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I’ve lost my damn mind.

The dressing room is boisterous after their win. Mav said, once the press leaves, I can enter. Before, no significant others were allowed in. Before two sets of players started sleeping together, before the captain and the team trainer got together, and before the goalie coach quit to be with a goalie. Guess since half the team already had their partners in the locker room, the rules were changed.

I’m not brave enough to find out if the press is still there, so I wait, leaning against the wall a few feet from the door. I check my phone and see nothing from Mav, so I check my messages.

There’s an unsettling message from an unknown former client, and the wording reminds me of the guy from the gala. Ugh. I should block him and be done with him. For some reason, I pity the guy. He’s more of a lost retriever than an angry pit bull.

The door opens, and O’Keefe struts out, stopping to sneer when he sees me. “Press should be out soon,” he spits out, but he continues past me into another room, not giving me a chance to respond.

Mav told me O’Keefe hates anyone touching or looking at King and not to take it personally. I don’t, not really, but it’d be great to assure him I’m not a threat.

An attractive woman exits the dressing room with a press pass hanging around her neck. Her smile widens when she sees me, putting me on edge.

“You were at the gala the other night, weren’t you?” She stands in front of me, waiting for an answer, but I don’t give her one, and the silence is deafening. She shifts uncomfortably, but I’m not volunteering information. “You must be shy.”

“Hey”—O’Keefe yells and grabs me from behind—“don’t talk to him.”

I let out an involuntary scream, causing O’Keefe to jump away and the woman to retreat down the hall.

Mav flies through the door with a murderous expression, ready to fight.

“Mav”—I reach out for him—“I’m fine. Startled.”

O’Keefe’s eyes are wide, and he takes another step back. “A reporter had him cornered, and I scared her off, but I frightened Skylar.”

The rest of the team has filtered into the hall behind Mav, and Grayson appears next to O’Keefe, coming from the training room.

I’m nodding fervently in agreement as Mav takes me in his arms. “You sure?” he whispers in my hair.

“Yes,” I affirm, kicking myself for my reaction. “I’m a drama queen,” I joke.

“I’ll change, and we can go.” He kisses the top of my head.

“Don’t you want to celebrate? Isn’t the team going out? Congrats on your goal,” I say in rapid succession, holding him back from responding.

“We can celebrate together,” he says quietly.

It’s not clear if that’s what he’s hoping for or if he’s doing it for me. “Whatever you’re up for,” I say brightly.

With the distraction, the press has been lingering but leave as it’s clear that everyone is done talking to them.

Jamal King’s glares alternate between me and O’Keefe. I throw him a reassuring smile. It’s hardly O’Keefe’s fault I’m jumpy about people touching me. A normal person doesn’t scream, and they’d appreciate his effort.

“O’Keefe, sorry I yelled. Thanks for helping me with the reporter.” I lean against Mav as I speak, sending a silent signal that I’m glad he’s here.

“It was the woman who wrote the shit about us being related,” he says to King as a way of explaining. “If I had my way, she’d never be allowed in our dressing room again,” he fumes.

“Who shouldn’t be allowed?” Ari Dimon strolls up and asks.

The team nearly teleports into the locker room, leaving only a few of us in the hall.

Mr. Dimon stares us all down, expecting an answer.

Mav decides it’s his job to answer for us. “The lady from Sportsbuzzz tried to get information from Sky.”

“Lady, my ass,” O’Keefe mutters in disgust.

King grabs O’Keefe’s hand and drags him into the locker room.