“You’re kind of violent for such a tiny little thing.”
I let out a scream worthy of a horror film. With my head still stuck inside the oversized hoodie, I wasn’t aware anyone was in the kitchen.
“Sorry.” My head finally pops out from its cotton confines. “Didn’t mean to scare you.” Spencer sends me a sheepish smile over the rim of his coffee mug.
“No, it’s fine.” My memory is a bit fuzzy thanks to my tequila buzz, but I do remember meeting him, however briefly, before his conversation with JT last night. “I just didn’t expect anyone to be home.”
“Ah, I’m not in season yet. Taking the rare opportunity not to set an alarm.”
“Preaching to the choir on that.” I shuffle over to the fridge and pull out the half gallon of chocolate milk, chugging straight from the container.
“Guess it’s a good thing I don’t play football, huh?”
I give a noncommittal shrug, unwrapping my breakfast sandwich and placing it in the microwave to warm.
“I take it it’s more a particular player than the sport you have a problem with?”
Someone is too intuitive for me to handle before noon.
I bite into my sandwich with a nod, choosing to eat right at the counter.
“You staying the whole weekend?” Another nod. “Sweet.”
By coming here, I know I’m falling into old habits of running away, but I don’t really care too much. Besides, I get the impression JT is going to continue to go all big brother on me and force me to confront all the things that have me running to begin with.
Spencer and I make small talk while I eat and he has his coffee. He’s a constant flirt, but unlike Adam, who is a total skeeze, Spencer’s efforts remind me more of D’s.
Ooo, you know who would go all caveman on Spencer if he were here?
Shut up! I shout at my inner cheerleader. This weekend is a Mason-free zone.
*snorts* Good luck with that.
“Excuse me,” Spencer says politely when there’s a knock at the door.
Two-thirds of my hangover cure done, I spin to make the essence of life—coffee.
“Dante.”
“Spence.”
Based on the sounds I hear, the two of them are doing the whole bro-hug, back-slapping thing.
“JT isn’t here,” Spencer says.
“Oh, I know.” D chuckles. “I’m here for something much better-looking.”
The smile I hear in his voice tells me without his older brother here to keep him in check, his flirtations will reach epic levels this weekend.
“KayKay.” I barely have time to put my mug on the counter before I’m lifted into a familiar Grayson bear hug, this one complete with being swung around like a rag doll.
“You can put me down now,” I say, hitting his shoulder.
“Whatevs. Let me have my moment. Unlike G, I never get any quality Kay time to myself.”
With me too busy enjoying D’s gregarious personality, it takes longer for the thought to hit. “You can’t tell him I’m here, D,” I implore, giving him my best puppy dog eyes.
“Don’t worry, your guard dog already gave me the speech.” A giggle escapes at his description of JT.
“You good to wait while I shower?” I gesture toward the bathroom with my mug. “I need to wash away the last of this tequila haze.”
“Want someone to wash your back?” D waggles his brows.
I roll my eyes. I don’t know if it’s D’s ridiculousness or the fact that I put seven hundred miles between me and my issues, but I feel a little bit lighter as I grab my bag and disappear inside the bathroom.
#Chapter27
Checking my phone has become something I’ve started to do with embarrassing frequency. I do so hoping Kay will finally text me, but all I have are notifications from Instagram.
I admit, my vague-book post falls into the type of thing Kay likes to avoid, but I did it with the hope that by declaring my relationship status, it would help shut down the speculation ones that have been trending.
Did it work? Sort of.
Sort of? *smacks hat against thigh* Do I need to put it up on a whiteboard or something? Write it in Xs and Os? You did see all the comments your post got, right? Don’t even get me started on that fuckwat. It’s a good thing it’s a bye week, because you, sir, need all the extra practice time if you’re going to have a winning season when it comes to Kay.
My inner coach likes to talk a lot of shit, but I don’t see him coming up with anything good in his playbook.
“You have a game plan for this weekend?” Trav asks as we make our way out of the athletic center after our morning workout.
“Go to Blackwell, go to The Barracks, go to wherever Kay will be and not leave until we’re an official couple again.” I shove my hands inside the pouch of my hoodie in deference to the cold wind.
“I take it you mean official official and not the bullshit Gram post you tried the other day?”
The post was a power move. Granted, it was one that got me reamed out and slapped by Kay and razzed by the guys, but I was looking to shut down some of the more persistent #CasanovasGirl comments.
If it weren’t for how stressed it makes Kay, or you know, the fact that social media is the main obstacle in getting my girl back, I wouldn’t care.
“Isn’t that that King guy with Grayson?” Trav points to where Grant is leaning against a matte black Yukon talking to, sure enough, Carter King.
“I think so. He and his friends do seem to have an affinity for that paint job.” We change direction. I still haven’t decided how I feel about the guy, but maybe keep your friends close and all that jazz.
Grayson is the first to spot us, greeting Trav enthusiastically while Carter eyes me speculatively.
“I can’t tell if what you did was stupid as shit or ballsy as fuck.” He holds
