“Not my kink,” Kieran says easily. “Lack of rope skills.”
Dalton snorts, then does a double take when he sees me. “Damn. Didn’t think you’d bring your girlfriend.”
Kieran doesn’t correct him.
He just pulls me a little closer.
Riley slides in, giving me a one-armed hug. “Good to see you, Wren. You keeping him from flunking that baby physics class?”
“Engineering 204,” Kieran mutters. “And it’s not easy.”
“Bro,” Dalton says, “you sent a crying-face emoji about partial derivatives. Just take the L.”
I lift my cup. “Extra sessions are needed, apparently.”
Kieran grins down at me. “See? This is why they like you.”
“Nah.” Riley laughs. “We like her because she hasn’t run screaming yet.”
“Because she’s got excellent taste,” another smooth voice says.
Reed.
He slots in at the edge of the circle, smile warm, posture loose, too easy. “Hey, Marin. Glad you came.”
Kieran rolls his eyes. “Ignore him. He’s been drunk on freshman attention since September.”
Reed lifts his bottle in an easy toast. “If they cheer, am I supposed to stop them?”
He looks completely harmless—loose grin, relaxed shoulders, voice a calm teal. For a moment, I almost don’t recognize him. This Reed doesn’t smirk or sneer like he did outside the locker room on game night.
This Reed feels...normal. Almost friendly.
My shoulders loosen a fraction. Though something cautious in me files the discrepancy away.
Aubrey appears beside me, warm and a little mussed. “There you are,” she says, looping her arm through mine. Her smile flicks to Kieran, then she turns to the guys. “Hi. I’m Aubrey.”
Riley straightens like someone jerked a string. “Hey. Riley.”
She tucks hair behind her ear. “Nice to meet you.”
Dalton elbows him. “Relax. She’s just saying hi.”
Reed chuckles. “Don’t worry. They bark worse than they bite.” He tips his bottle toward the kitchen. “I’m gonna grab fresh drinks. Anybody want anything?”
The guys call out orders.
“I’m good,” Aubrey says.
“A beer would be nice,” I add quietly.
Reed flashes that friendly smile. “Got you.”
He drifts toward the back, swallowed by the crowd. For a minute, it’s simple: noise and color and my hand in Kieran’s.
Then a crash erupts from the kitchen, glass shattering, voices spiking from orange annoyance to jagged red.
Riley winces. “They’re fighting over the blender again.”
