“You keep telling yourself that,” Royce says.
“I don’t need to. Women tell me,” Cabe says, tossing his arm around my shoulders as he grins at his brother.
Royce points at him. “Liar. And Jojo doesn’t count. Her taste has been shit since elementary school.”
“Hey!” I cry.
Royce’s eyes cut to me, and he winks, then clasps Cabe’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, little brother. You’ll fill out one day.”
I burst out laughing.
Cabe scowls at him. “I hate you both,” he grumbles.
Axle quirks a brow. “What’d I do?”
Royce waves him off. “He loves us.”
“I tolerate you,” Cabe says.
“You love us,” Royce repeats.
Their bickering continues as naturally as breathing.
Some things never change.
Finally, Axle glances toward the buffet. “The teenage boys are about to inhale all the food.”
Royce follows his gaze.
Several students are loading alarming amounts of meat onto their plates.
“Damn. We’d better get some before they start going back for seconds,” Royce mumbles.
The brothers exchange a look.
Then promptly abandon us.
Smart men.
I watch them disappear toward the buffet line.
“They’re probably right,” I say.
Cabe nods. “Absolutely.”
He grabs several mason jars from Imma Jean, and we carry the drinks back to the table before getting into the food line, which is moving surprisingly quickly.
Soon, we’re standing among dozens of hungry students, waiting for our turn.
I build a cheeseburger that probably violates several nutritional guidelines, which I’ll be drilling into the students later this week.
Then I add potato salad. Baked beans. Chips. Pickle. More chips. A second pickle.
Balance.
By the time we get back to the table, most of the remaining seats are filled. Seth. Me. Cabe. Then Bryce. Charli. Shelby. Royce. And Axle.
Conversation flows easily.
