Gage
“So, I gotta tell you something,” Caleb said as we geared up for practice, his gaze fixed on Oliver Camden across the locker room. His stare wasn’t casual either—it lingered, sharp and watchful, like he was trying to piece something together.
“Tell me what?” I asked, c*****g a brow as I ripped into a roll of athletic tape. I wrapped my ankles in quick, practiced movements, trying not to think too hard about what could possibly be so damn important.
The room buzzed with the usual pre-practice noise—guys joking around, slamming lockers shut, cleats scraping against the tile floor. A handful of new rookies had joined the team after tryouts, and unfortunately, the one who came out on top was Oliver. The guy was good. Too good. It pissed me off to admit it.
What made it worse was knowi
