I’ve also put on fifteen pounds of solid muscle and increased my alcohol tolerance.
Vaughn snorts. “This from the asshole who wrapped all of our keys in duct tape last week.”
“I told you it wasn’t me.” I tip my bottle at him. “You better believe I’d own that shit if it was.”
And I for damn sure wouldn’t have wrapped my own stuff. Talk about a pain in the ass. My keys are still sticky.
“Better watch your back.” Reid leans against the counter and crosses his ankles. “Looks like the reigning king of pranks is about to be dethroned.”
“No way.” I smirk. Locker room pranks are my jam. “Nobody can touch me.”
Facts.
But Reid might be on to something. Coach went on a rampage after Spellman, our kicker, busted his leg during a preseason dare, so I’ve been keeping a low profile. But I haven’t forgotten the itching powder in my jock strap the first week of practice.
Not cool.
“Jesus.” Vaughn takes a pull on his beer. “I didn’t think it was possible, but your head might actually be bigger than your biceps.”
“And yet it’s still smaller than your beard,” I shoot back, eying the giant bush on his face as Reid and Parker convulse with laughter. “Soon it’s going to need its own zip code.”
Vaughn flushes and gives me the finger, which is basically our love language.
The guy is like a brother to me, but he really needs to lighten up.
Life’s too short to be taken so seriously. Once you figure out what really matters, you fight like hell to protect it, and let all the rest go.
“Is that jealousy I detect?” I flex, showcasing the biceps I’ve worked so hard to strengthen. “If you want to touch them, all you have to do is ask.”
“Hard pass.”
“Your loss.” I wink at him and drain my beer in one long chug. Then I toss the empty into the recycling bin and grab another from the fridge.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out to check my messages and grin when I see a familiar name on the screen.
Padawan: Leather pants. Yay or nay?
Padawan: NM. Leather pants=trying too hard, right?
Leather pants? Who is this girl?
Just ask.
No way. I’m not trying to ruin a good thing.
Yeah, because a DeLaurentis giving dating advice is a great fucking idea.
I bitch slap the voice in my head and tap out a reply.
Me: Leather pants are always a good idea.
Damn right they are. I stare at the screen, ignoring the guys, and wait for the three little dots to appear. She doesn’t let me down.
Padawan: I don’t know… I don’t want to look desperate.
Pretty sure desperate people don’t worry about looking desperate, but I’m not exactly an expert on the subject.
Me: If you’re not feeling it, skip them.
