Page 31 of Resilient Love

Nakoa

Really, J? He was just opening up to us. Way to squash it!

Jelani

Cap needed a breather from the heavy stuff. I could feel it through the phone.

How did I get stuck with these two idiots as best friends?

Nakoa

Yeah? Well, I can feel him wanting to break up with us through the phone.

Jelani

An over the phone breakup? That’s so crass! Our boy would never.

I’m not your boyfriend. We can’t break up. Now leave me alone.

Jelani

We love you too, luv. See you tomorrow.

Nakoa

Let us know if you need us.

I’m blessed to have these guys in my life. They goof around a lot, but deep down, they have hearts of gold.

Sure. Thanks.

Mrs. Purrito’s kneading stops, and when I look down at her, her wide blue eyes are peering up, assessing me slowly. I gaze back at her, officially in some sort of staring competition with my damn cat, but I refuse to look away until she does. Her ear flickers as she tilts her head to the side and nuzzles into my chest, resuming her soothing vibrations.

It’s annoying that this cat seems to understand me better than I understand myself sometimes.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

SATURDAY, APRIL 26

“I knowwe all agreed to come for charity since it’s both your dad and our coach’s team, but could someone please explain why there’s a massive table with fruit lined up over there?” Adhira asks, her brows pinched as she squints over at the white plastic banquet table.

“No idea, but I guess we’ll find out soon enough,” I say, heading toward a white-topped tent covering a table with baskets for auction. My dad’s team does this event every year, but I’ve never gone. It always tended to line up with a game or practice of my own, and I don’t have a job or any stable form of income, so I’d just be here for moral support, which no one’sasked for. I’m not exactly the kind of person anyonewouldask for moral support from.

“Ooh, I’ll sign up for this one!” Chelsea chirps, leaning over the table to scribble her name on a ticket and pop it in the corresponding jar.

“What’s it for?” I ask, reading the framed slip that outlines what the company donating the basket is offering.

“Food, duh,” she says with a loud laugh. “It’s for this restaurant downtown that offers private tables in the kitchen where you get to watch the chefs cook, and they give you samples of everything they make the entire night for the rest of the restaurant.”

“Such a bloody foody,” Adhira says, grimacing.

“As if you aren’t? Just because you prefer food from vendors on wheels doesn’t mean you aren’t a foody,” Chelsea chides.

Adhira crosses her arms over her chest, not dignifying Chelsea’s assessment with a response because she’sright.

One of the announcers who works at the Wyvern’s stadium is here for the event, and whatever they’re doing this year to raise donations is starting.

“Come on, children, let’s go,” Chelsea says, ushering us like her little ducklings in the direction of all the people gathering for the first event.

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