"You're trash, dude! Actual garbage. Take the L!" Liam shouts.
"Shut up, you button-mashing gremlin," Luke fires back, jabbing his controller like it owes him money.
I shake my head, trying not to laugh.
They'realwaysat each other's throats when it comes to video games—two hyper-competitive sore losers who'd rather die than let the other get bragging rights.
But throw them on the ice together? Different story.
Suddenly, they've got insane chemistry, like they share one brain cell that only activates during hockey. A deadly duo.
Meanwhile, Cody's sprawled on the couch like he's king of the idiots, phone in hand, thumbs moving faster than the twins'. Grinning so wide it's obvious he's texting something dirty.
Dude's multitasking like he's got a side hustle as a call center rep, switching between probably three different women at once. Maybe five. I don't even wanna know.
I mean, how he doesn't mix them up is beyond me. If it were somebody else, he'd end up calling one 'babe' and sending her the wrong ass pic meant for someone else.
But Cody? Nah. Guy's running a whole damn rotation like it's the NBA.
Cody notices me first, finally tearing his eyes off his phone long enough to toss me a nod.
"Where were you, man? Thought we were meeting at La Playa to cook up the master scheme."
Liam glances over. "Yeah, dude. You bailed. Knew it was too good to be true when you offered to pay for drinks." He grumbles, "Should've known you were running a scam."
Before I can answer, Luke lets out a full-on war cry—"BOOM, HEADSHOT, BABY!"—and starts doing this obnoxious little victory hop in place.
Liam's eyes snap back to the screen just in time to watch his player ragdoll across the digital battlefield.
"You cheating sack of shit!" Liam shoves at his twin's arm, nearly knocking the controller out of his hands.
Luke barks out a laugh. "Cheating? Bro, I'm just better. Accept your L."
"Better my ass. You cheated! Like always!"
"Yeah, yeah. You're just a sore loser, bro. Like always."
They're back at each other's throats in seconds, arguing like COD refs are about to storm the room and review the tapes.
Cody and I both lose it, laughing while Liam and Luke keep jabbing each other like five-year-olds fighting over a Happy Meal toy.
"Where's Taylor, anyway?" I ask, scanning the living room like she might pop up from behind the couch cushions. No sign of her.
"Taylor?YourTaylor?" Luke pipes up without even blinking, eyes still glued to the screen while his thumbs go feral on the controller. The twins are already mid-rematch.
I roll my eyes. "She's notmyTaylor, dumbass."
I fish out my phone, thumb hovering to hit call—except the screen stays black. Dead. Perfect. Forgot Iforgotto charge it earlier.
"How about Kent?" I mutter, irritation bubbling. "I told him to bring Taylor here like an hour ago."
"He hasn't come back yet. I think," Cody says, not even looking up from whatever thirst trap he's texting.
"What?" I'm already halfway to the door, ready to peel out to Taylor's place myself, when the stairs creak.
Kentaro appears at the landing, and I sigh in relief.
"Yo, when'd you get back?" Cody asks.
