Page 182 of Playing With Fire

My phone vibrates against the shelf in my locker.

BECKETT

Of course. Calling to give me shit about making another pass instead of taking the shot. I answer while shoving the rest of my shit into my bag.

“Calling to gloat?”

“Why the fuck is my sister wearing your jersey?”

Not what I expected.

“What?”

“I just got sent a picture from your game.”

“Shouldn’t you be worried about your own game? Heard Seattle kicked your ass.”

“Bish.”

I sit back against the locker. “What?”

“Why is Laney wearing twenty-two?”

“It’s her birthday.”

“No shit. I was there when she was born.”

“Want a medal?”

“I want an answer.”

“It’s a jersey, not jewelry.”

“You know as well as I do what it means when you give a woman a jersey.”

And I do know. It’s the reason seeing my name on her back distracted me all night.

I glance toward the locker-room door. “It’s a fucking jersey, D.”

“Your jersey.”

“You’d rather I put her in Archers blue?”

“She’s been wearing Archers shit since I got drafted.”

“Yeah, well, midnight blue doesn’t really go over that good in Ignite Arena. So excuse me for looking out for her and not sending her into a sea of green wearing rival colors.”

I close my eyes, feeling like shit because that might be a good enough reason but it’s not the real one.

“Besides, what else was I gonna get her? A fourth copy of Pride and Prejudice?”

“Three.” He corrects me.

“What?”

“She has three copies of Pride and Prejudice.”

“There’s a fourth one in a box.” I correct him this time.