“Sounds boring,” I murmur, but both boys have already gotten started on their homework, tuning out my presence.
For the next several minutes, I pretend to busy myself, cutting an apple I have no interest in eating and putting some peanut butter into a small container.
I’m a little bummed that Gareth doesn’t pay me any attention, so with one more quick glance, I retreat to my bedroom.
My brother wears a look of amusement as I flick him in the back of the head when I pass by.
An hour later, the sound of footsteps and an eruption of male laughter grows closer as Dylan and his friend head upstairs. I purposely left my music low and only one earbud in so I could hear if they came up, hoping to maybe see Gareth again.
On silent toes, I stand by my door, eavesdropping first.
“You should just try out for the team, man. Who cares if you’ve never played. There’s plenty of new guys.”
“I’d never make it,” Dylan argues. “Plus, I’m not really a team sports kind of guy. I’d rather spend my time in the water.”
“Because Ridgewood is so close to the beach, right?”
“Hey, an hour isn’t bad.”
“Yeah, and how often are your parents making that drive for you? Just think about it! It’s a no-cut team, so you’d make it. Coach’s version of a tryout is basically a verbal interview. He justwants to make sure you’re not a total shit-bag and you’re actually going to put in the effort.”
“And if I don’t put in the effort? Or I do, and it’s not up to his standards?”
“Then he’ll kick your ass off.” Gareth laughs, and I can’t help but to smile. “I’ll help you. Don’t worry.”
Their conversation fades as they go into Dylan’s room, but their loud footsteps still echo against the hardwood floors. Dylan’s obnoxious laugh is apparent; their muffled voices still deep in conversation while drawers slam.
What the heck is Dylan doing?
Minutes later, heavy footsteps descend the stairs.
That was quick.
I could have followed them into Dylan’s room—plopped onto my brother’s bed to bug him like I do pretty much on the daily, but I hesitated for too long.
And Dylan getspissedwhen I hijack his time with his friends—not that I care.
But you know what? Downstairs is public domain. He can’t stop me from hanging out in the living room.
A few more seconds pass by as I stand at my bedroom door, my hand hovering over the doorknob while I listen.
ForwhatI’m not entirely sure, but the hallway is silent. There’s only a low murmur of voices from downstairs.
Why am I nervous?
Sure, Gareth is probably the hottest guy I’ve seen, but he’s literallyjusta guy.
I snort at myself for getting so hung up on someone I just met.Especiallysomeone my brother is friends with.
Ew.
Shaking my head, I open the door.
Then I nearly collide with the guy leaning against the wall right next to my bedroom.
“Ah—” I jump back, my heart racing in surprise.
“Sorry.” Gareth raises his hands in surrender. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
