“I’m Brylynne,” the brunette purrs, sizing up her next conquest.
He smiles, then turns to the blonde, who isn’t nearly as charmed. She frowns. “You’re fucking kidding me, right?”
“What’s your problem?” he asks, reaching for a cup of coffee.
“You don’t remember me?” She’s nearly screeching now.
“Nope,” Knox tells her, with no hint of regret.
“Cassie Moser. We hooked up at the Delta house two weeks ago.”
He nods, but recognition doesn’t dawn on his face. “Cool. You two got any booze?”
“What? No,” Cassie stammers, still offended he hadn’t committed her face to memory.
“Then you should probably go.” And with that dismissal, he turns away and rifles through the liquor cabinet. “Dude. Who drank all the Bailey’s? You bitches know that shit’s my creamer.”
“Wasn’t me.” I hold up my hands in mock surrender.
The girls humph and stomp out, along with our other overnight guests who’ve since woken up. I watch as they leave. It’s just past 11 a.m. and I’m already peopled out. I turn back to see that Knox has emptied half the contents of our liquor cabinet and there are bottles scattered across the kitchen floor. “What the fuck? This place is already trashed-- don’t make more of a mess, asshole.”
“Quit your bitching. I’ll put all this away. I just need something for my coffee...yes! Victory!” He holds up an airplane bottle of Bailey’s in triumph.
“Dude, that is so not healthy,” I tell him.
“No shit.” Knox laughs. “And by the way, neither is that.” He points to the counter where I’ve just laid out Whit’s meds. “You can’t protect us forever, Ty. And you for damn sure can’t save us from ourselves.”
He’s probably right, but that won’t stop me. “Maybe not, asshole, but I can try.”
“Are they gone?” a voice hisses from the top of the stairs.
“Coast is clear, Whit,” I call, not bothering to care who I wake up at this point. It’s damn near noon.
“Stage Five Clinger, that one,” he mumbles, grabbing my mug and taking a sip.
I reach for my coffee in vain. I’m a decent height at 6 feet, but he’s got me beat by two inches and he’s got the wingspan of a damn condor, keeping the coffee just out of my reach. “Dude. We’ve talked about this.”
“Oh, my God. You and your damn boundaries.” He rolls his eyes as though I’m the weirdo, sets my mug on the counter after taking a giant gulp, and goes about pouring himself a fresh cup.
“Mine’s better anyway,” he says, dousing his coffee with caramel sauce and then peering into the fridge for whipped cream. When it comes to coffee, Whit has the culinary tastes of a thirteen-year-old girl. “You know who else drinks their coffee black?”
“Uh, half of coffee drinkers?” I guess.
He shakes his head. “Serial killers.”
I bark out a laugh. “Well, then, you better lock your door. Or you know, sleep in your own room. Does Breanne or Brynnley or whatever the hell her name is know that you two did the deed in Knox’s bed last night?”
“Dude. Seriously? Cut that shit out.” Knox grumbles.
“Nah, and she wouldn’t have cared. Besides, my room is all the way on the third floor. That’s too damn far away. And anyway, Knox, your ass wasn’t in there, so it was fair game.” He loads up the toaster with frozen pastries.
“Yea, but look who’s talking. You were too plastered to make it all the way up to your room to entertain your guest. And Booker was so hammered, he fell asleep before shit got good, or at least that’s what the girls were saying,” I tell him.
“Correction: I was too horny to make it all the way up to the third floor last night. And Book only had a couple beers. He must’ve been tired from practice.”
I shrug. “Makes sense.”
“What makes sense?” Booker asks, walking down the stairs and running his hand through his bedhead.
