Page 15

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

carter

I groan, throwing my head back as Declan’s stupid smirk grows from behind his phone screen.

He’s holding it right in front of my face while I finish my set.

Kid can barely breathe because he was in the middle of a HIIT workout when he got a notification and sprinted across the gym to shove this PR nightmare under my nose.

FINDING FORKERRO’S MYSTERY GIRL

I kid you not, teenage girls on TikTok have compiled a list of women I have been linked to over the last little while.

They found their socials, their jobs, and their full names.

FBI level shit. There is nothing scarier than a woman on a quest for answers.

I’d prefer if I never had to be the target of one of their covert missions, but apparently, I have become just that.

I drop my arms from the triceps pulley and snatch Lowesy’s phone from his hand.

I scroll because I need to know what chaos ZoeyBug410 has created for me .

I watch the video and my stomach sinks to my ass.

They’re out here naming everyone like it’s a hit list, even women I don’t know.

Some girl named Armani, who was in our section at Icebox last weekend.

Half of her face is in the back of a picture I’m in.

Never met her. Not sure why she was there or who she went home with, but it wasn’t me.

They’ve found her Facebook, her Instagram, and her workplace. They have her age, her birthday, and information about her family. How the hell do these girls garner all that information from one eye and half an outfit?

Women. They have powers.

Poor Armani isn’t even going to know what hit her.

There are a few who have some merit. Rochelle was a girl I used to hook up with regularly.

Pretty girl. Sweet, too. I liked hanging out with her.

It was easy and fun, and we could talk all night, but in the morning, we both knew where we stood.

Stopped sleeping with her three months ago when she got a boyfriend.

She’s good shit. Probably should have been her, but it wasn’t.

“Oh, fuck off.”

I glare up at Declan, who is standing there, huffing and puffing with his hands on his hips. His smile is irking me, all teeth and dimples. Eyes full of boy-like wonder because he’s getting a kick out of this.

He nods eagerly. “You get to it yet?”

Yeah, I fucking got to it.

Irina Coasta. Stalker extraordinaire. Never slept with her, would rather die than sleep with her, and I am extremely insulted she’s even listed here.

This girl is whack. Not in her right mind.

She follows us around and cannot take a hint.

She doesn’t come to Icebox with friends, just herself, and she lingers around us all night.

She might be pretty if she had a spark of a soul behind her dark eyes, but she doesn’t.

She’s like a bad omen sent right from the depths of hell.

I blame Reno. That idiot slept with her. Not me.

Now she’s a fucking ulcer that keeps coming back.

It’s alarming how many pictures of me have her near.

Makes my skin crawl a bit seeing those small, beady eyes staring at the camera.

It’s like she knows where every single lens is pointed and somehow manages to get in front of each one.

Hell, I’m half convinced she’s someone to me by just looking at these. She is everywhere.

“This might convince her that you’re married.” Dec grins like a sadist.

I’m about to hit him. Don’t get mad at me, I know he’s pretty and I’m supposed to stop swinging, but he’s being a dick.

Another familiar face flashes across the screen, distracting me.

Nina. Not dating her either, but definitely got to know her well enough to warrant her being on this list. This one makes sense. Irina? Not a chance in hell.

The video ends. No Arden. I don’t know if that’s a bad or good thing.

I sigh, running a hand over my face as I pass the phone back to Declan with a glare that comes right from the heart.

“They’re not going to stop until they figure it out,” he tells me. “You’re the TikTok dream boy.”

I don’t disagree with him, because yeah, I’ve noticed. They love me. I’m not complaining. Not usually, anyway. Anything that gets fans to our games and has them supporting our team is a win for me. What I don’t like is having innocent people dragged into a mess I created.

Poor Armani.

Poor Nina. Poor Rochelle .

Poor me. I’m taking that Irina one personally.

“Irina Forkerro has a nice ring to it.”

I fake a laugh and then drop my face into a scowl, which has absolutely no effect on Lowesy. “You’re not going to find this funny when I rearrange your teeth with my fist.”

He grins wider, cocking a brow. “You’re not allowed to. Daddy said so.”

“Coach isn’t here.”

