“Wait!” Chloe holds her hand up from where she’s still sitting on the floor. “That’s a great picture. William, lean in a little bit.”
I bend down so I have one arm over the back of each of their chairs as Chloe snaps the camera.
“Okay, now turn it around and take a selfie,” I tell her.
Her eyes light up and her smile grows as she spins around, props herself up onto her knees, and holds out her camera. “Say, fuzzy pickles.”
“Fuzzy what?” William grumbles.
“These are going to be so good.” Chloe sets the pictures on the coffee table before standing. “I need to check with Monica about something anyway. I’ll go grab the knife while I’m there.”
I watch the natural sway of her hips as she makes her way out of the room. She’s wearing a jersey from some Irish rugby team, and I try to ignore the fit of rage the little green monster in me feels at the sight of another man’s name on her back. Instead, I focus on the little sliver of skin, peaking out below her shirt and just above her jeans that are hugging her hips like a second layer of skin.
“You ready to admit that’s your girl, yet?” William’s voice pulls me from my wandering thoughts.
I look down at the man who I’m pretty sure is only pretending to read his book now and sit down beside him.
“We know you like her. Everyone in the room, even with their terrible eyesight, can see it.”
Of course I like her. Everyone likes her. You’d have to be a complete idiot not to like her. Chloe is…fuck, she’severything.Down to the marrow in her bones, everything about her is incredible. She’s funny without trying. She’s loyal—even if it’s to a fault. She’s a goddamn smoke show. She stops at nothing, bending over backward for the people she cares about, and she never complains. Even when she has every right to. Every time I think about all the things she’s taking on, I’m exhausted. When she walks into a room, I swear it gets brighter. Her laugh feels like pure gold. And she’s the only person who has never looked at me like Maverick Hall the fuck up. She’s always just seen me. Wholly, purely, me. Just Mav. So, yeah, I fucking like her.
But she likes him. And I would be better off remembering that.
“It’s just easier this way,” I finally say.
“Sure. But is it better?” William sets his book down and looks at me from over the rim of his glasses. “You can’t wait for things to be perfect, kid. You gotta fight hard to get to the good stuff.”
“I’m not a world champion boxer, Willie.” I look down at my hands in my lap.
“You are. Just not in the ring.” He leans over and pats my knee. His thick gold wedding band catches my eye as it glints in the sunlight.
“Ooo, don’t move.” Chloe rushes to the coffee table, sets down the knife she’s carrying, and grabs her camera, pointing it at us. I lean in closer to my friend, draping my arm over his chair, and smile as the flash goes off.
“I’m sorry,beef?”
Chloe drops her head back, and her sweet giggle hits me right in the chest.
“They’re playing Bingo…for beef?” I ask again.
“Just watch out, kid. Two women nearly came to blows last time over a cut of ribeye,” William informs me.
“You’re lying.”
His lips thin, and he shakes his head once. “I wish I were.”
I’m dumbfounded looking at everyone settling in, elbows out, ready to win their cut—literally. “Who would get in a fight over beef?”
“Me.” Rosie scowls from beside me.
I’ve faced some tough people on the ice. I’ve even had to endure hockey practices with Noah’s brutal asshole of a dad. But when I look down at Rosie’s five-foot-nothing frame, it might be the first time I've actually been scared of someone.
“Come on.” Chloe wraps her fingers around my bicep, still giggling to herself. “We’ll sit back here.”
Three rounds later, the back ribs, the flank steak, and the roast have all been claimed.
Monica has been running the microphone, and after watching the way Rosie shouts every time she’s close—only for someone else to yell, “Bingo”—I thank the universe it’s not me up there.
“Is this how you thought you would be spending your Friday nights?”
