Page 57 of Keep Me Never
“Still think you should tell Trust Fund to get fucked.” He huffs.
I punch him in the side, making him grunt.
“Talk a little louder, asshole. And it’s not a date. They’re going to some event for her grandfather’s company. It’s…work.”
“Sure. And I didn’t take advantage of you not coming home last night.”
I chuckle, shaking my head.
“Where you been going, anyway?” he asks, a little quieter this time. “Got someone casual somewhere?”
I swallow, shaking my head, frowning up at the popcorn ceiling. “Nah, man.”
“Then where?” Mase pushes.
Moving so I’m sitting on my ass, my arms draped over my bent knees, I drop my gaze to the old carpet.
“My truck. Out behind the stadium.” I take a deep breath. “My mind just gets heavy after the adrenaline crash, you know? A lot going on. I have to run through the game, break it all down to put myself in a better headspace. I can’t really do that with dozens of people partying in the house.”
“Deaton is usually out by the time I get home, if not well on his way. You can always come here, man.” Mason’s brows are dipped low, worry written all over his face.
I nod, and then the girls are barreling down the hall.
“Get back in here!” Cameron shouts.
“I need to get my things out.”
“Girl. You said I could have two hours, and you were still pulling shit out of the oven when we got there!”
Ari and Payton file into the living room, dropping down near where Little D is napping on the love seat.
“Two hours is an insane amount of time to spend getting ready. It takes me ten minutes on my best day.”
They go by in a blur, and I barely see the tail end of Cameron’s ponytail as they turn the corner into the little kitchen.
“That’s because you’re like this little, freaking fairy-tale chick with perfect skin and… Oh my god! No freaking way!” Cameron shouts.
Paige’s laugh reaches me. “I just need to set it all up.”
“You are out of your damn mind if you think I’m letting you open that container and risk you ruining the final product.”
“I am a human, not a product.” Her humor is clear.
“Still,” they playfully argue. “One time I opened a lid off a soup Ari made, and it sprayed all over me from the evaporation or pressure or some weird shit. Not happening. Not before your first date.”
Brady kicks me, and I kick him back.
“Oh my god, how many times do I have to tell you it’s not a date?” Paige whisper-hisses back.
I raise a brow at Brady, unable to hide my smirk of satisfaction.
He goes to open his mouth, but then there’s a knock at the door.
I don’t realize I jumped to my feet until my hand wraps around the handle, and my boys chuckle behind my back. I yank it open, my eyes connecting with Prescott.
He smiles wide, a big, pink bouquet in his hands, as predicted.
Should I tell him she prefers softer colors?