“You think he’d even question it if I walk into his office with a black-eye and say you’re the culprit? Come on.”

He should. The day I start swinging on one of my boys is the day they should put me in a home.

Unfortunately, Dec is probably right, and that’s a bitter pill to swallow.

Either way, there are more pressing issues than my desire to smack Declan on the back of the neck and the notion that Coach no longer trusts me.

“You think Irina would run with this?” I ask hesitantly.

Declan’s smile fades a bit and he nods a little timidly. “Yeah, Fork. I think she would.”

I was praying he wouldn’t say that.

“No, she definitely would,” Boston grumbles, striding up to us.

He flips his phone around so I can see the video he’s watching.

It’s the same fucking one. Thanks, ZoeyBug410 .

“If you really have a girl, Fork, now’s the time to start showing her face.

Irina will end up hiding in your closet by morning if you don’t. ”

Declan physically shivers at the thought.

I can picture it now. Irina telling the world she’s my girlfriend, or that I knocked that guy out to defend her honour, or some warped version of the same story I’ve already told. I don’t have a real girlfriend to push into the spotlight to prove her wrong, but she doesn’t know that.

Does she ?

I mean, she might. She’s crazy and doesn’t have much to lose in this situation. This might be the risk that feels worth it to become attached to us, and I have believed that to be her goal all along.

We should really get a restraining order. A team one. Is that a thing?

I make a mental note to ask Lemmy that question.

We should cut off Reno’s dick for doing this to us, too.

“Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe they’ll get tired of the witch hunt,” Dec says, trying to soothe my rising panic. “Things on the internet never last long.”

“I’m more afraid about how long this will last for Irina,” Boss mutters, green eyes locked on his phone again, rewatching that horrible video.

The internet might be ever-changing, but this is going to be an issue for a while.

Right now, everyone’s curious. It might die down, but when that little shithead goes public with his story—it’s going to blow up to the stratosphere again.

What then? Still no girlfriend? Still nobody to point at and say ‘ see? Look at her! You’d punch someone for her too! ’

Only Irina.

Not happening. Not even tempting. Give that girl an inch, and she’ll be saving my hair follicles in a jar to try and clone me.

“Boss!” Luka calls from across the weight room. “Spot?”

Boston lets out a groan, popping his pink gum. Luka isn’t a rookie, so he isn’t scared to look in Boston’s general direction or ask for favours. Boss will make time for him, despite his grumbling. He nods at the pair of us before stalking off.

“What about Nina?” I ask Declan quietly.

His jaw tenses as he shoots me a look that I don’t much love. “Fork.”

“What? She’s cool. She might do it. ”

“I know we’re lying in general right now,” he says carefully. “But you shouldn’t fabricate this whole thing. I’d say it’s Arden, or it’s nobody. Don’t put another face out there. All it takes is one video, which I’m sure exists somewhere, to prove you’re full of shit.”

I sigh, covering my face with my hands, and let out a frustrated groan.

He’s right. People take photos and videos of us all the time.

What if we were both in the background of one that night?

What if I parade a girl around with jet-black hair, claiming she’s the woman I hit Collin for, only for someone to post a picture of me with a redhead who looks nothing like her? That can go very wrong.

I can keep this tame for the moment and hope it goes away, but shit is never that easy.

If Arden was talking to me, maybe I could convince her to come to one game, pose for one picture, and hope the chaos goes away after that.

She’s still pissed at me for asking about her house, though. Never answered my text.

My only option isn’t even an option.

Like the universe is listening to my thoughts, my phone vibrates beside me.

Arden

Hi Carter. This is totally Arden and not her friend.

Completely innocent question for you, and not at all relevant to anything.

I’m just doing a survey for the neighbourhood watch.

You know, to try and improve the state of the criminal battlefield that I live in the middle of.

So, for science, and for the neighbourhood, can you tell me the exact time you were born, and your place of birth?

My lips curl up into a smile, and I’m well aware I’m staring at the phone like it’s a winning lottery ticket. Truthfully, it is .

They’re looking up my birthday chart, or whatever the hell that thing is called. Girls don’t do that unless they’re doing their witchy, FBI shit.

Which means she’s interested enough to cyberstalk me.

I’m back in the fucking game.