As usual, I didn’t come up with a solution to my Geneva problem because the entire situation was messy, complicated, and riddled with potholes big enough to swallow a semitruck. Other women didn’t interest me either, posing another problem. I was a guy in my sexual prime. I loved sex and enjoyed a healthy sex life. Until lately. Ever since that night I saw Geneva, no one else would do. Even worse, don’t think it didn’t disturb the fuck out of me that my last sexual encounter had been with my teammate’s wife. Not a memory I wanted stuck in my head.

I gave up trying to sleep, took a shower, dressed, and brewed a cup of coffee. I checked the internet and didn’t see any indication the word had gotten around about my alleged affair with our goalie’s wife.

I’d drunk my third cup of coffee by the time Jock stirred. He rolled over and squinted at me.

“What the fuck are you staring at?” His expression was one of slight alarm. “You’re creeping me out.”

“Sorry.” I stared at my hands and gathered my thoughts. One thing my dad always said when facing problems was to face them head on and get the difficult issues over with first. “We have to talk. I have a situation. We have a situation.”

Frowning, Jock swung his legs out of bed and sat up. “I need to shower first and get a cup of coffee.”

He was going to need more than coffee, but I didn’t say such a thing. Hopefully, I wouldn’t need an ice bag over my eye when I was done with my latest confession.

I brewed another cup of coffee in the Keurig for me and one for him. Might as well get him in the best mood possible. He’d played an outstanding game last night, which was in my favor. I did a quick text to Geneva to see if Bria had posted more bullshit. Nothing yet. The woman did have to sleep sometime.

While Jock was in the bathroom, I spoke with my attorney. I heard his fingers clicking on the keyboard. He was already taking action. The guy was a bundle of energy, and I was happy he was on my team. I hung up just as Jock came out of the bathroom fully dressed. His hair was wet from the shower. Without saying a word, he took the coffee I offered him and sat down on the edge of his bed. He cocked one brow to signal he was ready to hear what I had to say.

“We have a situation,” I said as a way of starting the conversation.

“We do? What’s this we?”

“Your wife, uh, Bria, she posted a drunken video begging you to take her back and saying she was sorry for sleeping with your teammate.”

He stared at me with the etched-in-granite face of a goalie and said nothing. I pulled up the video, which I’d saved to my phone last night in case Bria sobered up and decided to delete it.