Page 108 of Lose You Twice

“Leadership starts small.”

Asher passes behind him. “He missed the cart twice before you looked.”

I bite back a laugh.

“I play hockey, bro, not fucking basketball. I put things in nets, not baskets,” Weston says, before lowering his voice. “You good?”

I don’t really know how to answer that, because no, I’m not good. But I’m also working on trying to be good. It didn’t help that my mom got called into a shift for this morning, so I had to run like a madwoman to pick up the twins and Justin so that he could watch them until Holden got home to help. Hopefully, the house will still be standing by the time I get home.

Yeah, I am currently anything but good. “I’m working.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

I look at him.

He lifts both hands. “Not prying. Just asking.”

“I’m good,” I say, softer.

He nods. “Cool. If anyone makes you not good, Asher is prepared to commit violence.”

Asher looks over. “Don’t volunteer me for crimes.”

“Fine. Kai is prepared in every category.”

My face heats instantly.

Across the room, Kai’s head turns.

Of course he heard that.

I glare at Weston. “You’re a menace.”

He waggles his eyebrows. “And yet, you love me.”

I push the cart forward before he can make it worse.

The room starts clearing out slowly. One of the media interns, Lyla, I think, pulls Grayson away for a few minutes while others disappear into showers.

Coleson is still lingering near his stall.

I’ve noticed that about him. Not in a dramatic way, just the way you notice a drawer that keeps sticking. He’s always half a step off from the rest of the team. When the room is loose, he looks bored. When Kai gives instructions, he looks like obedience costs too much.

Tonight, he’s leaning back in his stall, scrolling on his phone while a pile of towels sits at his feet.

I stop the cart beside him. “Hey, can you toss those in?”

He doesn’t look up. “Busy.”

I glance at his phone. He’s watching a video of someone falling off a treadmill.

“Looks important.”

That gets his eyes on me. They move over my sweatshirt, my leggings, the cart, then back to my face. It isn’t the kind of look that scares me. It’s the kind meant to remind me he thinks I’m beneath him.

“Towels, please,” I say.

He kicks one with the toe of his shoe. It lands near the cart, not in it.