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Becks: Didn’t make the cut.

Becks: No one wants me.

Becks: STILL.

“ Froskkkkyyyyy ,” calls out the woman that I wish didn’t want me.

Becks: Gonna go get fucked up.

“ Ohhhhh, Froskkkkyyyy ,” she summons from the direction I’m headed.

Becks: You in?

“ Frosky! ”

This time there’s no hesitation to look up and bite, “Yes, Audrey?”

She slows her stroll significantly down as if hoping it’ll capture and keep my attention.

It doesn’t.

My stare falls back to my phone where I begin typing only to have her hand wind around the screen to prevent me from continuing.

The instant our eyes are locked once more she inquires, “How did you know it was me?”

Putting aside the fact Arden would never willingly wear a skirt – let alone a mini skirt – or heels – damn sure not ones that lace up her calves – her hair is down , her makeup is unmistakable, and her ear lacks a certain accessory I was too drunk the first time to recall missing.

Rather than say a word of that, I simply slide my phone into my gray sweats pocket and smugly state, “Mistaking you for your sister is the type of shit I’m only going to do once.” Her unhappy pout encourages me to bitterly grin. “Now, what is it you want?”

She trails the index finger of her free hand down my white t-shirt covered chest. “ You mean besides you? ”

“Yes.”

“Your vote.”

“For?”

“The new graphic on the ice washer thingy.”

My head tilts to the side in undeniable confusion. “What?”

“The thingy…that like…makes the ice…not…gross or whatever.”

“You mean the Zam?”

“I said or whatever,” she brushes off at the same time she rearranges her frame to be directly beside mine. “In the past, it’s just been very boring, very basic, very retro no one asked for, so our company decided to make it shine, make it shimmer, make it diamond glimmer.”

Sneering unconsciously occurs. “Please, tell me you are not going to bedazzle it or some shite.” Disapproval strongly deepens during an adjustment of my gear bag. “We cannot afford to be the laughingstock of the league again.”

“Ew,” she dramatically retches, “who bedazzles shite anymore? That’s so… uncouth .”

Nope.

Not using that word correctly.

“We had a world-famous graffiti artist design these two options,” Audrey announces prior to pulling them up. “And we’ve been having fans vote on which they would like to see this season. And since it’s technically your cottage-”

“You mean barn?”

“-you’re all supposed to get a vote. And ,” her trouble-filled gaze glides up to mine, “I’m posting selfies of the voting experience.”

“Because of course you are.”

“Mmhm,” she hums while jamming the device at me. “Click whatever but don’t look at the camera.” Her cell, which I didn’t realize had been hiding underneath the tablet, immediately gets lifted upward. “Really concentrate on the screen. Look… thinky. ”

“Pensive.”

“What does your retirement check have to do with this?”

“At least you have your looks, I suppose,” I mutter under my breath yet redirect my attention downward to the options.

To my surprise, both are actually quite remarkable.

The one on the left is clean and crisp and reminds me of the cultural tribute murals I’ve seen in places like New York and Maryland that have been specifically tailored to showcase the rich essence and roots of a particular sport or era within it.

It’s well put together.

Refined.

Polished.

A lot like the woman who is now threading her arm around mine to curl in closer.

“ Must you? ” I grumble without bothering to make eye contact.

“ I must ,” she coos on a dramatic push of her body against mine, desperate to capture her signature over the shoulder look she posts every day, at least once a day.

While option one resembles Audrey, option two, most certainly mirrors Arden.

It’s messy.

Vibrant.

Alive.

Fills you with something you can’t walk away from…something you don’t want to walk away from…something you wouldn’t ever hesitate to choose every time.

Tapping the tablet screen is immediately mimicked by her doing the same on her phone. “ God, we look so good together. ” Another click from her occurs. “ So natural. Normal. ” One more. “ We’re perfection. ”

“Which is the enemy of progress.”

Her arm dramatically drops back to her side. “I don’t get it.”

“It’s a Churchill quote.”

“I’m not religious.”

I roll my eyes in exasperation and peel her Samurai sword grip strength off my bicep. “Have you seen your sister?”

“Not if I can help it,” she snips at the same time she snatches the object out of my possession.

“Does she not get to vote?”

“No.”

“But shouldn’t she?” Tossing a two-finger wave at Potato walking by occurs between comments. “Afterall, she is an integral member of this organization.”

“She’s a nobody.”

“She’s a somebody.”

“She’s unimportant.”

