Page 16 of Guarded Love

"Impressive," Selene nods approvingly.

"Salt doesn't count as seasoning," Knox says, grabbing another chip.

"I used actual spices," I defend myself. "Paprika. Garlic powder. That Italian blend thing Selene bought."

"Wow," Selene's eyes widen in mock surprise. "You're practically a chef now."

I take a bite of the nachos and have to stop myself from groaning in appreciation. The combination of melted cheese, perfectly seasoned meat, and fresh guacamole is exactly what I needed. "These are really good," I admit between bites.

"See?" Knox raises an eyebrow. "I'm learning."

"Under close supervision," Selene adds, bumping her hip against his. I agree he should give credit where credit’s due.

"He's a work in progress," I say, grabbing another nacho. "But a fast learner when motivated by cheese."

"Pretty much," Knox agrees, his arm tightening around Selene. They share a look that’s private, and for a second, I feel like an intruder. It’s not an uncomfortable feeling, just somewhat weird, but not in a bad way. Like watching a scene from a movie where you know the characters but you're not part of the plot.

Knox has changed so much since Selene entered the picture. While he still can be an asshole, he’s one that seems happier and more comfortable. He was unable to commit to anything outside of hockey. He always had a convenient excuse to keep things casual. His sports schedule was too demanding. No time fordistractions if he wanted to go pro. Nothing could tie him down because he wouldn’t let it.

But now? He’s gone from avoiding connections to being completely wrapped up in Selene. He’s committed to her like he’s committed to hockey. Just a year ago, I’d be the one stuck as Knox’s wingman, and now I’m watching him be all in with her. All the time.

"So, what are you up to tonight?" Knox asks, grabbing another chip and expertly scooping up a dollop of guacamole.

"Just gaming," I reply, taking another bite. "Realm of the Unknown. Trying to finish a quest line before I tackle a PoliSci paper."

"Ah, a battle we face often," Knox says. "One where we usually get our asses handed to us."

Selene leans her head on Knox's shoulder. "Don't listen to him. You're smart. You'll ace it."

"The paper's not the problem. It's starting it that is," I admit. "Procrastination is my actual major right now, which, oddly enough, is usually not a problem I have."

"Tell me about it," Knox groans. "I've got a presentation I haven't even thought about, and it's due Wednesday."

"You'll both be fine," Selene says.

I know she’s right, but that doesn’t mean the pressure isn’t still there, quietly building.

"You make it sound so simple," I think, but manage a small nod. The truth is, 'fine' is a state we're constantly striving for, not one we comfortably live in. The path to 'fine' is paved with more assignments than one should realistically be able to handle and the looming threat of academic probation if your GPA slips. Not that mine is in any danger, but the fear is a constant, at least for me.

"So, Realm of the Unknown," Knox says, wiping guacamole from his chin with the back of his hand. "You actually enjoy the grind?”

"There's a certain satisfaction in completing something," I say, choosing my words carefully. "Even if it's virtual. Clear objectives, measurable progress. It's...straightforward." Unlike the rest of life, but that doesn’t need to be said.

Selene smiles as she takes a few chips. "I get that. Sometimes I just want to cook something simple because then I know exactly how it's going to turn out."

Knox looks from her to me, then back to the nachos. "You two and your predictable hobbies. Where's the thrill in knowing the outcome?"

"The thrill is in avoiding a mental breakdown, bro," I say, reaching for another chip. I’m only half kidding.

The bass from upstairs, which had been a dull throb, suddenly intensifies, rattling the cheap light fixture above us. A muffled shout follows, something about "leveling up" or "losing cups," it's hard to tell with Wilder.

Selene glances at the ceiling. "Wilder's really feeling it tonight, huh?"

"He's probably celebrating finishing a sentence of his English paper," Knox grunts. "Or finding a matching pair of socks. Either is a monumental achievement for him."

"Hey now," I say, though I can't entirely disagree. Wilder's organizational skills, or lack thereof, are legendary. "He's got...other strengths." Like an uncanny ability to find the best late-night food deals or talk his way out of almost any situation. Not to mention he’s funnier than all of us on his worst day.

As if summoned by the mention of his name, Wilder stands framed in the doorway, hair sticking up in several directions, wearing a faded Red Wolves hockey t-shirt, sweatpants, and mismatched socks, confirming that Knox was wrong. Oneheadphone dangles around his neck, which makes me wonder how the hell we were hearing his music.

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