“Are you sure we’re allowed in here?” Britney asked.
“Of course, we’re not supposed to be in here. That’s why it’s called sneaking in,” Clyde chuckled.
“I thought you said you worked here.”
“I know a guy.”
Britney stood just inside the door to the team’s locker room. She crossed her arms and glared at Clyde in the dim light.
“You know a guy, or you know a guy who knows a guy who said…?”
Clyde shrugged. “Yeah, okay maybe. But babe, we are in the locker room! Oh my God. Look”— he pointed frantically at the name above one of the blue and red cubbies— “it’s Manson’s s**t. You think this is really his jersey?”
Britney wrinkled her nose. “It smells in here.” It smelled like sweat and unwashed man, and it smelled like unwashed gear. It was rank.
Clyde took a deep breath. He closed his ey
