I laugh to myself as I replay the moment when it sprayed all over Cheyenne’s face. She gasped in total shock, but then followed it up by laughing so hard that she cried. I don’t think anyone else found it all that funny, but no one stops our fun.
The pranks began when we were teenagers as an innocent way to cheer Chey up for spending the holidays apart from her mom. But they’ve grown into something bigger over the years. Something everyone looks forward to.
Or ... at least, I do.
For the next fifteen minutes, I scroll through ideas, trying to find one that we haven’t done before. Finally, I land on one that I think could work, and I save the page to my favorites.
It’ll take a little doing, but it’s not impossible.
I plug my phone into the Car Play function and scroll through my playlists, searching for the best song to fit the mood, until I finally land on an upbeat pop song. It’snotmy forte, but the bass hits rather nicely. I put the truck in drive and bob my head along with the music as I head out of the gym parking lot.
Making a right, I start the twenty-five-minute drive to my house. Thanks to the holiday, we don’t have any games until next week, which is a nice break. It doesn’t always work out that way, but this year it does.
And I could use the rest.
I pull into my driveway, hitting the garage door opener. The large door rolls up, just as my phone pings with a notification, but I don’t bother to look at it until I’ve got the truck in park.
I cut the engine, close the garage door, andthenpick up my phone from the console. My heart jumps as I see Chey’s name on the screen.Weird.
Unlocking it, I swipe to open the thread.
Chey:Hope you’re ready for Turkey Day.
I chuckle, shaking my head at the little turkey emoji that sits at the end of the message, and quickly reply.
Me:You’re starting to sound a little cocky. Better watch your back.
I hit the send button and then climb out of my car, grabbing my gym bag. I sling it over my shoulder and head into the mudroom, pausing at the washer to dump my sweaty gym clothes in the machine. I might be a ball of fun, but I’m also a grown man who knows how to take care of himself. I don’t pay a maid to do the things I can do myself.
After putting my gym bag away in the closet, I head to the fridge and pull out a premade meal. I pop it in the microwave and wait for it to finish heating up, then check my messages again.
Chey:Hard not to be cocky when I’m this good. We both know I’m the best.
I chuckle.
Me:You’re going down this year.
I find a GIF of someone with a turkey on their head dancing and send that to her. Chey and I might be rivals—and I’ll totally kick her butt—but she’s also one of the coolest people I’ve ever met. Which is another reason that I can’t freakingstandher boyfriend. I mean, she’s dated other guys over the years, and some of them have been pretty okay. But Garrett? He gives me the worst vibes ever.
I push the thought away and grab my food out of the microwave, peeling back the plastic and eyeing the mush.
It’ll bemuchbetter next week when I’m eating Thanksgiving leftovers...
And basking in all my deserved glory of beating Cheyenne.
Chapter Four
Cheyenne
The Williamston driveway looks the same as it has for the past fifteen Thanksgivings: a row of autumn-colored mums lining the path to the front door, and the massive oak tree dropping its last few leaves onto the lawn. Located an hour outside the city, their home has always felt more like my own than anywhere else. A place where a girl with a constantly working nurse mom could feel rooted, even if just for holidays.
“Babe, are you sure we couldn’t have done the fancy brunch at the Elevation instead?” Garrett smooths out his burnt-orange pullover sweater—the one that probably costs more than Mrs. Williamston’s entire holiday grocery bill. “I still have a connection with the manager there.”
“For the fifth time, no.” I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “The Williamstons are my tradition. I’ve spent every Thanksgiving here since I was twelve. You know this.”
He sighs like I’ve asked him to donate a kidney. “Fine. But we’re leaving by seven. I have that call with the Singapore team tonight.”
“On Thanksgiving?” I ask, though I already know the answer.
