to let him down gently. He’s a lawyer. He can handle being rejected with normal lingo.”
“And get into the whole, messy reason why I can’t? Because I could.” She whispered, “I wish I could. God, I wish . . .”
Reagan leaned her head against Kara’s side in commiseration. “It’s only eight years. Maybe . . .”
“No.” Firm now, Kara cleared her throat. “It’s not going to happen. I can’t ask him to give up eight years of his life waiting for someone who can’t leave the state for more than a vacation. That’s unfair. It’s cruel. I won’t do it.”
“You know what’s best.” The youngest of them sounded as if she only half-believed it, though. “I agree though. Don’t let him down gently. Be firm. If it hurts, it hurts. But it’ll hurt worse to be led on, even accidentally.”
“You’re right. Both of you.” Kara sighed. “Bitches.”
“That’s what we’re here for,” Marianne said, running a hand over Kara’s arm.
*
IN the locker room, Graham had seen a plethora of odd rituals. From singing to dance routines, and even a guy who had built a shrine in his locker—complete with candles—to the goddess Beyoncé. Some guys were into the weirdest shit. So it was no shock to him when he witnessed Tressler, a cocky kid with more than his own share of confidence, go through some half-assed chanting thing, then glare when other guys watched.
“That guy is so full of himself it’s a wonder he doesn’t sweat mini Tresslers,” Brad muttered as he sank onto the bench beside Graham. “I get hyping yourself up, but man . . .”
“All a part of the act, brother.” Graham bumped shoulders with him. “You’re extra grumpy. I thought the smell of fresh competition would cheer you up.”
“I’d be more cheerful if I hadn’t had to sleep alone,” Brad grumbled, scrubbing a hand over his hair. “You get used to someone being there, and suddenly they’re not, and it’s like you forgot that they haven’t been there forever. Pisses me off.”
“That feeling does? Or Marianne?” Greg asked with a grin, then dodged when Brad kicked a foot out. “Watch the knee, Grandpa. Can’t have you blowing it out before the games.”
Brad flipped him off.
“Nah. Unlike you, I didn’t sleep alone. Probably because my girlfriend is fine breaking the rules.” Greg sat opposite them and grinned. “It was the least she could do after I spent three hours sitting in a car, playing security guard, waiting for them to finish up the gym.”
“Thanks for that, by the way.” Brad reached behind him and grabbed a bottle of water, drinking deeply. “I felt better knowing you were nearby. Otherwise I would have given the big Hell No to Marianne coming back so late with those two and working on the place alone.”
Those two . . . Reagan and Kara. “How were they when you saw them last night?” he asked casually, pulling on one of his soft-soled shoes. “Tired, after all that extra work?”
“Look at his ass, trying to be all nonchalant and shit.” Greg shook his head. “Just admit you want to throw her over your shoulder, drag her ass back to your house and lock her in your bedroom for a week. We won’t judge.”
“I might judge a little,” Brad amended.
“Shut up.” He fought with the laces of his second shoe. “I don’t want to drag her ass back there. I want . . .” Tug, tug. “I want her . . .” Why wouldn’t the stupid laces unknot? “I want her to come . . . come . . . willingly!” The lace snapped between his fingers. “Is that so fucking much to ask?” He tossed the shoe on the floor, staring at it disgustedly.
“Well,” Brad said after thirty seconds of silence. “You really showed that shoe who was boss.”
Graham stood and walked off to the supply closet to grab another lace, ignoring the way his friends—supposed friends—chuckled behind his back. They could eat shit and die for all he cared.
*