Page 3 of Side Out

“Sometimes I wonder why I’m friends with you.” I laugh as he continues to pull me.

He stops his singing to answer, “Because I’m funny and handsome, and you couldn’t live without me.”

He’s right. I couldn’t live without him. He’s one of my favorite people on the planet and my brother. We may not be brothers by blood, but I would die for him just as I would my real brothers. But I’m not going to say that out loud, so instead, I take a swig of my beer, hold the cup in the air, and shout along with the last chorus.

God, I’m going to fucking miss this.

This is our party before we kick off our final year at Palm University. This istheyear. Clay and I are going to win the championship this year, and we’re going to make our mark at this school before we have to leave. Before we officially start the next phase in our lives.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m excited to go back to Billings. To be with my family and start my career in computer science—hopefully, in security. There will never be another time in my life like this one.

One where I get to play the sport I love with one of my favorite people on the planet.

One where I get to live and make memories with my younger brother.

One where my only focus is on school, friends, parties, and volleyball.

I need to make the most of this year because I’ll never be able to do it again.

So, I channel my inner Clay and get lost in the moment.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the rest of the men’s sand volleyball team come in the front door and grab themselves a drink. The team douche canoes, Chadwick and Prescott, included. On the other side of the room, Dominic, Emerson, and the rest of the hockey team are all crowded around the beer pong table, chugging down solo cups of beer like the brutes they are.

Every square inch of this house is filled with people from all different groups at school. It’s going to be a bitch to clean up tomorrow, but right now, that’s not my problem.

I’m pulled out of my melancholy feeling when my younger brother Emerson slaps my ass and yells obnoxiously loud, and way too close to my ear, might I add, “Mom would be so happy if she could see you dancing to Shania.”

I don’t even know how he got over here so fast. But then again, he’s always been a sneaky little shit.

Emerson reaches into his jeans to pull out his phone. He raises it and is about to press record before I hit him with my most menacing big-brother glare. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

“Or what?” he asks with a cheeky grin.

“Ooooo, Emmy is in troubleeeee,” Clay says with a mile-wide grin.

Emerson’s smile falls as he glares back at my best friend. “What have I told you about calling me that?”

“And what have I told you.” He boops Emerson on the nose with his pointer finger, and I snort a laugh. “You are not the boss of me. Big-brother privileges.”

“You’re not my brother,” Emerson deadpans.

“Hmmm,” he mocks as he takes a gulp of beer. “Momma Catherine likes me the most out of all of you. So I beg to differ.”

“No she does not,” my brother snaps. He’s what you’d call a momma’s boy. We all are, honestly. But that’s generally what happens when your mom has four sons and no daughters, and you grow up on a ranch in Montana.

“She thinks I’m the most handsome too.” I snort another laugh. I will admit, my mom does have a particular soft spot for Clay. I think it’s because she knows he doesn’t have the parental support we do, and she tries to fill that void as best she can. Hell, I think if he were under the age, she would straight up adopt him.

“Sometimes I really wonder how you get laid as much as you do?” I can tell Emerson is trying to fight a smile as the two of them continue to bicker in the middle of the party.

“It’s called charisma, Emmy.”

“I have plenty. Just ask Dom.” Emerson winks.

Suddenly, Emerson’s attention snaps toward the direction of the front door, and a look of confusion takes over his face. “What’s our neighbor doing here?”

My stare follows his, and I’m met with a stunning blond-haired man with a chiseled jaw. He has on a pair of glasses that look like he stole them right off of Clark Kent, and he’s wearing a plain white T-shirt and a pair of sweats.

He may not belong here, but he’s suddenly the only person I can focus on.

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