It seemed once I graduated, without my friends and me, Pippa was lonely at school, which was weird. She excelled on the ski team, and she talked about a different guy almost every time we Facetimed, which was once a week since I was pretty sure my parents didn’t stay in touch with her much. Boarding school was easy for them in that way—drop us off and forget about us until a holiday.
Guilt at leaving her behind had dogged me during my first two years of college. Of course, when she followed me to Mountain State, I offered her the extra bedroom in my apartment. Why should she have to figure out her way in the dorms when I was right there?
Look where that had landed me.
“Single?” The hot guy who slid up in line beside me grinned.
“Yep.”
Chapter Nineteen
Wyatt
Theheavenly scentof Mom’s Christmas Eve barbecue welcomed me when I walked through the back door and into the house. I’d barely hung up my jacket when Ryan wrapped his meaty paws around me and lifted me off my feet.
“Merry Christmas, little brother!” His eyes danced as he held me suspended for another ten seconds.
“You’re not fast enough to outrun the ass-kickin’ you’re asking for,littlebrother.”
His laughter rang out, alerting Mom I was home.
“Boys! Donottear up my house on your first night home.” The smile on her face stole the power from her demand, but at least Ryan set me back on my feet. “Hello, Wyatt.” Now it was Mom’s turn to grab me up in a hug. “It’s so good to have you home, son.” She squeezed my waist in one of her signature Mom hugs I’d never tire of if I lived to be eighty.
“Is that barbecue I smell?” I asked when we let each other go with a smile.
“Chicken and ribs. Take your bag to your room and wash up. Dinner’s been waiting for you to arrive.”
Dad intercepted me at the pass-through between the kitchen and living room. “’Bout time you got here.” With a grin, he stuck out his hand, and we shook. “I’ve been smelling your mother’s cooking all day, and I’m so hungry, it feels like my throat’s cut.”
My older brother Dash was right behind Dad when he started the holiday with one of his signature sayings. On cue, Dash, Ryan, and I groaned. Only then did Dad pull me in for a hug.
“Good to see you, Wyatt.”
“Hey, bro!” Dash punched me on the arm, and I did my best not wince when his shot landed on a new bruise. “Merry Christmas.” He smirked and rubbed his arm when I reciprocated his greeting.
“Merry Christmas, Dash. Did you bring us a new game to test?”
“After dinner,” Mom insisted. “Put your stuff away so we can eat while it’s still edible.”
“Nice shirt. You wore that on the plane?” Dash grinned, and I glanced down at my T-shirt. This one read: “I’m on a whiskey diet. I’ve already lost three days.”
Glancing back at my older brother, I grinned back. “It’s not true—yet.”
He cracked up and followed Dad into the kitchen. I wasted no time dropping my duffel and a bag of presents in the middle of my bed and hustling out to join them.
Because they were thoughtful, my family waited until dessert to dissect the fiasco that was our last game of the season. As expected, Ryan led the charge.
“North Dakota’s O-line had your number yesterday. Your D-line couldn’t do a damn thing with them. No wonder you couldn’t penetrate them.”
We shared Mom’s light green eyes, but while his danced, no doubt mine were spitting fire. “I had six solo tackles and a couple of assists.” I shoved a bite of pumpkin pie in my mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “In case you missed my stats.”
“No sacks though. Before this last game, you were a sack machine.” He shrugged at my narrow-eyed glare. “It’s what happens when you run up against a real O-line.” With a smirk, he sat back and crossed his arms over his chest.
Poor move with half his pie still on his plate. In a flash, I’d snagged his dessert and plopped it on top of what I had left. Though Ryan was a big guy, he always took his time with his food. That habit had cost him on more than one occasion growing up with two older brothers. Guess he still hadn’t learned.
“Fu—” At Mom’s sharp intake of breath, he finished “—udge. Dick move, Wyatt.”
“It’s what happens when you’re running your mouth instead of paying attention.” I grinned around a triumphant bite of his pie. “What were you saying about O-lines?”
