“Is that okay, Charlie?”

I’d been lost in Boss-mugland. “Huh?”

He came over, a key in hand. “You’re in charge of the basketball courts, the outside and inside ones. I don’t know what they’ll need, but make sure they don’t take our equipment or damage anything. You’re there to watch everything, and help with whatever they need—towels or snacks or whatever. You’re in charge of that too.”

I stared at him. Huh?

Basketball courts…

“It’s a basketball camp?”

Trent smothered a laugh beside me.

What had I just signed?

But it was gone. Dickhead Boss had already taken it.

“Yeah. It’s a basketball camp.”

Both guys were watching me, silent, waiting for something. No doubt waiting for me to clue the hell in on what was going on.

“Who’s coming?”

I started going over my list of ideas as I asked. It could be anyone. The Coyotes? Fuck. That’d be a dream job. Sit back and watch them play all day? Reyson got traded a few years ago. Marley before that… I ran down the list of who I thought was still on the team. But what if it wasn’t them? It could be a private school. Or a special league. Or… The possibilities were endless.

“Who is it?” I asked again.

Keith smirked. “I’m not telling you. That’s what you get for not reading the form.”

A surge of anger rushed through me. “How did you ever escape the #MeToo movement?”

Okay. Maybe not so random right there.

Keith ignored my question, his gaze on the front of my shirt. He smirked.

Oh, you—I started to raise a fist in the air, but Trent checked me.

He shoved my hand down, slamming his side to mine and hiding my fist behind us. His laugh was forced, as was his smile. “That sounds great, Keith. Thank you.” He cleared his throat, stretching his neck a little. “So, uh, where are we all staying?”

Keith was glowering at where our hands would’ve been, but rather than comment, he just flicked his eyes back up. “You’re in the main lodge,” he told Trent. “You got room 222.” He turned to me, his eyes hardening. “You, missy, got the fish cabin.”

The fish cabin?

“Huh?”

“Oh.” Another forced laugh from Trent as he shifted to face me, letting go of my fist. His hand came down on my shoulder, as if he was holding me back. “I told him you were writing a book, so he thought the fish cabin would be a good idea.”

Keith’s lips were mashed together, his dimple showing (I hated his dimple). His shoulders shook with repressed laughter.

The prick.