pads, you’d be giving Boris some real competition for the starter job.”
Rather than look defeated, Trenton’s eyes gleam with fortitude. “Then I’ll get faster,” he vows.
Oh yeah, he’s got that hunger. The kid’s gonna be starting games in no time.
I skate toward the bench. Coach blows his whistle, signaling practice is over. Our defensive coordinator O’Shea asks a couple of D-men to stay behind to run one more drill, but the rest of us are free to go. Good, because my stomach is grumbling. Time for second breakfast. But first I need to wash all the sweat off me.
Our showers have the sweetest set-up. Each one is its own individual stall separated by waist-high partitions, so we can see each other’s heads but not our junk, just the way I like it. In the stall next to mine, Con is dunking his head under the spray, smoothing his longish hair away from his forehead. He’s got a bite mark on his left shoulder. This fucking guy.
“Hey, about this weekend,” I start, deciding to poll more people about my dilemma.
But Conor misinterprets. Chuckling softly, he turns to grin at me. “Yeah, sorry ’bout that. I forgot to lock the door.” He raises a brow. “You should’ve joined us.”
I’m helpless to stop my dick from twitching. Bad enough that I’m not having sex with the parade of women throwing themselves at me at parties—now I’m being invited to threesomes? The universe has a lousy sense of humor.
“Nah, I’m not talking about the BJ. I needed—”
“Feed me!” The anguished shout reverberates in the shower area, making Con and me jump.
“For fuck’s sake,” Conor says, turning toward the doorway.
Matt and Treeface are standing outside Jesse Wilkes’ stall, the latter waving Pablo around in the air. I’m not worried about the egg falling into one of the showers, because it’s been established that pigs can indeed swim.
Jesse remains unfazed by the intruders. He simply squirts shampoo into his palms and lathers up his hair. “You can wait five minutes, Pablo,” he says cheerfully.
Matt glares at him. “Would you really do that if he was real? If your pet pig was standing in the doorway begging to be fed?”
“Hell yeah, I would. I’ve got three golden retrievers at home. They eat when I tell them to eat.”
Laughter bounces off the acoustics in the room. He’s got a point. I had a Jack Russell growing up and he ate twice a day, like clockwork. My control-freak father wouldn’t have it any other way.
Man, I miss that dog. I was ten years old when he died, and I remember crying my eyes out in my bedroom until Dad came in to inform me that real men don’t cry. Good chat.
“But he’s starving,” Tree says in accusation.
Jesse just gives them the finger before continuing to wash his hair. He’s even whistling.
Although…he’s shampooing rather fast… In fact, I barely have time to blink before he’s shutting off the water and darting through the doorway.
Conor grins at Jesse’s retreating backside. “Dude. I think they’re actually starting to believe it’s a real pig.”
“Right?” But I can’t deny that Pablo has developed a life of his own. Even I can’t be certain he’s an egg anymore. I think he might be a real boy.
“Anyway,” I say as I rinse off. “I need advice.”
“Hit me,” Conor replies, because that’s a normal response from a normal person. I don’t understand why Hollis—annnnd there’s no point trying to figure out Hollis. It’s like trying to understand the wind.
Toweling off, I quickly outline the situation. Unlike Hollis, Con does hesitate. He thinks it over for several beats before providing an answer.
“I’d tell her.”
“Yeah? Even though she might punch me in the face?”
“Well, sure, the messenger always risks getting shot, but is it better to leave her in the dark? What if you run into her and the boyfriend? What do you do, pretend everything is cool and that you don’t know he’s a total douchebag?”
“I’m with Con,” Foster pipes up from my other side. He’s been listening in this entire time. “You gotta tell her, man. And hey, if it turns out you’re wrong? You say I’m sorry, I was trying to be a good friend and look out for you, and I made a mistake.”
Which is precisely what this boils down to—me wanting to be a good friend. I hate the idea of Demi being played for a fool. Nico seemed like a good guy the first time I met him, but he was emitting some