"Okay," I say on a laugh.
Tate pshaws. "Jesus, Carlin, is that a book?" When the table laughs, he adds, "Leave it to Carlin to bring homework to happy hour."
"Hey," I shoot back lightly, "I'll sign up for books at happy hour every single time."
"Here, here," Cass says, raising her pint.
"Nerrrrrrrds,"Tate calls, winking at me as Cass and I clink our glasses together.
I'm filled with an effervescence, a bubbling warmth of belonging and friendship that I haven't felt in a long, long time. After high school, my friends moved away, leaving me with nothing but my parents. And while I love them, they're not enough. That life isn't enough. But this?
This could be.
CHAPTER 5
SUNSHINE LOLLIPOPS
GREY
My phone just buzzed so many times, it can only mean one thing.
The group chat.
I sigh, diverting my attention from the view through the microwave window as my burrito spins around, unevenly heating despite the technology of the twenty-first century. When my phone shows thirty-four unread messages, I could puke. I skim them, deducing the gist of it--they want me to come to The Horseshoe for happy hour.
Remy: Come on, Coach. I know you're heating up one of those nasty high protein burritos. At least come get some real food.
Grey: It has twenty-nine grams of protein, dude.
Tate: It tastes like unsalted ass, dude.
Remy: Listen, I know you have a whole routine and all. Nasty burrito at 6:15. Shower at 6:30. A million pushups at 6:45. Meal prep at 7. Go to bed because you're old.
Grey: Watch it, Winchester. Just because you're not on my team anymore doesn't mean I can't beat your ass.
Remy: Tell you what--come on down here and I'll let you take one shot for free. Just not in face. I gotta take team photos next week.
Tate: Nobody likes a braggart, Remy.
Remy: Nobody likes an asshole, Tate.
Grey: Nobody likes either of you.
Wilder: Don't listen to them, Grey. You should come down though. Just one beer. Gang's all here--even Carlin and Molly.
I pause at that. When the burrito explodes in my microwave, I sigh.
Grey: Fine. But only because my dinner just blew up thanks to y'all.
Tate: We're not even there.
Grey: You're here in spirit. That's enough to ruin anybody's dinner.
Remy: LOL
Tate: Well, fuck you very much too, Coach.
I leave my phone on the counter and head for my room, glancing in my full-length mirror. What I find stops me for a second that I use to inspect the man on the other side. I'm as big as I ever was, thanks to my unsalted ass burritos and a regimented workout routine. I still have my hair, but it's a shade lighter than it used to be, with streaks of grey at my temples thanks to the fuckers in that group chat, no doubt. But I'm starting to shift from distinguished to justold. I've got fine wrinkles around my eyes and across my brow, made worse by the tens of thousands of hours I've spent in the sun. I bet there are more under my beard, probably the beginnings of a waddle under my chin too. God help me if I ever have to shave. I'll die happy having no idea what's under there.