“She’s super important,” I practically growl on a step closer. “To this franchise. To this team. And to me. ” Irritation obviously narrows her vision pushing me to add. “She is irreplaceable unlike you .”

“Then why is it you had no problem replacing her with me, yet can’t seem to replace me with her ?”

It’s my turn to glare.

I never meant to fuck her instead of her sister.

Hooking up with Arden was always the goal.

Has always been the goal.

Will always be the goal.

Not just because I wanna see how fucking perfect she looks coming on my cock, but because I wanna see what a fucking beauty she is before I bounce for pracky.

How gorgeous she is whether she’s choking on my dick or downing her first cup of joe.

How loud she gets from my hand between her thighs or hot water running down her back.

Arden Hoss isn’t just another broadskie I wanna bang.

She’s the only broadskie I want for more than just banging.

And I would’ve told her that this weekend at the event had she not fucking bailed like a duster that unexpectedly got called into play during conference finals.

Spotting Hoss’s right-hand man passing by leads me to calling out, “Khurana, where’s Hoss?”

He doesn’t even bother slowing down his stride to strike, “Where’s the slut you went skinny dipping with?”

Wow.

So simply standing too close to topless women can become my bad publicity?

“That did not happen,” I calmly insist.

“And yet,” a spin movement to continue the conversation is executed, “that’s not how the PR department feels.”

“You know having a prized girlfriend on your arm would absolutely help those headlines,” Audrey shamelessly plugs.

“Agreed,” Khurana effortlessly backs. “Having someone like Audrey- ”

“Or Audrey,” she insists.

“-would be a great idea.” He cockily beams. “Perhaps even the best idea.”

Maybe he should hook up with Audrey.

Two adversaries, one sword sort of sitch.

“ Oh, Khuranaaaaaaaa, ” sings the woman of my nightmares while rushing towards him. “I need to talk to you about something…”

Thankful for the end of our regulation period together, I resume the mission I was in the middle of when Becks – who I still need to finish my message to – sent me a text.

I need to figure out where the woman destined to wear my number has been hiding all morning.

And I know she’s hiding just like I know those fake headlines add to her justification of it.

The sight of Bricks practically running for the parking lot should be enough of an indicator not to bother him, yet growing desperation convinces me to take the shot anyway. “You seen Hoss?”

“Sick,” he answers, body rotating to keep eye contact while continuing to move towards the parking lot doors. “And so is Mario.”

“Apologies,” I genuinely express. “Need an apple?”

“Nah,” denies the GM’s husband with a small headshake. “Our nanny’s got me. But Hoss might.”

His suggestion has me instantly smirking the second his back is to me again.

Why yes.

She just might.

And what a top cheddar way to show her I truly do give a shit than to care for her in her most vulnerable hour?

Brilliant!

“ Nyet, ” Cap unexpectedly grunts over my shoulder causing me to practically jump out of my kicks prior to facing him.

“ Fuck, you need a bell.”

“You need a muzzle.” He folds his arms firmly across his over-sized chest. “And a trainer. And to be neutered.”

“I am not a puppy.”

“You hump like one.”

“I haven’t humped anything in ages!”

“And what is the Doctenn definition of ages, Snowman?” The quirked eyebrow he presents indicates he’s far from amused. “A day? Two?”

“Much longer than that.”

“So, you weren’t wheeling at the event this weekend?”

“No, you big Russian pylon.”

“That’s not what’s been reported.”

“We all know what’s reported is rarely what actually happened.”

“Except you sleeping with Hoss’s sister, aye?”

Godandcountry, do I loathe the fact everyone knows that shit.

A smug grunt precedes him commanding, “ Stay. Away. From. Hoss. ” An argument being right on the tip of my tongue is what propels him to add one painfully important phrase. “ Ferda. ”

Is that what’s really best for the boys?

I mean…I suppose I see his point in that sense.

Squadron mentality isn’t just what a team needs to survive.

It’s what we need to thrive.

And getting even further than we did last season is the most important thing to all of us.

Staying focused on the game – rather than pussy – should be top priority.

Living that one unit, one mind mantra.

Being willing to sacrifice yourself so the rest of your team can have that glory.

That pride.

That success.

That’s what being the best is truly about.

That’s what makes a true champion.

I reluctantly nod my agreement and extend my open hand in his direction. We slap palms twice and cross shoulder bump on a loud “ra”, signifying my agreement as well as the end of the conversation.

He’s right.

I do need to do what’s best for the boys even if it’s not what’s best for me.