Page 4 of Striking Range

I can feel the blush as it creeps up my neck, hearing Henry’s snicker as everyone watches the color develop.

Everett’s thigh presses against mine as he coos, “Yeah, such a good boy!”

I shoot him a glare. “Shut up, Evie, or I’m flushing your toothbrush.”

“What can I get you kiddies?” Jenny prompts once she’s done assaulting my cheek.

“I’ll take the grilled cheese and fries with a Sprite, and Sky will do the chicken strip basket with a Powerade,” Everett answers smoothly, eyes fixed on his second napkin airplane.

I don’t correct him—he’s right. We know each other well, the way best friends of twelve years do. Kelly and Henry give their order to Jenny, and we settle into a comfortable conversation.

“Your birthday is Saturday, right? What’s the plan?” Kelly asks me, her bright pink hair tied up on her head, her soft features curious.

“I’m not too sure yet. What do you think?” I turn my attention to Everett, his broad shoulders hunched over his plane, brown eyes narrowed.

“Huh? Oh, maybe we have a party at your apartment or something. Get wasted. What else is there to do for twenty-two?”

I shrug in response. “Good point.”

“I’m down for that. We can invite your teammates too if you want,” Henry adds. His hands are arranging and then rearranging the condiments, his short ginger hair reflecting the diner lights. Freckles cover his face, and he scrunches his nose as Kelly takes away the salt and pepper shakers.

“Sure, whatever works,” I say casually.

We eat in relative silence, enjoying each other’s company and relishing the win of the day. Between practice, my last year of college, and work, it’s hard to find time to do nothing these days. It makes moments like this one important to me. These three people are the closest to me, outside of my parents.

Henry went to high school with Everett and me. We met him when we were sixteen, and he has always been this excitable—a fun and genuine kind of guy.

Kelly is a year younger than us. We met her in our second year of college when she ended up in one of Henry’s general education classes. The one he had to retake because he slept through the final exam his first year.

Since then, the four of us have been our own little group. Sure, we have other friends, but most of the time it’s just us four—or just me and Everett.

After dinner, we all say goodbye, and Everett and I head back to my apartment. Sinclair Public College is a thirty-minute drive from our old neighborhood, Rockhill Heights, so I moved into a place close to campus sophomore year. Everett still lives with his adoptive parents, but he spends a good amount of time at my place.

“Ugh, I’m beat.” I drop onto the couch.

Everett sets my duffel by the front door, releasing a long sigh as he collapses onto the cushion next to me. “I bet. You played well.”

He raises his fist, bumping knuckles with me, then proceeds to grab the remote and put on Ghost Adventures for background noise.

“Have fun surfing?” I ask him, rolling my head to the left so I can see him clearly. His lashes create a shadow over his cheekbones.

Everett shrugs, his socked foot bumping into mine as he bounces his leg. “Yeah. The tide was a bit low today, though.”

I tsk, staring at where his bicep is pressed to mine. “Scary. Be careful.”

“Always am.” He turns his head and catches me looking at his arm. I meet his gaze. “What?” he asks through a soft smile.

“Nothing.” I turn my attention to the TV. “Are you going home tonight?”

“Do I have to?”

I pick at the bottom of my shorts as I say, “No. Not if you don’t want to.”

“Then no.” It’s quiet for a moment before Everett sighs, sitting up to stretch. His back pops. “Alright, go shower so we can go to bed. And if you kick me tonight while I’m sleeping, I will hold you down and pop every single one of your knuckles.”

Everett dodges my incoming fist, jumping off the couch and sprinting into my bedroom with a loud laugh. Once he’s gone, I let myself smile, soaking in the comfort of him being here. I like it when he stays with me, when I can pretend we’re roommates. It’s much less lonely than my reality.

The next morning, I’m making breakfast when Mom calls. Everett comes into the kitchen post-shower, snatching the plate of eggs and bacon from my hand like I’ve made them for him.