He slaps my ass as I walk past. “Good answer. And I see that you’re hard by the way.”
“Fuck you. You shouldn’t look good in an outfit that ridiculous.”
Wolfe grins, pressing his hips forward so I see the outline of his dick.
“Fuck.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “It’s going to be a long day.”
He puts our luggage in the back of the car. “It really is.”
“Why are you so tired?”
“We fucked three times last night. Are you not?”
“Three? I remember two.” I think about it.
“You don’t remember waking me up at three am?”
“I really thought that was a dream…” I make a face but don’t feel bad.
“It wasn’t, and I’m not saying I’m mad, but I hope you know this will not be sustainable.”
I laugh. “You used to get laid nearly every day.”
“Once, and then I got my full eight hours of sleep. I will be training harder with the pros, too!”
“Sounds like excuses to me.” I fight a smile.
“Are you trying to kill me?”
I just grin. “No, but I have a lot of time to make up for.”
It’s bakingwhen we get to the club. Everyone will be sweating before long, but thankfully. they have umbrellas for those not being photographed to stand under, and lots of booze. Wolfe strolls over and fits right in with all the guys in a way I never could, and they all love his goddamn tracksuit. All my homophobic uncles. Everyone. Doing something I could never do. They ask him how to get one, like they’d support a team outside of Georgia.
It’s a formal fucking event. How no one even bats an eye at the tracksuit is beyond me. I give up on trying to understand bro culture.
“Are we going to get a photo with you and Atticus?” my mother asks as we’re finishing up.
“No. Maybe we can grab the photographer after the ceremony.”
“But he looks so cute in his hockey warm-ups.”
I narrow my eyes, finally figuring out what he did. He’s made himself stand out as the best sports bro. They all know he’s going pro and probably about the national championship, and he played into it. The psychology of straight men is wild. It’s basically cavemen: I hit ball best, admire me.
If he throws me over his shoulder later, I’ll know.
We have some downtime before the ceremony, for my sister to change outfits? Since this was her first look dress, whatever the fuck that means.
The rest of the day passes pretty uneventfully, which I’m happy about. My sister is on her third outfit by the time we get tothe dancing part of the reception, and then after her first dance, her bridesmaids help her do something, and her dress comes apart magically so she’s in a minidress.
“I can’t believe she’s on outfit number four,” I whisper to him.
“What?” He looks around.
“Have you not been watching the first dance?” I ask.
“No, I was looking at you.”
My chest heats. “Why?”
