Cheesy on the Eyes by Teagan Hunter Page 0,61

plate and loading it up with Drew’s homemade macaroni.

“Do you do this every month?” Thea asks.

“Yep. It’s our time to be kids again,” I explain, then point to the start of the line. “We have the macaroni, four different kinds of French fries and tater tots, mini corn dogs, mozzarella sticks, perogies, chicken fingers (Foster’s favorite), mini tacos, fried pickles, crab cakes—a Drew specialty, so you better act fast—and finally, pizza rolls.”

She narrows her eyes at Winston and Wren. “But your dad owns a pizza shop.”

“Yeah, and if you breathe one word of this, you’re never invited over again,” Winston threatens with a glare.

Wren slaps at him. “Ignore him. He’s kidding. But…maybe don’t tell our dad?”

“My lips are sealed,” Thea promises.

“Good. We might just invite you back yet.”

“What was in the bag?” she asks me.

“That was dessert.” Her eyes sparkle at the word, and I chuckle. “We all buy a fuck-ton of snack cakes, all varieties, and eat until we can’t anymore.”

“So you’re saying this is basically heaven? Junk food and liquor galore?”

“Basically.”

“You told me to come hungry, but I didn’t think you meant for this.”

“What’d you think he meant? Come hungry for his dick?” Winston remarks.

I eye him with a glare that promises physical pain later, and he just smirks at me like the bastard he is.

Wren steps up and smacks the back of his head. “You’re so fucking uncouth, you penis wrinkle.”

“I don’t think you can say ‘fucking,’ ‘uncouth,’ and ‘penis wrinkle’ all in the same sentence,” he fires back.

Thea leans into me. “I kind of hate you for not bringing me here sooner.”

“Because of the food or the entertainment?”

“Both.”

I laugh. “I promise I won’t ever leave you out again.”

“Hand turkey promise?” We smash our hand and fist together, and she narrows her eyes. “I’m holding you to that.”

We load our plates up with goodies, then meander outside to the extravagant patio Foster built for them this past spring.

There’s a fire pit already blazing in the center, and we all find a chair around the crackling flames.

“It’s beautiful out here,” Thea comments, taking the spot next to me on the loveseat.

“It’s damn nice,” I say. “If I ever gave up the boat and opted to live on land, this is exactly what I’d like.”

Something I can’t quite place my finger on flares to life in her eyes as she murmurs a soft, “Same.”

“Tequila shots!” Porter declares, breaking our connection as he takes up his post behind the bar.

He passes us each a shot.

“Blech. I hate tequila,” Thea says quietly.

“Don’t tell them this, but I do too. I never take the ‘traditional shot.’ I always toss it in the bushes.”

“Isn’t there some law against wasting alcohol?”

“Only the good shit,” I argue.

“Fair. Toss it?”

“Definitely.”

“Everyone ready?” Porter asks. We all nod and hold our shot glasses up in a toast. “To shitty food, mediocre liquor, and good friendships! Drink, drink, drink!”

Everyone but me and Thea tosses the liquor back.

“So fucking gross,” Foster grumbles. “I want more.”

“Agreed,” Porter says, collecting the glasses and resuming his place behind the bar. “Bar is officially open. Let’s hear your requests!”

We pepper him with our preferences, mostly tequila because—let’s be honest—it keeps shit the most interesting, and he sets to work making our orders.

Once our drinks are distributed, we tuck into our silly feast and kick back, a soft playlist that consists mostly of Led Zeppelin—a dead giveaway Dory made it—playing in the background.

“So, Thea, how long have you and Sully been seeing each other?” Wren asks from across the fire pit. “I don’t think Winston shared that tidbit during all his gloating, and as you know, Sully’s a steel trap. He’s not divulging any juicy information.”

“You don’t have to answer any of their prying questions,” I tell Thea. “You can just ignore them like I do.”

She giggles. “I don’t mind ’em as much as you do. We’ve been seeing each other for a little over a month now,” she tells Wren. “We actually met at Slice.”

“No shit?” Foster grins. He looks over at his wife wistfully. “I told you that place was magic.”

“It’s the sauce,” Wren agrees, looking just as smitten.

“Did you two meet at Slice as well?”

“We all kind of did in one way or another,” Drew says.

Huh. I hadn’t even thought about that.

Wren and Foster reconnected at Slice, Drew and Winston started as enemy co-workers there, and Porter and Dory had an accidental one-night stand that turned into a whole hell of a lot more.

“That is so weird. My brother and his fiancée