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My phone beeped three times in quick succession, and I tugged it free from my pocket to find three messages from Ander. I hadn’t seen him before I left the house, so I’d texted him to wish him good luck for the match and to apologise for not being there.
Ander:
No apology necessary. I understand and I don’t expect you to cancel plans you’ve already made for me. Even though I’ll be soooo sad that you’re not there *crying emoji* *broken heart emoji*
Seriously though. Like I said before I want you to be happy *heart emoji*
AND FUCK YES WE’RE GOING TO WIN
I sent a quick text back, although I doubted he’d see it until after the match unless he happened to check his phone at half-time.
Me:
I am happy, and I want to be there for you. Good luck! You can do this
My phone beeped again, and I found myself smiling as Ander’s name appeared on my screen.
Ander:
You’re supposed to tell me how amazing I am and hype me up for the game
Me:
Sorry, I didn’t realise I’d been upgraded from best friend to your personal motivational coach. GO LSU! ANDER IS THE GOD OF THE PITCH! HE’S THE BEST PLAYER THAT EVER PLAYED ON THE LEFT WING!
Enough?
Ander:
No. Keep going
Me:
You don’t need me to tell you how amazing you are. But I will, whenever you want me to. I know you’re going to win and I’ll treat you to dinner afterwards, ok? Or if you have plans, we can do it tomorrow. I want to celebrate my best friend knocking Brighton out of the competition *fist bump emoji*
Ander:
Travis is glaring at me. Got to go. Yes to dinner. You’re amazing too BTW *heart emoji*
The little red heart blinked up at me, and I desperately suppressed the feelings that were trying to crawl their way to the surface. This was Ander. It meant nothing. For him, flirting came as easily as breathing, and I would never be one to fall into the trap of thinking that something like this from him meant more than it did.
“Hey.”
My head shot up from my phone screen to see Curtis grinning down at me. I returned his smile as I tucked my phone back into my pocket. “Hi. Nice setup you’ve got here.”
“I can’t take any credit. We just borrow the space.” He glanced up at the windows where the rest of the band was taking their places. “We’re about to start, but I’ll introduce you to the others afterwards. I hope you like the music. If not, pretend you do.”
I laughed. “I’m sure I will. I texted Cole after you’d invited me here, and he sent me the link to your YouTube channel. You guys are good.”
He shrugged modestly, his eyes alight with humour. “We’re not bad. Anyway, help yourself to the vending machine—it’s free, and enjoy.” Jogging away from me, he disappeared through the door to the right of the mixing desk, and I did as he’d suggested and grabbed a bottle of water from the vending machine.
The band started with a song I vaguely recognised—“Take Me Out” by Franz Ferdinand—before moving on to what must have been one of their original songs. A couple of minutes into it, the main door opened, and Cole entered the room, smiling when he saw me. “If it isn’t my favourite cousin.”
“Your favourite?” I raised a brow.
He threw himself down next to me, stretching out his legs in front of him, his knees poking out of his ripped jeans. “My favourite cousin who is also a student at LSU,” he amended. I stuck my tongue out at him, and he returned the gesture, both of us reverting to the children we probably were deep down inside.
“Same to you,” I told him. “Hey. They’re good, aren’t they?” I nodded towards the windows.
