“Where’s my shirt?” he calls out.
“I don’t know.”
He finds it near my dresser and yanks it on inside out before quickly turning it right side out, then finds his socks and shoes in the same spot. His brows pull together as he stares at me, still in bed. “Are you not getting up?” he asks.
“I am … it’s just …”
“What?” He looks at me, confused.
“I’m not wearing a bra and my shirt is see-through.”
His eyes widen. “Is it? Show me.” He smirks. I throw a pillow at him. “Oh, come on. I showed you mine, you can show me yours,” he teases, and my eyes drift down to his gray sweats, and yeah, here I am worried about my nipples showing when his impressive package is outlined, again, in those sweats.
“You need to buy new sweats, they’re practically lingerie at this point.”
“Collette St. Pierre, are you checking out my dick?”
“It’s hard not to look.”
“Really?” The next thing I know, he jumps on the bed and cages me in. “Anytime you want to see Big Fish, he’s yours.” My mouth falls open in shock. Then Fish leans over, kisses my cheek, and jumps out of bed before I have time to relax. “Thanks for a great night. We need to do that again. But I’ve got to go before Emmett walks out of his apartment and catches me.”
Shit. That’s right, his captain is literally at the other end of the corridor. “Go, get out of here.” He gives me one last smirk before rushing out of my bedroom. I hear the front door close not long later, and I let out an unsteady breath. What a night. I need a coffee and some painkillers to help.
The charter terminalis busy with players, coaches, and staff all on the same plane. I find the girls near the gate and try to look like a person who is put together, not someone who is hungover. I have no idea what I packed, but we will be on the road for most of the week. I’ll have to buy stuff when I’m out.
“You look rough,” Zara says.
“Thanks. Had a late one, drinks with friends,” I lie.
“That will do it.” She chuckles as we wait for the rest of the team to arrive.
Bouch arrives with a coffee the size of his head. Nelly has his noise-cancelling headphones on. Pierre and Felix walk in together, and Pierre walks over with a brown paper bag.
“Got you your favorite croissant from that bakery you like,” he says, handing me the package.
“You are a life saver,” I say, taking the bag, opening it up, and taking a big bite which has him laughing as he walks off.
And then Fish walks in. He’s showered, dressed in fresh clothes, and doesn’t look like the man I found in my bed hours ago. He scans the terminal, finds me, and for a fraction of a second something passes between us before he looks away and joins the boys. We board, coaching staff up front, players in the middle, and us content girls at the back. I sit next to Marlowe and open my laptop like a professional who did not wake up being spooned by number twenty-two this morning.
My phone buzzes.
Fish: How are you feeling?
Collette: This never happened.
Fish: What never happened?
Collette: Exactly.
Twenty minutes in, Zara leans across the aisle. “Big Fish content is still climbing.”
“Great,” I say, staring at my laptop but seeing nothing. I glance toward the front of the plane, Fish is next to Evan, headphones in, eyes closed. I put my phone face down and stare out the window. Below us the city shrinks, and ahead is an away game in a city where no one knows that hours ago I woke up with Justin Crawford’s arm around my waist, his breath on my neck, and his fingers on my bare skin.
17
FISH
Four games. Four cities. Four wins.