Page 17 of Racing Heat

I laugh nervously. “Yeah, well, I’m still part of the team. I can be proud of her too.”

It’s a lame excuse, and someone who is as sharp as Hendrix is going to see right through it.

She does.

“Uh-huh. Is that all it is?”

My cheeks heat. It’s weird that I would blush over something so simple, but it’s almost like an involuntary reflex.

“Does someone have a bit of a crush?” she teases me.

That causes my blood pressure to spike, and I snap, “No, I do not have a crush on her. That would be inappropriate. You know, considering we’re bound by a pretty tight fraternization policy.”

“Calm down there, bloke. I was only teasing you,” she says with a shake of her head. “Someone is freaking touchy tonight.”

“It’s not something to be joking about, and we won’t speak of it again,” I tell her curtly.

“Okay” is all she says. Hendrix picks up her pace so that we’re no longer walking side by side. Instead, she makes it into the locker room before I do.

I can hear the cheers as she enters. The team is celebrating what a great game she had. Hendrix deserves to be celebrated for all the work she put in out there on the pitch. I enter the room and see a pair of blue eyes watching me. I look at her and give her a curt nod. I want to tell her it was a great game or walk over to her and give her a fist bump—some form of contact that wouldn’t look suspicious to anyone.

But I don’t.

Instead, I stay rooted to my spot by the door, listening to Nate sing Hendrix’s praises. He calls Cassie out for her amazing goal, which is met by more cheering. The efforts of Amelia, Mac, and Kelsey do not go unsung. I just clap along with the rest of the team, keeping my face stoic so that no one notices any change in my behavior or what Hendrix thinks she may have uncovered.

“We’re going to go out tonight and celebrate!” Nate is telling them. “We have a later flight, so I think there’s time for celebration. After we eat something, of course.”

He’s met with cheers, and the girls seem ready to celebrate. I wish I felt like they did. I’ll go out with them, but I’ll hold up awall away from everyone else so that no one suspects. Or so that Hendrix doesn’t connect any more dots.

Chapter Seven

~JASE~

I’m leaning against a wall, holding it up just as I said I would. It doesn’t take long for August to come find me and pull me toward the bar so that we can sit and chat. He doesn’t like to hang out with the other coaches. Nate doesn’t really give him the time of day. Something about not enjoying hanging out with his boss.

Truth be told, I think it’s because they’re from two different worlds. August is a classic bachelor who loves to chase tail, and Nate is more of a family man. He’d rather talk with those he has more in common with. I know the Cromwell’s frustrate him. Nate has said more than once that they don’t know how to spend money. That some of the things they’ve provided the girls are luxuries they don’t need.

“What’s up your ass tonight? You don’t seem like you’re in the celebrating mood,” August says when we’re seated at the bar. “Your keeper had an outstanding performance tonight. I thought you’d be hanging out with the rest of them.”

I shrug. “What about you? You’ve been off to the side too. What’s the matter, August, don’t you connect with the common man?”

“I connect with you,” he tells me.

“Asshole,” I reply.

The bartender comes over. “What will it be?” she asks.

She’s grinning at us like she’d like to take one of us—or maybe both—into the back room and ravish us. Her perky tits are straining against the tight shirt she’s wearing. It’s cut low and leaves very little to the imagination. I wonder what the rest of her body looks like.

“I’ll take a lager, please,” August orders.

“Make it two, please,” I say. “And you know what? Add in a shot of Jack.”

She nods. “Are we celebrating something tonight?” She shimmies in front of us, the action making August stupid.

He’s grinning back at her like an idiot. Those breasts have him hypnotized. I fight the urge to look back at Cassie, who’s wearing a tight black top with jeans that look like they were painted onto her toned legs. I shake my head to push thoughts of her from my mind, and the perky bartender, who isn’t wearing a name tag, takes that as an answer.

“Oh, so we’re not celebrating. Maybe I should give you boys something to celebrate.”