“We love having Little Sanderson at the house,” Jax adds. “She made dinner, and I mean, a homemade meal after practice is heaven.”
“Doesn’t mean you still shouldn’t call,” I respond. “How did you get here anyway? Did you call a cab?”
“No, I walked.”
“From your dorm?”
“Yes, Declan. I have these things called legs, and I used them to walk across campus and to your house.”
“Brinley, it was dark. Do you know how dangerous that could’ve been?”
“Alright,Dad,won’t happen again.” She knows I hate it when she calls me that.
“Well, our actual dad says hi.”
I grab a beer from the fridge and open it, then down about half.
I don’t usually drink.
Okay, I take that back; I know how to let go at a good party, but I don’t drink just to drink.
Except when Thomas Sanderson is involved.
“He was here?”
“Unfortunately,” I whisper. “I take it you guys didn’t leave me any food?”
I’ve put up with enough Thomas Sanderson tonight that I don’t need to talk about him too.
And after the lovely class, I had with Ember this morning, tonight’s training wasn’t nearly intense enough to burn up all the tension.
“In the microwave.” I turn to the stairs and watch Fletcher come down them. He heads to the fridge and grabs a beer, popping it open before jumping over the couch to get in on the game.
I place my food on for three minutes and sit on the counter while I wait.
“No Tate tonight?” Brinley wonders as Fletcher grabs a controller.
“Nah, she said she had to get her apartment set up,” he replies.
“Which is code for help me set up my apartment,” Brinley groans. “I swear, you boys are so dense.”
Tatum Lewis is Fletcher’s best friend and nothing more, or at least that’s what he tells us. They grew up together, even more so than we did, being next-door neighbors and all.
“She told me she had it under control,” he says.
“And you’re supposed to go anyway,” she continues. “That’s what she wants.”
“Why can’t girls just say exactly what they want us to do?” He grumbles, setting his beer on the coffee table along with his controller. “Like what is with the mind games?”
Before my three-minute timer even goes off, Fletcher is gone.
Just friends, my ass.
“You want in on this next round?” Zeke wonders as the game ends. I grab my food out of the microwave and shake my head.
“Nah, man.” I shove half a chicken breast in my mouth, not even caring about how hot it is; I’m starving. “I’m beat and have some homework,” I say through a full mouth.
“It’s the first day, bro; you can push it off one day,” Zeke says, waving the controller in the air.
