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The door opened on cue, as always. Seriously, I swore Tray stood in the hall waiting to make an entrance. And this time he’d brought reinforcements, also known as Slater and Giovanni. “Make that boys, plural.”
“And girl,” Kizzy called, bringing up the rear of the motley crew.
“Can’t forget her.” Tray shot me an apologetic glance. He knew I wasn’t up for big gatherings on the best of nights, and it was the evening before the fight. He crossed the room to brush a kiss over my head and dropped to his knees to wrestle with Vey. “I headed to the gym to pick up some stuff after class and picked up this bunch too.”
“Where are we going to put all these people, Trayherne? There aren’t enough seats at the table—” As if she’d just realized she wasn’t home, Mrs. Knox fell silent.
“We’ll grab seats on the sofa and the floor, Mrs. K. No worries.” Slater headed over to kiss her cheek. He then strolled into the kitchen and pinched Carly’s butt. “What’s happening, hot stuff?”
“Asshole.” But she laughed as she spun around to give him a hug, holding her dripping spatula over his shoulder. “What’s—” She broke off as she noticed Giovanni lurking by the door, looking for all the world like he’d rather be anyplace else. “Jeez, brought home enough peeps, Fox?” Because I knew my sister better than anyone in the world, I could see how much she was struggling to act casual. “How am I supposed to feed all these people?”
“I can run to the store,” Giovanni offered, his hand already closing around the knob.
I felt his pain. The sheer amount of bodies in my small apartment—though I loved them all, minus Gio himself—was a little boggling.
This might be the first and last time I ever had anything in common with Giovanni Costas.
“No, we’re fine. I always buy extra so there’s leftovers anyway.” Carly eased away from Slater and turned back to the stove. Normally she would’ve kept the conversation going as she cooked, but not tonight.
One guess why.
“I’m going to go lay down for a bit before dinner,” Mrs. Knox announced, shuffling her mementoes of Tray back into their box.
“Hey, hey, hold it. Look at this gem.” Slater snatched a snapshot of Tray wearing Captain America underwear and brandishing a toy sword. “Holy shit, this is going right up on EBay. Former hot shot fighter, stripped down to his skivvies. I’d make a mint.”
“Give me that.” Tray leaned across the table and snatched it out of Slater’s hand. Well, tried to. A minor tussle occurred, with Mrs. Knox racing to get the rest of her photos put away before the idiots ripped them to shreds in their tug-o-war.
“Did someone say boys in skivvies? Hell the fuck yeah.” Kizzy lurched across the table and made her own grab for the photo.
And promptly tore it in two.
“Called it,” I said under my breath, shaking my head.
“Hey, I got the dick half. Aces.” Catching Mrs. Knox’s less than amused stare, Kizzy cleared her throat. “Uh, hi there, Mrs. Knox. Sorry about the picture. Yo, Carlsbad, we got any Super Glue up in this joint?”
“Carlsbad?” Tray muttered, standing up as Vey abandoned him to make the rounds around the room to all the new visitors. He sniffed everyone and happily wagged his tail as he got his usual head pats and requisite loving.
Then he meandered over to Giovanni and settled down atop his shoes as if he didn’t intend to move for the rest of the evening.
Giovanni crouched to stroke his flank, murmuring softly to his new friend. For the first time, he didn’t look as ill-at-ease as I felt. Not that I cared.
Not your friend. Not anything to you.
Just because Tray had decided they were pals all of a sudden didn’t mean I intended to follow suit. Even if I had been weakening in that direction—which I absolutely was not—I still didn’t like the way he looked at my sister. Or the way she reacted to him. Every time they were in the same space, I wanted to go take a cold shower from all the damn sexual vibes.
And that’s when they weren’t looking at or talking to each other. I didn’t want to be around when and if that changed.
“How’s your new boyfriend, Carly Ann?” I asked, loudly enough for everyone to hear. Probably our neighbor in 3C had even heard.
She continued chopping vegetables. Maniacally. If she kept that up, she’d need carpal tunnel surgery in no time.
“Not sure which boyfriend you mean, Mia.”
Her tone indicated I should drop the subject. But who was I to take subtle warnings?
“You know, the guy you slept with last week from the Salad Hut. He sounded pretty nice.”
A hush fell over the assembled crowd. Considering the loudmouths present, that was pretty impressive.
