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What the fuck is that between his legs?

That can’t be anatomically correct.

Dane makes a strangled noise beside me. Tank takes one look and loses his shit. Koa mutters something I don't catch.

Luca says, “Jesus Christ.”

And the rest, as they say, is history.

The women notice us. There's a collective gasp.

Dani slams the notebook against her chest. Which is not remotely suspicious.

“What are you doing here?” she demands.

Tank points at the notebook. “What the fuck is that?”

“Nothing.”

“That is definitely not nothing.”

“It's literary analysis,” Chiara says solemnly.

“Of what?” Noah asks.

Nobody answers.

Finley starts laughing again. Annabeth tries to hide behind her book. Dane walks toward Carolina, shaking his head.

“I'm not even sure I want to know, Caro Darlin’.”

“You don't,” his wife assures him.

“I definitely do,” Tank says.

Dani points at him. “You definitely don't.”

The room erupts. Men crossing toward wives. Women talking over one another.

Questions.

Laughter.

Koa bends to kiss Finley. Tank is still trying to get the notebook away from Dani while she holds it over her head. Luca slides an arm around Annabeth's waist. Dane drops a kiss onto Carolina's temple while she's still laughing.

And I stand there watching all of it.

I've seen this a hundred times. My players and their wives. My coach and his.

The casual touches.

The easy affection.

The unconscious way they gravitate toward one another the second they're in the same room.

For years, I've been the man standing just outside it.

Not excluded. Never that.