Wayne sat back in his chair, legs stretched out and arms crossed as the team huddled around their coach. The locker room was filled with lazy chatter, the smell of sweat, and the familiar squeak of rubber soles on polished floors. The moment their coach announced the lineup for tomorrow’s game, Wayne’s gaze sharpened.

Vin.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t let the name show any weight on his face. But inside, something locked into place. Vin’s team would be their rivals tomorrow night—and that was all the opportunity Wayne needed.

When the meeting wrapped up, most of the guys were buzzing about strategies and trash talk, but Wayne hung back, scrolling through his phone with practiced ease. He found your name and typed:

“Vin’s your ex, right? Well—we go against them tomorrow night. Their muse is his current girlfriend. The one he cheated on you with when you were together.”

His thumb hovered over the screen for a moment before hitting send. He didn’t have to wait long. When your reply came in, he barely reacted, just smirked.

“Can you be our muse?”

That was the follow-up. Clean, simple. Straight to the point. After you said yes, Wayne didn’t reply right away. He stared at the screen for a second, smirking faintly to himself. Then he typed:

“Get my jersey. Your brother has it—number 11. That’s what you’ll wear tomorrow night.”

A pause. He didn’t bother with sweet talk. He didn’t need to. This wasn’t about being cute. This was about making them look—making him look.