Ryan shoved the locker room door open.
Inside, it was already bedlam. Guys hollering, water going over somebody's head, towels flying, a shoe skidding across the floor, the speaker cranked so high the locker doors buzzed with it. A team photographer worked the crowd, turning sideways to squeeze through, backpedaling, crouching, not willing to miss a single frame.
Ryan took slaps to the shoulder and the back of his head the whole way, someone shoving a fresh towel into his hands, and finally made it to his own locker and sat down.
The door swung open again.
Two more team photographers came in one after the other—and behind them, of all people, Chloe.
The whole room froze for half a beat. Somebody reached over and killed the music.
Kamara, bare-chested and still dripping from the water someone had dumped over him, was the first to react. "Yo—you here to sneak a peek?"
