I have a type: hot and athletic. The fact that Adler Beck is hotter and more athletic than most is irrelevant. Any straight, single woman with a pulse would have done what I just did.

Beck tucks himself back into his shorts, and I readjust my own outfit so it’s not obvious I was just groped in a closet.

“I have to go. We’re having some sort of team lunch.”

Beck doesn’t say anything as he follows me out. Why would he? We just had a hot closet hook-up. He got his gratification. Doubt he had any plans to follow it up with scintillating conversation.

I head back into the hallway—the hallway that’s no longer empty. Alexis is standing at the water fountain, filling up a plastic water bottle. She smiles when she sees me. It quickly shifts into a shocked expression that informs me Beck must be right behind me.

I sigh and start walking down the hallway, back toward the locker room. I’m barely halfway there when I hear the slap of cleats against the cement floor. I knew she’d follow me. What else is she going to do? Stand there and toss accusations at Adler Beck? No, I’m her target, and she homes in on me like a Saylor-seeking missile.

“You were in a closet. With Adler Beck.”

I hate it when people state the obvious. “What gave it away? Me leaving a closet with him right behind me?”

She ignores my sarcastic tone. “What were you doing with him?”

“Taking inventory,” I droll.

“Saylor.”

“Are you fishing for sex tips? Go read an article in Cosmo.”

I don’t know what she possibly thought I was doing with Beck in a closet, but she manages to look even more surprised. “I mean—you were…” I guess Brits are known for being repressed when it comes to certain topics.

“Yeah,” I tell her briskly. “Can you keep that to yourself?”

“I—uh, I mean yeah, I can, but…”

We’ve reached the door to the locker room, and I open it and stride inside. A glance over my shoulder reveals Alexis trailing in after me, still looking scandalized. Hopefully no one notices. There’s not ordinarily anything all that sordid about a trip to the water fountain.

On the way to the team lunch, Sandra calls, just like Hallie said she would. I only answer because I recognize the area code from my hometown. It’s a brief conversation full of awkward pauses. The gist? I need to choose a bridesmaid dress. Black is the only requirement.

We pull up outside the restaurant just after she informs me of the color choice, and I use it as an unashamed opportunity to end the conversation quickly.