I groan and grab my soap. “Would you fuck off now? This is weird. Let me clean up in peace.”
“What? I thought you two were into this now. You know, giving the world a tutorial on how to finger your ass.”
Oh, fuck off.
Yeah, that was the hot topic in the group chat today. We were all freaking out at first, obviously, but once it was clear everything was fine with Jace, the jokes started flying.
Pretty sure I’ve seen every existing gif of a train going into a tunnel at this point.
I grumble. “What did you even want?”
“Don’t remember,” he says with a toothy grin, glancing behind him. “But take your time. The last guys just left. Perks of being captains and the last ones to shower. I’ll leave you to it.”
He disappears and I can’t fucking clean up fast enough. My face still burns when I finally emerge into the locker room, towel wrapped firmly around my thoroughly washed, glitter-free ass.
Lam’s already dressed, sitting on the bench, frowning at his phone.
“What?” I ask, rubbing the towel through my hair. My phone’s still dead in my duffel since forgot to charge it last night and it gave up right before practice. “Shit, how late is it? Doesn’t Coach know we need sleep? Two scrimmages back-to-back is brutal.”
“Midnight. They’re just nervous,” Lam mutters, not looking up. “We haven’t lost a game all season. You know how they get, superstitious as hell.”
I sigh, finish lacing my sneakers, and shove my hat on. At least we drove tonight. Thank God for small mercies.
Lam stays weirdly quiet the whole ride home, glued to his phone, barely answering when I try to talk.
When we’re almost home, I glance over. “Okay, what’s going on? You’re acting weird. Like,moreweird than usual.”
“Nothing,” he says way too fast, locking his screen and jamming the phone in his pocket.
As we pull into the driveway, I spot a car I don’t recognize parked in my usual spot. I frown. “Is that a rental?”
“Yeah… I think so.”
I narrow my eyes. “What are you not telling me?”
He won’t look at me. “Just… it’s not mine to tell. Please. Just go inside.”
I shoot him a sharp look, but grab my duffel, swing it over my shoulder, and close the passenger door. Slamming it a little harder than necessary. I head around to the back porch, climbing the steps with a tight chest and a growing sense of unease.
I don’t like this.
The second I open the door, I freeze.
Ev is in our kitchen.
Ev.
In our fucking kitchen.
And he’s not moving. He’s just… sitting there at the breakfast bar like a fucking statue, arms crossed, eyes locked on me when I enter.
My stomach drops. My heart slams sideways in my chest. My throat tightens.
“What—” My voice cracks. “Is Jace okay?”
Ev nods once, slow. “He’s upstairs. In your room.”
That should make me ecstatic. That should send me running up the stairs. He’shere. He’s in my fucking house.
