not the one with the concussion.
Actually…I could probably do with a workout to help burn off some of the anger coursing through my body. Crazy intense sex aside, seeing the full extent of Kay’s injuries on display in the bathroom only made me wish I did go after Liam Parker the other night. She had to have hit the floor hard to be bruised to the extent she is.
The front door opens and slams as Tessa rushes into the house, her red hair flying behind her. She scans the people scattered throughout the kitchen and living room, a furrow forming between her brows.
“She’s sleeping,” G calls out, and she spins on her heel, her footsteps thundering up the stairs.
I move to follow, not wanting her to disturb Kay when she needs sleep, but a gentle hand on my forearm stops me. Dropping my chin, I see Bette shaking her head beside me. “They’ll be fine. Tessa will just cuddle up with Kay.”
Great. Now I’m jealous of a canine and a high schooler.
A few hours later, Tessa has made her way back downstairs—Kay thankfully remaining asleep—when Trav arrives, walking into the Dennings’ home like he does so on the reg.
“Bruh…” Without warning, Trav tosses keys at me, and only the athletic instincts that allow me to catch the most unlikely of passes from him on the field have me doing the same now. “I think that King guy is planning the best way to steal your car.”
Next to me, Tessa’s fingers fly across the screen of her phone before she lifts it to her ear as I reach out a fist for my best friend to bump.
“Tell your brother he’s too old to cream his pants over a car,” Tessa says to who it’s safe to assume is Savvy, and then E shouts, “TESSA!”
“Like you don’t hear worse in the locker room.” She waves him off and tosses her phone on the cushion between us.
B, seated on a barstool at the counter eating yet another plate of Mrs. Grayson’s cooking, snorts. “Pray you don’t have any daughters, dude.” He points his fork at E. “Your little sisters will give you enough gray hairs. I can only imagine any female offspring will have you going bald.” He snorts again.
“Don’t worry”—Bette tunnels her fingers into E’s hair, the annoyance on his face melting away as his eyes close—“he isn’t showing any signs of either of those things happening.”
“Why are you such a smartass?” King asks Tessa as his sister strides over to her bestie.
“Runs in the family,” Tessa, E, and Bette answer in unison.
Mrs. Grayson busies herself serving food to the newcomers, Trav placing a smacking kiss on her cheek when he’s handed his, bringing a brilliant smile to her face. He really is shameless in his flirting. I don’t know why I let him get to me so easily when he does it with Kay. I think “flirt” is one of the chromosomes in his DNA.
“Why are you here?” I ask.
“Came to bring you the Shelby,” Trav mumbles with his mouth full. “Figured you’d be sleeping here tonight.” He lifts a brow in question, and I nod in confirmation. “This way you don’t have to worry about figuring out a ride, and I can hitch one back with M&M later.”
Em’s face twists in disgust, whether at the asinine nickname or the arm currently hooked around her neck in an almost chokehold to allow Trav to keep eating yet to be determined.
“M&M?” She twists herself free, and I notice King’s features smooth out as she does.
Interesting.
“What?” Trav asks, cheeks puffed out with food. “No good?” Em shakes her head, and Trav tilts his head in thought. “Should I stick with Jackie O then?”
“Jack—” Em’s words cut off with a gasp, and she whirls on King. “Fuck you, Carter.”
The doorbell rings, cutting them off before they can get into it.
Extracting himself from a situation he unwittingly started, Trav calls out that he’s got it and hustles to answer the door.
I can’t help but chuckle at how E mutters something about quarterbacks always making themselves at home.
“Can I help you?” we hear Trav ask.
“I thought she was dating that Nova boy? Isn’t this the quarterback?” a feminine voice asks, and E’s shoulders hit his ears.
“That’s what they’re saying, but maybe Liam’s right and she really is jersey-chasing her way through the team. I wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case,” a male voice answers.
What the fuck?
“What the fuck?” E echoes my thought, and we’re