“Are you serious?” My breath caught. He’d been helping me a lot, which couldn’t be doing his ribs any favors. He only shot me anare you dumb or whatlook, so I hobbled toward the front of the tattoo parlor as fast as I could with his laughter chasing me.
Idling at the curb outside was KC’s orange Jeep Recon, which was big enough for everyone to fit in and then some. He hopped out and opened the door for me.
“Hey, buddy. How did you get suckered into this?” I asked, hop-shuffling forward.
He frowned as I maneuvered slowly into the Jeep, then lifted in my right leg. The pain wasn’t as bad as I’d worried it might be. He was tense, probably because he could’ve lifted me into the seat ten times faster than I’d moved, and he had the muscles from football to make it easy.
“Well, it was Barber’s turn to pick you up,” he said.
“Funny, you don’t look like Barber,” Will growled out. He got into the back. KC jogged around to the driver’s side and jumped in while we shut our doors and buckled.
The sun glinted in KC’s red hair as he popped on his sunglasses. “You know how Barber is. He means well, but?—”
“There’s always abutwith him.” I shook my head.
“I don’t have practice this afternoon, and I’m here.” He gave us a pleading smile. “Let him slide?”
“Did he pay you for this?” I asked.
He pulled the Jeep out into traffic. “Noooo.”
“You tell him I said he owes you a hundred bucks, and if he doesn’t pay up, I’ll tell King, and who knows how much it will be then.”
He snorted and gave me a mock salute. “Should I hope he pays or not?”
“Spoken like a future King. You should prospect.” Will leaned forward to smack KC’s shoulder.
I laughed while KC grimaced. We all knew his dad, Quain, would murder us before that ever happened.
“How’s football going?” Will asked.
I tuned out their small talk. As much as I’d been prepared to stick out a full day at the tattoo parlor, I was mentally worn down. Once we reached my house, KC was there, ready to help me inside, but I forced myself to walk my ass in, then collapsed on the couch. Will was right behind me and closed the door. I wanted to get up, do something, work on my bike—anything—but my ass was welded to the couch.
It was so frustrating.
“I’ll order food for dinner,” Will said, stealing my hat as he walked past, then dropped onto the armchair. He flung my hat on the coffee table.
My head fell back against the couch and might as well have weighed as much as a bowling ball. “I’m sorry I got so mad at you for being pissed off all the time. I’ve barely had a taste of what you went through, and I’m fucking over it.”
“Good.” Will smirked at me.
“Good? Good!?” I poked his leg with my crutch.
“Yeah, good, asshole.”
I grunted. “Why aren’t you telling me to man up?”
Will kicked my crutch away. “I love you, so I’m here.” He came over and sat beside me, and I scrunched down until I could rest my head on his shoulder.
“Want me to order food?”
“No.” I yawned and closed my eyes.
I had no idea how much time had passed, but I felt groggy when I opened my eyes. The shadows were longer in the room. Will was playing a game on his phone with one arm looped around me. Butterflies had a mosh pit in my stomach. He’d stayed with me.
A hiss snuck out of me as I shifted. My leg hurt, sure, but the bigger problem was the hard-on, which was getting strangled by my jeans and throbbing in time with my heartbeat.
“What were you dreaming about?” Will’s voice was smoky from disuse, and when I glanced at him, he was fixated on the same problem that had ninety-eight percent of my attention. He had the rest.
