I can spend time in the athletic trainers’ room with Lexi. That sounds way more fun than regurgitated meat,” he says. “Don’t compare Lexi to regurgitated meat,” Riley chimes in. “This is your own fault.” “Shut up, Mitchy.” “Grant—you can puke again during the next intermission, but you’re getting back on the ice. Riley—focus on the game, not what someone is saying about your girl,” I tell them. “She’s not my girl,” Riley grits out. “You look at her like she’s your girl,” Mav teases.
