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“Yeah, none of us like to party really, but because he’s part of the football team he feels obligated to go out occasionally to celebrate a win or whatever.” Jason pauses before he adds, “So about the foster system—”
“Jason!” I throw my hands up, exasperated by his persistence.
He comes to stand in front of me and places his hands on my shoulders. “I just want to get to know you better, dollie.”
The concern and curiosity on his face has my internal walls coming all the way up. Why does he want to know more about me? Is this some sort of trick? Is he planning to use it against me later somehow?
“No, don’t look at me like that! I like how you’ve been looking at me all day. Not like this,” Jason mutters softly as his brows pinch together.
What’s he talking about? I shake my head, confused. “How have I been looking at you?”
“Like you’re actually enjoying my company.”
Blood rushes to my face, causing my cheeks to warm. He noticed me watching him? Me, Jason, and Trip spent the rest of the day together, and it was weirdly nice. It was fun seeing where Trip works. The small warehouse was bustling with activity. The employees that were around greeted Trip and Jason like family, and immediately, I was welcomed into the chaos.
It was weird seeing Jason there, inside Trip’s world. He fit in perfectly. He knew the names of all the employees, and even jumped in to help when it was needed. When they weren’t chatting with the workers, Jason and Trip bantered back and forth like the old friends they are. It was adorable. Even when we left to go to the grocery store, the ease with which the two of them interacted, and included me into the mix, I’d felt just as comfortable as I had the night before.
My guard has been down all day, and it’s been freeing. So why am I letting it shoot back up right now?
It could be because we’re not on neutral ground anymore. Being out and about had been refreshing. The stolen looks between us, the occasional brush of our hands against one another. The flirting was not only subtle and refreshing, but alsonice.Now, we’re back in the apartment. Last night was great, but they were back to playing with me this morning. Am I a friend or a victim of blackmail? I just don’t know where I stand, and this back and forth is giving me whiplash.
“I’m not the bad guy, Bri.” Jason steps closer to me, into my personal space. “Look, I know this started off—”
“We’re back!” Trip calls as the front door opens. I jump back, away from Jason, and turn to watch Trip trudge in with Grant right on his heels.
I start to move away from Jason, but he grabs my hand as the two of them come over.
“Look at what dollface made for us.” He waves his free hand at the table. “You got home just as everything came out of the oven.”
Grant whistles as his eyes sweep over the table. He’s freshly showered and wearing a plain t-shirt and jeans. When his gaze moves to me and Jason, I don’t miss the way he catches sight of our hands joined together. Self-consciously, I tug my hand free. I glare at Jason before stepping away. What is he up to?
I wave Grant toward the table. “Sit you guys, I’m going to grab the champagne. I hear Groveton won tonight so we have two things to celebrate.”
“How’d you manage to get out of Ryan’s party this time? Is he just tired of your shit, Grant?” Jason teases as he and the others sit around the table.
Trip snorts. “I had to pry him away from the team.”
“No you didn’t,” Grant objects. “I had every intention of coming straight back here.”
“I don’t think the cheerleader who was practically giving you a handy on the locker room bench thought you had no intention of going to the party with her,” Trip says, chuckling as he sits.
I stiffen as my hand wraps around the neck of the champagne bottle. So much for being the “only person we’re fucking.” Unjust anger heats the blood in my veins. I’m tempted to storm off and let them eat the meal I slaved over. But if I do that, they may get the wrong idea. I shouldn’t care that someone else has been touching Grant. And I don’t. Idon’t. Holding on firmly to that thought, I turn around and head over to the table. I just catch the tail end of a look between Grant and Trip before they look up at me. Trip stands and takes the bottle from me.
“Let me do that. I don’t trust you not to shoot your eye, or ours, out with the cork,” he smirks at my sputtering.
“I wouldn’t do that!”
“Sure you wouldn’t, dollface.” He nods but continues to undo the foil.
I take my seat, one I strategically placed on the other end of the table. I am not eating this meal on the floor. As I sit down, I shoot Grant a defiant look. He stares at me from across the table, his expression serious. I try not to squirm under the intensity.
“Dig in before it gets cold,” I say, chickening out and dropping my gaze to the food on the table.
Trip pops the bottle with a grunt and grabs my glass to pour me some champagne first. Hands begin to reach across the table for sides and the clatter of utensils fill the room.
“Crab and lobster tonight? Aren’t we extra fancy,” Grant notes.
“It’s what Pianna and I would make when there was something to celebrate back home.” And when we wanted a pick-me-up after Pianna went through another devastating breakup.
