“Why do people keep giving him sharp objects?” Kennedy asks.
I point my crossbow at her. “I’m responsible now, Kens.”
“That’s what you said last year. Do you remember what happened?”
“Nothing that caused permanent damage.”
Her hands immediately land on the fake weapon, pushing it down and away from her.
“Come on, it’s not real,” I say.
She shrugs, replying cheekily, “Better safe than sorry.”
“What are your costumes?”
Volk drops an arm protectively over Kennedy’s shoulders. “It’sStranger Things,” he says, like it should mean something. When I only stare, he asks, “Wait—you don’t know that show?”
“No…” I say, drawing out the O.
Kennedy nudges him in the ribs. “You had no idea about this show until I forced you to watch it. And then you were always like”—Kennedy drops her voice and puts on her best Russian accent, which isn’tthatbad—“Kennedy, come over. We need to watch the next episode.”
“That’s not why I invited you over.” Volk gives her a lazy grin, enough to force a gagging sound from me.
Kennedy cutely smiles back, the look they exchange speaking a language the rest of us aren’t privileged to know.
I fucking want that.
“Come on, guys,” I groan.
“What?” Volk plays dumb, exaggerating a shrug and sending his voice an octave higher. “I invited her over totalkabout the show. Get that trash out of the gutter.”
“Mind,” I mutter, but Volk ignores me. He always thinks he knows common phrases better than the rest of us, even though English is his second language.Stubborn pain in the ass.
Kennedy leans into him, hearts in her eyes as she stares up at his face. “Trash makes more sense.”
Volk plants a kiss on her forehead. I turn away, no longer wanting to intrude on their private moment.
Then I see her and lose my damn breath. Finley stands at the kitchen counter, holding a glass to her lips as she surveys the room.
Please be looking for me.
A bright red wig covers her blond hair and stops at her collarbone. A black shirt reveals a sliver of her stomach above black leather pants clinging to her strong legs. The entire outfit emphasizes the muscles she uses to excel in her sport, and knowing that makes the already sexy sight even hotter.
Sufficient words do not exist to describe her.
“This is why you need a girlfriend,” Kennedy says, but I don’t know why she’s saying it.
“What?” I rip my gaze from Finley before everyone reads the forbidden thoughts on my face.
I try to rearrange my expression, but the smirk on Volk’s face confirms what everyone’s always told me—they can read my every emotion.
“To elevate your life,” Kennedy clarifies. Volk’s chin rests on her head, his arms draped over her shoulders. Her hands grip his forearms.
“Don’t say another word,” Matt chimes in as he sidles up to our group. His light-blue denim jacket flutters wide to show off his bare chest and abs. Boxers rise out of his jeans, the white waistband readingKen. “I don’t need another year of drama like when you two idiots caused a media shitstorm.”
There’s a tic in Volk’s jaw. Matt knows better than to say anything critical of Kennedy in his vicinity. When they temporarily broke up two years ago for reasons still unknown to me, Volk wouldn’t tolerate one bad word about her.
“It was good for the team,” Kennedy argues.
