Page 25 of Puck Your Feelings

Ace:100%

I look up to find the entire table staring at their phones.

We're all sittingright here, within arm's reach of each other.

"We can see the chat," I announce to the table.

Kane pulls out his own phone, scrolling through the messages with a frown. "This is professional discourse."

More messages pop up.

Groover:Sure it is

Wall:Upgrading my bet to $75

I shoot Wall a glare across the table. He just smirks and takes another bite of his sandwich.

Washington:Everyone focus on recovery. We have afternoon scrimmage.

"Thank you, voice of reason," I mutter, about to close the messaging app when another message appears.

Washington:Though for the record, I'm taking Ace's side on the bet.

I huff.

Becker:CAP!

Kane is reading the messages with an expression of deep confusion, like he's trying to decode a foreign language. "Why are they betting on us?"

"Because they're bored and terrible," I explain. "Also, we apparently provide entertainment."

"By existing?"

"By bickering. They think it's..." I gesture vaguely. "A thing."

"It's not a thing."

"I know it's not a thing."

Across the table, Groover and Mateo exchange a look that clearly communicates they think we're both idiots.

I finish eating and upload the clip as a short—just a clip of Kane and me going back and forth. I title it "Day 2: The Golden Boy Learns Banter" and post it without overthinking.

My phone immediately starts buzzing.

The view count climbs: 10K. 20K. 35K.

"Jesus," I mutter, watching the numbers.

"What?" Kane asks.

"People really like watching us argue."

He leans over to look at my phone, and suddenly he's close enough that I can smell his deodorant. His eyebrows shoot up to his forehead as he watches the view count go up in real time.

I shrug. "Apparently we're fascinating."

He pulls back. "Or people have too much free time."