Plus, there’s gossip. Castro’s wife wants to redecorate their apartment. O’Doul picked a date for his wedding. And Beacon got a dog.

“I got a teenager and a toddler,” he jokes. “It’s chaos already. Why not add a dog?”

“Bring on the chaos!” somebody else yells.

“I don’t know,” Drake says, adding a plate for my last set. “It’s going to be different around here. With the women and all. Now that’s chaos.”

“How do you figure?” I ask. “They have their own weight room. Their own locker room suite, too. They won’t be in your way.” I take a breath and then lift the bar overhead, grunting like a beast.

“But they’re still here in the building,” he points out. “We might have to change our behavior. Clean it up a little.”

“Do you mean, like, fart less often?” someone asks.

“Exactly,” he says gravely.

“Dude, what?” Castro yelps. “Nobody can just decide to fart less often. Your ass might explode.”

“But you could do it quietly,” Drake says, and he’s completely serious. If I weren’t pressing nearly three hundred pounds of iron over my body, I might laugh.

“Look,” Trevi says. “You’re overreacting. There have always been women in the building. My wife, for starters.” She’s Georgia, the co-head of publicity. “There’s a female trainer, a female massage therapist. There are women in the front office, the travel department, the GM’s office. A woman owns the whole damn team!”

“But that’s not what he means,” Jason Castro says as he wipes down the leg press. “He means there are women in the building doing his same job. They’re not support staff. They’re also the stars of the show. His fragile male ego has taken a hit.”

“It has not,” Drake argues. “You’re putting words in my mouth. I simply meant that the tone around here is going to change some. I didn’t say it was a bad thing.”

“You’re afraid of the Bombshells,” someone teases.

“Yeah, especially that angry redhead.”

“I’m not afraid of her,” he grumbles. “Just, uh, a little wary.”

“Huh. You do look a little pale, my friend,” Leo says. “Have you tested your blood sugar lately?”

Drake gives him the finger and marches out of the room.

I’ve finished my last set when Drake comes tearing back into the room. “Guys! You’re not going to believe this, but the locker room is different.”

“Since yesterday?” I ask, skeptical.

“Yeah, there’s some strange thing in the toilet stall. A device.”

“A strange device,” Trevi muses. “Like, a bidet? They were doing some renovations.”

“No, it’s not a bidet. Look.”

A few of the players follow Drake into the locker room, including me. But I was headed there anyway. Soon, we’re crowded in front of a toilet stall. “Look,” Drake says, eyeing the metal unit on the wall. “What’s that?”

Castro is the first to laugh. And then so do I. “It’s…”

“Just…” Tankiewicz howls.

“Maxi…pads…” I can’t breathe. “And tampons!”

“Don’t you have a sister?” Castro snorts.