25. Free Preview #2
My spine straightens on instinct and I shrug.
"The report was complete, and the Trade Deadline is coming up. Tomorrow's meeting requires everyone to understand the recommendation before they arrive."
"He understands it, Darce. Half of Beachside understands it.
I think the people three towns over just heard Beck Morrison's ego explode.
But, babe…" She turns to face me, which is somehow makes this worse.
"He just won us the biggest game in franchise history.
His parents are getting divorced. He literally just found out that his brothers have been managing him like a group project since he was a kid.
That's a lot to handle, and then you go and make it ten times worse? "
My stomach drops as I stare down at my drink.
Maybe she's right.
But I've never let emotion get in the way of doing what needs to be done.
Before I can construct a response that doesn't sound like a deposition, Finn MacAllister climbs onto the small stage, hijacks the microphone, and taps it three times.
"Right, listen up, you gorgeous animals! A new team needs traditions!"
"A new team needs discipline," Coach Pearson calls from somewhere near the taco table. "Get the hell off the stage."
Finn ignores him completely. "So let's hear your ideas!"
"We could steal a police horse," Sawyer offers from a corner booth.
A chorus of groans rumbles from the team. "That's Portland's thing, dipshit."
Corbin Cole raises his hand tentatively, the rookie's voice cracking as he speaks. "What if... we, um, had a team mascot that was just like… a regular seagull? We could train it to steal fries from visiting fans?"
There's a murmur of contemplation, then Beck vaults onto a table like he was launched from a cannon.
The entire bar turns toward him like sunflowers on a sunny day.
"I've got it!" he announces, taking a long pull of yet another beer. "How about tonight, we all create the first official Beachside Bears victory skinny-dip!"
Josie and I both groan, but the team erupts in cheers.
It's instantaneous, and without so much as a discussion, shirts start flying and shoes are being kicked off under tables. Corbin nearly decapitates a waitress trying to remove his jeans while still wearing his sneakers, apologizing to her eleven times while mid-hop.
"Oh my God," I groan, shielding my eyes. "This is not happening."
I peek through my fingers to see Josie laughing as Mack reaches behind the bar, grabbing a baseball bat he's apparently named Sheila. He's holding her aloft like a fucking sword.
"Anyone who leaves underwear in my bar, they'll answer to me!" Mack growls, squeezing his fists around the handle. "Out! OUUUUT!"
Beck strips his shirt off, and—
"Okay. Wow."
Josie nudges me with her elbow, cutting me a look. "Didn't see that in your statistics, did you?"
She's right.
The lights pour over a torso that has no business being that hot. Beck Morrison is cut like a goddamn Roman gladiator. He plants both feet on the table and leads a chant so loud my ears rattle from the noise, but the meaning is clear: follow me.
And they do. That's the thing my spreadsheets keep failing to capture.
They follow him.
"Um…" Josie's eyes follow the line of hockey players marching out of the bar in various states of undress. "Have you seen how much Beck's had to drink?"
"No. But he appears to be still capable of moving his own limbs."
And those limbs? Yum.
Beck jumps down from the table and points at the moonlit Pacific Ocean.
"Last one in gets traded!"
The bar detonates with laughter. It's a great line. It's a devastating line.
Everyone in this room understands exactly what he's doing. He's making them laugh at the knife in his back. But they all love him too much to say what needs to be said.
This isn't about him. It's about the team.
"And that absolutely includes you, Declan!" Beck calls over his shoulder.
"Absolutely not," Declan announces, arms crossed. "I am the captain of the franchise. I am not running naked into the ocean."
Mason grabs one of his arms. "You're wearing underwear."
Finn takes the other. "For now."
"Mason. Mason. I will trade you both, I swear to—"
It takes another two more players to drag Declan away, but soon, they're physically dragging him across the deck.
"Oh my God, I am not missing this," Josie sings, skipping over while filming the whole thing.
I remain standing in the corner of the bar, watching the entire Beachside Bears roster stampede down the sand, colliding with the ocean in a wall of splashing bodies, raucous profanity, and soft moonlight.
The remaining crowd pours onto the deck to watch with their drinks raised and their phones out.
This is my chance. I should leave.
Colin is now trapped with two sponsors nearby, sweating through his awful Hawaiian shirt. He's had every chance to come and talk to me, but he still hasn't.
Yep. Screw it. I'm leaving.
I step to skip out the door, but the moment I do, Beck's gaze lifts from the water. His brows pull together, and he starts making his way towards me, sloshing through the waves and treading up the beach until he's dripping in front of me.
From behind me, Mack throws a towel over my shoulder without warning.
I would normally turn to thank him, but Beck Morrison is currently strutting toward me like he owns the entire beach.
"Going somewhere already?" he calls out, pulling his jeans back on.
Do not look at his boxer briefs, Darcy. Whatever you do, do not look at his boxer briefs.