Page 64 of Bitter When He Begs

I stare at him, thrown, my brain scrambling to process the fact that Luca fucking Devereaux isinvitingme over instead ofdemandingI be there.

Before I can even form a response, he grins and adds, “You can even bring your annoying little guard dog.”

I blink again. “Nate?”

“Yeah. That one.”

I snort despite myself. “You really hate him, huh?”

Luca shrugs, still grinning. “He’s just so easy to piss off.”

I roll my eyes and shake my head, but I don’t say no. I should. I really fucking should. But instead, I just huff and mutter, “I’ll think about it.”

Luca’s grin widens like he already fucking knows what my answer will be.

And I hate that he’s probably right.

Luca

Thesunisbrutaltoday, beating down on my shoulders as I stand near the pool, water bottle in hand, and listening to the guys shoot the shit while setting everything up for the BBQ.

The smell of grilled burgers and hot dogs is already thick in the air, mixing with the faint scent of chlorine and whatever weed Damien had smoked earlier.

I feel good. Clear-headed and present, not itching for an escape or a distraction. It’s been four months since I last took a pill, and I don’t plan on going back. Not when I know how fucking good sober feels.

I watch the scene in front of me with a slight smile on my face. It’s the usual chaos of too many overconfident athletes in one place. Half of us are shirtless, skin glistening with faint sheens of sweat from moving tables and Julian being a shit after bringing out his water blaster.

It’s a miracle how so many of us ended up in the same house, seeing as none of us are straight. A complete fuckingcoincidence, by the way, but hilarious considering how many people view athletes as being “manly”straight men.

Yeah, we know how lucky we are to have met each other because outside of the Sin Bin, another world waits. One that’s mean and will rip you apart for not being their version of perfect. I should know, I lived it all through high school.

Roman’s already in the pool, leaning against the edge with a beer in hand and watching Damon set up the sound system. He looks smug and in love—honestly, good for him.

“So,” he calls out, tipping his beer towards me, “are we taking bets on how long it takes for someone to fall in the pool drunk, or are we assuming it’ll be Ryan?”

Ryan Torres, who’s stacking plates at the food table, flips him off without looking. “Fuck you, Bishop.”

Roman just grins. “Not even a little bit.”

I watch as Damon rolls his eyes, but smirks as he adjusts the speaker settings. “He’s got a point. It’s definitely going to be you, Torres. You love that coffee tequila too much.”

Ryan scoffs. “I wasn’t eventhatdrunk last time.”

Liam, who is standing next to him, raises an eyebrow. “You threw up in one of Killian’s shoes.”

This makes Ryan wince. “Okay, but in my defense, the shoe was probably in my direct line of sight.”

“You still owe me a new pair, asshole,” Killian chirps in as he flips burgers.

“Fine,” Ryan sighs dramatically. “But only because I’m a good person.”

Eli, who is sitting on the back porch, snorts. “Real saintly of you, Torres.”

I shake my head at these idiots, chuckling as I sip from my water bottle. It’s weird how I don’t even miss drinking or feeling tipsy. Before I can relax fully, I see Eli getting to his feet andwalking over to me with a look that makes my stomach sink. Julian joins him, and I groan out loud.

I already know what this is about and have been avoiding it ever since Killian made me go to the lake with him. They tried cornering me many times after practice and at home, but I slipped out of the locker room before they could. But now I have nowhere to run.

Shit.

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