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“No, I’m pretty sure it’s a birthday,” Lake says.
“Isn’t it because of Claire’s new job?” Rachel interrupts.
They all stare at each other for a moment.
“Well, whichever it is, we probably should’ve brought a gift,” Rachel concludes.
Lake sighs and pulls out his wallet. “Bring out the cash supplies, people.” He glances at me while they’re assembling their present for the birthday/housewarming/new job party.
“You should come. Unless you have other plans.”
The invite takes me by surprise. I don’t think we’ve ever been to the same party. Even in high school. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Lake in any setting that would even remotely resemble a party. So now I’m curious. And… I want to go with him.
“That okay? It’s a birthday-housewarming-new job party, after all. Sounds like something you’d want to celebrate with close friends,” I say.
“We’re two hours late,” Lake says. “Which means everybody’s already shitfaced. We could arrive with a yeti in tow and nobody would notice.”
“Then sure.” I shrug.
“Cool,” Rachel says. “Come on. Let’s go before Kelly’s head explodes.”
The guy just flips her off in response. “Fuck off. It’s my first free evening in three months. Sorry I don’t wanna spend it standing on a street corner freezing my balls off.”
Sawyer, Rachel, and Kelly start walking.
Lake glances at me and raises a brow. It almost feels like he’s daring me to make an excuse and get out of there.
Tough shit. Even if I didn’t actually want to go, challenging an athlete isn’t a smart thing to do. You’ll never win.
Lake starts walking after his friends, and I fall into step beside him.
Guess a party it is.
LAKE
“Why? Why, why, why the fuck did you need the trust fund money?” I ask for the millionth time tonight.
My eyes stay on Ryker, who’s leaning over the pool table, lining up his shot. He looks up, an amused smile on his face. The low lights reflecting off his eyes make them look lighter. The general air of niceness that always surrounds him has been replaced by something sharper. Something almost devious. He seems somehow sly tonight.
Or I’m just drunk.
Whatever it is, he’s hot. Which, coincidentally, is a word I should not associate with Ryker. I’m not blind—he’s always been hot. I’ve always known. But I’m not supposed to think it. Or acknowledge it so casually.
Ryker takes the shot, then straightens himself up. He takes another sip from the bottle of Fireball we’ve been passing back and forth between the two of us for the last hour and sends me a thoughtful look.
“I don’t know about you, but I find it very relaxing when I can afford food and rent and shit like that.”
I scoff. “Bullshit. I call bullshit. Your mother has so much money you’ve probably already booked your flights to Mars just in case things go to shit down here and your doomsday bunker won’t cut it.”
“Might be I was cut off,” he says mildly.
“Were you?”
He doesn’t respond.
I roll my eyes. “Of course you weren’t. You’re the golden boy, after all.”
He raises his brows at me, still with that amused quirk playing in the corners of his lips.
