“It’s not mysterious,” I grumble.
“Mmmhmm.” Trav hooks an arm around my shoulders, but it’s not to headlock me or pull me in for a noogie like the football players of my past. No, instead, it’s filled with a brotherly camaraderie I’ve been trying valiantly to grow used to. “So tell me then, is it a real-time strategy, first-person shooter, role-playing…” He makes a rolling motion with his free hand. “Stop me if I guess correctly.”
He hasn’t. The game I’ve spent the last few years of my life coding and developing falls into none of those categories. But…even if he did guess correctly, I wouldn’t tell him.
I’m far too protective of it.
It’s far too personal to me.
“Come on, CK,” Trav whines, and a surge goes through me. Sure, he isn’t one of the jocks who made my life miserable growing up, but to have something he wants, to feel like I’m sorta in a position of power here…it’s heady.
“Leave my CK alone, QB1.” Kay’s voice rings out from across the deck, and I can’t help but smirk at the easy way she claims me as hers. It’s not in the romantic sense—no, that position has been declared loud and proud by the behemoth she’s sitting on—but it’s an assertion nonetheless.
“Bullshit,” Trav shouts, his face contorting into a scowl when I tease him about Kay loving me more. “Short Stack, tell him that’s not true.”
Kay only rolls her eyes because that’s her signature move, which in turn has Mason cackling and the rest of our crew tossing out their own colorful insults about how Trav is acting like a whiny bitch.
There’s manhandling, and JT jumps onto Trav’s back, smacking his ass like he’s a horse he’s trying to urge to go faster. Alex and Kevin are leaning against each other, and Grant is wiping a tear from his eye.
With JT still on his back, Trav kneels in front of Kay, his hands clasped in front of him as he pleads with her to make him her top choice for “brother” with promises of undying love and laundry-doing servitude.
“Your Lysol-needing hands aren’t going anywhere near my underwear, QB1.” Kay puts a finger to the center of Trav’s forehead and shoves him backward, leaving JT sprawled like a flattened pancake beneath Trav’s body.
“You got that fucking right,” Mason growls, giving his best friend a death glare.
“Can we start a pool on how long we think it will be before Mase finally ends up killing Trav?” Noah, the only staple from our group who won’t be living with us, takes out his phone like he’s ready to start drafting.
“Bro.” Alex chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re not even going to be here.”
“Damn, man.” Noah mimes being stabbed in the heart. “That’s how it’s gonna be? Out of sight, out of mind?” He wiggles his hand on his chest. “Harsh.”
“You act like DC is so far away,” Kevin says dryly.
“Yeah, bro, you know we’ll be visiting to scope out the food sitch.” Grant pats his stomach, forever thinking with it.
“Glad to see it’s your stomach that will bring you to our nation’s capital and not the opportunity to see me play.” Noah hums. “Yup, really feeling the love,” he complains, as if we would actually allow him to have his NFL debut without us being there to cheer him on. Even I, the most reluctant member of this family, know that’s not how we work.
“You wanna feel the love, No?” A feminine voice from across the deck calls out, obviously listening in because none of us are all that known for minding our business.
Emma Logan, or Em as I’ve always known her, completes the trifecta of unexpected friendships that altered my life in ways I could have never have imagined during all the time I spent shoved into lockers.
Her red Solo cup is raised in the air, and she starts to sing the chorus to Luke Bryan’s “One Margarita”. Kay joins in the off-key crooning, but still, it isn’t either of them that has captured my attention.
Instead, much to my dismay, I find my gaze homing in on the redhead sitting between them and completing their karaoke trio.
Quinn Thompson.
Perky.
Bubbly.
Cheerleader.
So damn beautiful it hurts to look at her, but it’s actually more painful to force my gaze away.
Except…
No amount of personal growth will change the fact that she’s so fucking far out of my league that even fantasizing would be an embarrassment.
Noah walks over to the built-in bar in the corner of the balcony and pulls out the premade pitcher of margaritas from the mini-fridge. He joins in on the singing as he fills the ladies’ cups, swinging his hips side to side and dropping it low, much to their amusement.
Never one to give up, Trav makes another play for Kay’s top-brother spot, taking her hand and pulling her up to two-step with him.
Mason growls, hooking an arm around Kay’s hips and tugging her back into his lap. “How many times do I have to tell you to stop flirting with my girl?”
That sets off another round of drunken giggles from the ladies and another eye roll from Kay.
“I think you should have CK put you on that dating app his summer class is testing,” Em says to Trav.
“Yeah, maybe if you have a girlfriend of your own, you’ll leave mine alone,” Mason grumbles.
“Oh, ho, ho.” Trav chortles with an arm banded over his middle, body folding over exaggeratedly. “Look at our Casanova.” He gestures to Mason, spinning to look at the rest of us with a flourish. “He gets wifed up, and now he’s the poster boy for happily ever after.”
Mason flips him off, then looks to me hopefully. “CK, help a brother out.” His hands come together in prayer. “Get this loser on that app with you.” He hooks a thumb at Trav.
Heat creeps up my cheeks. It’s bad enough I let Emma convince me to use the app my computer engineering class is testing and debugging, but now everyone else knows. Thanks, Em.
“Umm…” I grip the back of my neck. As if I haven’t already felt like a loser. “I don’t think you want me to do that. The algorithm is all off.” Or at least I hope it is.
“Why?” Em tilts her head, a furrow tugging between her brows. “Only being matched with the crazies?”
I study the contents of my cup, watching the last of the foam bubbles pop, wishing to be anywhere but here.
Ugh! This sucks.
Having to admit this just proves how much I’m not like the rest of them.
Blowing out a breath, I adjust my glasses before finally admitting, “I haven’t had any matches.”
The heat in my cheeks burns hotter as all around me, jaws drop. Ah, yes, see? Your CK is a loser.
“That can’t be true,” Quinn challenges, holding out a hand and wiggling her fingers. “Give me your phone.”
Is she insane? I know I already said she’s out of my league, but she wants me to hand over proof of that? No way.
“CK,” she says with another Gimme finger wiggle.
I don’t move. Not gonna happen.
She huffs and clumsily pushes to her feet. There’s a distinct weave to her steps, but it doesn’t take away from the enticing sway of her hips.
The sweet scent of coconut fills my lungs a second before the tips of her sandals butt up against the toes of my Vans as she invades my personal space with zero shame.