I was defending someone I care—my friend.” He cocked a brow at me. I was fucked. “Shit, Warner.” He rubbed a hand over his face, elbows on the desk. He didn’t need me to confirm G and I were a thing. All he had to do was look at me to know it. “Is this going to be a problem? I can’t have fights on my team. Are we going to have to navigate dating, lover spats, and breakups in an NFL locker room?”
