Back to Me by Lindsay Paige

Author:Lindsay Paige [Paige, Lindsay]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Carolina Rebels Series
Publisher: Lindsay Paige
Published: 2016-11-08T05:00:00+00:00

It’s Sunday, and we have the day off. It’s our last day in California. We’re spending time together as a team by dividing up and playing volleyball on the beach. Brayden and Scotty are in charge. Brayden’s too competitive to let this be too much of a fun game, so we’re lined up like we’re in gym class, about to play dodgeball.

“Tommy Boy,” Brayden calls, picking Tommy Alderson to be on his team.

“Marco,” Scott says next.

Back and forth until we’re all on a team, me being on Brayden’s. A game finally gets underway. Days like these are good to have. It allows us to bond while we have fun and get a break from the everyday duties our career gives us. Our team is in the lead, for those counting, so Brayden has let loose a little. He’s just so serious and wound up, it’s hard to get him to relax or smile every now and then.

However, things are a little odd. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to being taped for some sort of promo. It’s not that I dislike it, but it’s just weird. With the organization wanting to get fans more interested and involved, their social media campaigns are always doing something.

We’re taking a small water break when the volleyball hits me in the back of the head, spilling water down my chest and onto my shorts. It’s not a hard hit, but it’s not a soft one either. I don’t even have to look or hear his snickering to know who’s responsible.

Fucking Marc. He can be a real pain in the ass.

I turn, surveying the beach to find him with a shit-eating grin on his face even though he’s pretending to be interested in whatever Scott is saying, and pick up the ball. In one smooth motion, I hurl the ball at his chest. A satisfying hmmph comes from Marc.

“Keep the ball to yourself, yeah?”

“Whatever you say, Rams. Captain Hook, aren’t you finished resting? We’re ready to kick your ass.”

Brayden shakes his head, but we get back to the game. Despite what Marc said, we kick their asses. It’s been a good fun day. We return to the hotel, shower, and then head out for dinner. Ian Rhett, a defenseman a little younger than me with the nickname of Bruiser, is heading to the elevator as well as Marc. Ian is texting, flicking his eyes up every so often to make sure he doesn’t run into anything. The guy always has his phone in his hands if he can. He was traded to the team last February, but he always seems preoccupied with his phone or in a rush to leave after the games.

Marc pushes the button for the elevator and it dings as the doors slide open. We all step in.

“Who are you texting?” Marc asks, sounding annoyed. Probably because Bruiser has it in his settings where you can hear a noise from the keys as he types. Marc can’t stand to hear any noise from a cell phone.

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