Page 44

BABY KENNEDY: Stop that.

WYATT: You deserve the title.

I don’t feel like it.

BABY KENNEDY: Did Captain Crunch deserve his title?

Wtf?

BABY KENNEDY: Did Captain Reynolds let them take the sky from him?

What are you even talking about?

WYATT: Okay, I’m finding you and taking your phone.

Stop that.”

“Oh, come on.”

“No.”

“They’re done!”

“They’re not fucking done,” Rhodes snapped and proceeded to smack Jude with a spatula. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing too loudly. The two of them stood at the grill after they had turned making burgers into a competitive sport. Rhodes was trying to feed starving football players without burning anything, while Jude had apparently decided his contribution was being a pain in his brother’s ass. I leaned against the broken garden wall with a bottle of water and watched them, mostly because they were entertaining.

If I was being honest, a significant portion of my attention was fixed on Rhodes’ ass.

He’d changed out of his workout clothes before everyone came over, and whoever had invented his jeans deserved some kind of award. They hugged his thighs and ass in a way that tested every ounce of my self-control. Whenever he turned toward the grill, I forgot what anybody around me was saying.

“Hey!” Jude exclaimed as he grabbed the tongs. “Fight me, bitch! That’s what the space knights say, right?”

“Fuck no,” he scoffed. And what followed was nothing short of the worst sword fight in the history of sword fights. Jude brandished the tongs like he’d been training for this moment his entire life, Rhodes countered with the spatula, and both of them started making their own terrible sound effects while fighting over a burger.

All the while, I laughed. There was something undeniably sexy about watching Rhodes have fun—about seeing his controlled edges soften as he let loose.

“That’s three for three today,” Rhodes huffed out as he hit Jude’s tongs hard enough to send them scattering. The metal clattered against the patio. Jude barely had time to react before Rhodes grabbed him by the back of the neck and dragged him in against his side. “Get the hell out of here. Go bother someone else, you little shit.”

Jude shoved at him halfheartedly, but he was grinning. Rhodes gave him a playful shake before letting him go.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jude retorted. As he left, he called over his shoulder, “Need something to drink?”

“No, I’m good,” he called back.

“Theo?”

“No, I’m good,” I replied and took a pointed sip of water. I was good right where I was.

Jude disappeared back toward the rest of the team, leaving Rhodes and me with a suspicious amount of space between us. There were guys everywhere—spread across the yard, crowded around patio furniture, yelling over each other near the cooler—but we were close enough to being alone that Rhodes noticed.

“Shouldn’t you be hanging out with your friends instead of staying over here with your coach?” Rhodes asked.

I glanced toward the yard like I was genuinely considering it. Jude was trying to convince Wyatt to do something stupid with a folding chair while Sam and Brent were arguing over music. Half the defensive line had gathered around a lawn game and appeared to be rewriting the rules as they played. There were sharp objects involved, which meant maybe someone should’ve stopped them, but I just looked back at Rhodes.

“It’s not as fun.”

“I highly doubt that.”

He turned toward the grill again, which was a mistake, considering the view. I let my gaze drift down without even pretending otherwise.