Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned that part. Coach Miller had been giving me regular “stay the fuck in line” pep talks—which we both knew were warnings.

Her brow creased, and she shifted her body weight. “Are you sure it won’t be worse if I’m there?”

“No, it’ll be fine.” I shook my head. That didn’t come out the way I wanted it to. Having her there would be so much more than fine. “It’ll be great,” I assured her. “I’m looking forward to you coming. I can keep my cool.”

I think.

Dallas strolled into the living room. “Dinner? Yes?” He raised his dark eyebrows, pointing at Bailey, then me. “I can cook.”

“Wait. You guys go away all weekend, work your butts off, then you come back and cook for us?” Bailey asked.

I mean, Dallas would be doing all the work in this scenario, but if I got credit by association, I wouldn’t complain. Grilling wasn’t really a two-man job, but I guess I could stand beside the barbecue and pretend to help.

* * *

Two hours later, we had perfectly grilled steaks, loaded baked potatoes, and a masterpiece of a Caesar salad, compete with fresh bacon crumbled over top.

The company wasn’t too shabby, either.

Bailey set her fork down on her plate and took a sip of water. Her lush lips landed on the glass, drawing my attention. All I could think of was her mouth on my mouth. Or, well, other places.

“You know,” she said, “I haven’t heard any embarrassing stories about you from your friends yet.”

I swallowed a bite of medium-rare steak with trepidation. There were embarrassing stories, and then there were embarrassing stories. But I could trust Ward not to throw me under the bus. Didn’t need some of those tales getting out, least of all to James.

Some of the guys on the team might need a small reminder.

“Hmm.” Dallas furrowed his dark brow. “That’s a tough one. I feel like most of them implicate me too.”

“All the better.” Shiv leaned over in her seat, nudging him with her elbow. She pushed her curtain of dark hair over her shoulder and looked at Ward expectantly. “Start talking, Dal.”

He glanced over at me. We shared a brief, silent understanding that he wouldn’t completely ruin my life, and I would do the same for him. Thanks, man.

“I don’t know,” he said, drumming his fingers on the wooden table. “There are some good ones from that juniors tournament in Finland. Like the restaurant thing.”

Ah, that was a fun trip. It was the summer before freshman year, the first time we’d been afforded any real freedom while we were away for a tournament—with the trouble to show for it.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “That was kind of funny.”