“Goddamn, someone get them off stage,” Brett grunts next to me.
“Amen,” I mutter.
I follow behind them and we make our way to a table. “Why are we here?” I ask as we sit down.
“What’s wrong with here?” Brett challenges.
I don’t know the guy very well, but he seems a little bit moodier than normal, and by the way his friends look at him, I’m not the only one picking up on his piss-poor mood.
“I didn’t say anything was wrong with here, I just wasn’t expecting a karaoke bar.”
Wyatt grunts as he takes a seat next to me. “They have some bomb-ass mozzarella sticks.”
“I’m partial to the fried pickles,” Beckett says as he takes a handful of peanuts that are in a bowl in the middle of the table.
Clay shakes his head as he stares at him. “How many times have I told you not to eat those? We don’t know who’s touched them and where their hands have been.”
“A little bit of germs won’t kill me.” Beckett winks.
“Yeah, but it might take you out for a game,” Wyatt points out.
“Then we will really be fucked,” Brett mutters.
Clay sighs and stares at me from across the table, silently sayingwhat can you do?
Fuck, this is awkward. I don’t know these guys as well as I should, and I don’t know where to start after spending all of last year hating them. Still, they went out of their way to try and bridge the gap between us by inviting me. I know they are only doing it because of Cora, but still I’m thankful that they are trying, and I know I need to do the same.
I clear my throat. “Thanks for inviting me.”
“Don’t mention it,” Brett mumbles.
Clay opens his mouth to say something, but a big, burly motherfucker stares down at our table.
“What can I get you kids?” he grumbles.
“Hey, Burt, can I get a round of waters for my friends and a pitcher of beer for myself?” Brett says.
Burt grunts. “Anything else?”
“Fries, please,” I say when he looks at me.
“Mozzarella sticks with extra marinara sauce, please,” Wyatt says.
“Fried pickles, please,” Beckett says.
Burt looks at Clay.
Clay sighs. “I guess I’ll take some fries, please.”
Without saying anything, Burt turns around and walks away.
“Don’t look so glum, James. We all know you love fries,” Beckett says as he pops another table peanut into his mouth.
Clay winces. “You know I take my in-season diet seriously.”
“Season hasn’t started yet.” Brett points out.
“But it does soon,” Clay says, trying to defend himself.
