But it’s too late. They notice.
Logan’s eyes narrow slightly before a slow grin spreads across his face. "Oh, shit. Wait. You mean—" He laughs, shaking his head. "You are?"
Trevor blinks before his mouth falls open. "No way."
I rub the back of my neck, my ears burning. "It’s not a big deal."
"Bro, you’re a top draft prospect, a starter on the team, and you’re telling me you haven’t—?" Logan lets out a low whistle. "That’s crazy."
More guys start tuning in, exchanging looks, some smirking, some just surprised. My stomach knots, but I keep my face neutral, focused on tying my shoes like this isn’t a big deal.
Because it isn’t. I just hate they’re making it one.
"Who the hell cares?"
I glance up to see Carter standing near his locker, arms crossed, giving the guys a flat look.
"Seriously," he continues, shaking his head. "What does it matter? He’s got standards, knows what he wants. Good for him."
The room is quiet for half a beat before Logan shrugs. "I mean, I’m just surprised. Figured a guy like him?—"
"A guy like him what?" Carter cuts in, stepping forward. "Doesn’t need to prove anything to you jackasses, that’s what."
Logan lifts his hands. "Alright, alright, chill, man. No one’s saying it’s a bad thing."
Carter scoffs. "You kinda are."
Logan shrugs, rubbing the back of his head. "I mean, hey, respect. That’s cool if you’re waiting or whatever. Just didn’t see that coming."
I exhale, glancing at Carter, giving him a small nod of appreciation.
He nods back before shooting the rest of the guys a pointed look. "Maybe, instead of worrying about Jax’s personal life, y’all should focus on running your damn routes correctly."
Snickers echo through the room, and just like that, the conversation shifts.
I let out a slow breath, standing and grabbing my duffel.
Carter claps a hand on my shoulder as we head toward the exit. "Don’t let those idiots get in your head, man."
I smirk, shaking my head. "They’re not."
I let out a slow breath, standing and grabbing my duffle, rolling my shoulders to shake off the lingering tension. The guys can say whatever they want—I know who I am, and I know what I want.
I push through the locker room doors and step into the cool night air, the crisp breeze a welcome relief after the heat and noise inside. My truck is parked near the back of the lot, the familiar sight grounding me as I swing my bag into the passenger seat and climb in.
Before I even think about it, I pull out my phone, my thumb hovering over her name.
I don’t hesitate. I hit dial.
The phone rings twice before Madison picks up, her voice soft but teasing. "Calling me again, Montgomery? I’m beginning to think you’re obsessed."
I smirk, leaning back against the headrest. If only she knew. "You up for some ice cream?"
She hums like she’s thinking about it, but I can hear the smile in her voice. "Depends, hotshot. Do you deliver?"
I chuckle, already starting the engine. "You already know the answer to that."
She exhales dramatically. "Guess I can bless you with my presence then."
