“Here’s how this is going to work,” Nance starts, pure joy shining on her face.
I swear she gets off on this shit. She probably sits at home and fantasizes about all the team-building exercises she can torture college students with.
“One player will stand on the starting platform—this is the caller. The other player, the runner, will be blindfolded. He’ll navigate the course under the guidance of his caller, who must communicate the best path forward to his runner. Callers, make sure your runners follow your designated path. Runners, you will be dodging the obstacles as well as the other players on the course at the same time. Once your partner safely reaches your color mat, he’ll take off the blindfold, and the runner will become the new caller. Be warned—it is going to get loud in here. So, please, no cursing. Because I don’t like to hear it. I am a lady.”
“A sexy lady,” Sheldon says, beaming at her.
Beckett raises a brow. “Yikes,” he says, low enough they can’t hear.
“Communication is key in this exercise,” Nance explains to us. “As it is in nearly every aspect of our lives. Without communication, for example, our marriage would not thrive.”
Now they’re beaming at each other.
“Wait, what?” Patrick blurts out. “You’re not brother and sister?”
Sheldon frowns at him. “We’ve been happily married for twenty-two years.”
Patrick remains entirely unconvinced. “Come on. You’re just playing around now. You’re brother and sister,” he insists. He turns to the group for backup. “Am I the only one who thought that?”
Shane laughs silently into the crook of his arm, broad shoulders shaking.
“In fact, one of our side gigs is marriage counseling,” Sheldon tells us. “We work primarily with couples whose marriages suffer from communication hiccups. So, if any of you young men are married and need guidance…”
“I’d rather get divorced,” someone says.
Several guys snort with laughter.
Nance sighs and tries to direct our attention back to the course. “Before we get started, are there any questions?”
“Are you really not brother and sister?” Nazem asks.
“Any other questions?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
GIGI
National Dessert Day
THE COMMITTEE FOR THE ATHLETIC DEPARTMENT’S DECEMBER fundraiser meets in the Briar library on Monday afternoon, after my teammates and I wrap up practice.
It’s an interesting group. From the women’s team, it’s me, Camila, and Whitney. For the men, it’s Ryder, Shane, and Beckett representing the former Eastwood side, while Will Larsen and David Demaine represent Briar. Must have been strategic on Jensen’s part, who he assigned—or rather, forced into this. A loudmouth like Trager or that Rand guy would only derail all the plans. But I am surprised Case isn’t here. As the other captain, he probably should be.
That’s cleared up when Demaine takes his seat and says, “Colson got stuck in a meeting with his professor. He said to text him the details. He’ll be here next time, though.”
I try not to meet Ryder’s gaze. It’s been a full week since we had sex, and we haven’t spoken.
Not one single word. Not one single text message. I haven’t even passed him in the halls of the training facility, which makes me wonder if he’s actively avoiding me.
After the first few days of radio silence, I started to get pissed. Because, come on, I don’t even deserve a Hey, how are ya? after a literal sex marathon?
But then the relief started trickling in, because…the truth is, I didn’t know what to say to him either.
We had sex for hours that night. So many hours that I was sore for three days afterward. I even got my period four days early, as if my body was forcing a reboot after that wild night with Luke Ryder.
And the worst part is, I want him again. It scares me how badly I want him. So I’ve been keeping my distance.
Clearly, he and I are on the same page in that regard. He’s barely looked my way since we sat down.
At the head of the table, Whitney opens her notebook and uncaps her pen. “Let’s get this going,” she says. “I have dinner plans.”
Beside me, Camila is making eyes across the table at Beckett. He’s making eyes right back. Yeah, those two make sense. They ooze sensuality.
“I printed out the email from the charity head.” Whitney pulls it out and gives it a scan. “We’re in charge of getting the items for the silent auction.”
“Sounds exciting,” Beckett says, still eyeing Camila.
She winks at him.
“So let’s make a list of ideas, items we think would be good for the auction. We’ll have to reach out to businesses and high-profile individuals for donations. How about this? Each of us will contact, let’s say, ten businesses or people?”
“I’ll create an online form where we can all input the information we gather,” Will offers. “Like names, numbers, what they’re offering, that sort of thing.”
Whitney thanks him. “For bigger organizations, we can send a form email asking for a donation. But I always find there’s better success when you ask in person. So for any local businesses, either go in yourself, or at least make a phone call.” She glances at David. “Do you remember what kind of shit was up for auction last year?”
I think the two of them were involved in the previous year’s fundraiser. Luckily, I managed to escape that assignment.
“I don’t know,” he says slowly, his French-Canadian accent so subtle you can barely hear it sometimes. “I think there was, like, a skydiving package? A B&B in New Hampshire donated a weekend getaway. There was an all-inclusive vacation too.”
“Oh, right. And we had that sick Bruins prize—the winner got to watch their morning skate,” Whitney recalls, lighting up.
“Yeah, but that was because of G’s dad,” Demaine points out. “He arranged for it. I doubt we’ll be able to get something like that on our own.”
As expected, Whitney’s shrewd gaze lands on me. “Can you work your magic and see if your dad or any of his famous friends will donate something cool?”
I nod. “I’ll see what I can do. I’m sure he can hook us up.”
“Must be nice,” Ryder drawls.
I bristle. Really? First time we’ve spoken in a week, and that’s what he comes up with?
I narrow my eyes at him. “Would you rather I didn’t use my connections for the charity auction that we’re all forced to plan?”
That shuts him up. I glimpse a hint of a smile on his lips before he ducks his head.
Camila says, “My stepfather owns a bunch of gyms in Boston. I’ll ask him if he’ll donate a gym package.”
“Excellent,” Whitney says, jotting it down.
An idea comes to me. “My cousin is launching a makeup line. Maybe I can ask her to put together, I don’t know, a gift basket of products?”
Camila gives me a knowing look. “Hey, someone ask Gigi what her cousin’s name is.”
Beckett grins. “I’ll bite. What’s her name?”
I scowl at Cami. To Beckett, I say, “Her name is Alex, and it’s really not a big deal—”