“No he didn’t just Z snap!” Knox says bouncing up and down. “And with all the sass of the sun hat and shades. All he’s missing is a little umbrella in his drink.”
Beckett chimes in, “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Now you’ve done it!” Callum laughs.
“I was simply saying… that Emmett likes umbrellas in his drinks. Just a fact. When did you get so sensitive, priss pot?” Knox presses.
“Priss pot? Who are you calling a priss pot?” Beckett asks standing up.
Knox lunges forward, putting Beckett in a chokehold. “You, pretty boy.”
The two of them wrestle, falling to the ground rolling around. Mounting and flipping one another over.
“Boys!” I call out.
They both stop moving and look at me.
“Are you done?”
They look at each other and Beckett mumbles, “I’m not a priss pot.”
“Fine, I’ll leave the pot off next time,” Knox says, pushing Beckett off him.
Beckett stands and reaches down to help Knox up, but when Knox reaches for him, Beckett swipes his hand through his hair. “Ooh.” He laughs. “Just kidding.” He reaches back down again and grabs Knox’s hand, pulling him up.
“Can I have my hat and sunglasses now?” I ask Emmett, who’s still standing there with the pitcher in hand.
“Yes, darling. Though I thought I looked rather fetching in it.”
“So fetch.”
He leans down and gives me a kiss as he plants the hat on my head.
This is how the rest of the day goes. Sitting in beach chairs under the umbrellas that Callum sat out for us, playing games, drinking drinks, and just having a general great time. Everyone is happy and smiling. Even Lizzy and Jax share a moment, teaming up for a game of bocce ball against Emmett and me.
I assumed Lizzy wanted to be on my team, but the little twat picked Jax.
God love her!
We all decide to go back to the house in the early afternoon to take showers and get ready for dinner. Beckett, Emmett and I are the first out of the shower, so Beckett and I head towards the game room to play while Emmett goes downstairs to start cooking dinner. We both offer to help, but he turns us down. He loves to be in the kitchen, with just him, his tools, and his thoughts.
“Darts?” I ask.
“Yes. If you want to get beat. I’ve been practicing quite a bit lately,” Beckett goads.
“I’m pretty sure I can still beat you.”
“We’ll see.”
I throw the first dart, hitting the double twenty.
“Strong start.”
Beckett throws his dart and gets triple sixteen just as his phone rings. When I flip it over, I see it’s mom.
“Why is she calling?”
“I don’t know. I’m not a telepath.”
