Stick Your Landing (All In #3)

16. Zach

16

Zach

Laughter fills the air when Jennings and I arrive at the Palmer City Wolves Halloween party, together in our couples costume.

I’m wearing all black from my boots to a long black jacket, and I carry a crossbow in one hand. Jennings painted his face white with bright red blood dripping from his lips and sharp fangs. Every time he moves, his black cape shifts, revealing a flash of blood red.

“No fucking way.” Volk shakes his head, a small smile touching his lips. He smiles a lot more now that Kennedy lives with him. “You guys are something else.”

Volk’s costume matches Kennedy’s, a blue-and-white sailor getup that includes a hat with the word AHOY on each of their heads.

“Why do people keep giving him sharp objects?” Kennedy asks.

I point my crossbow at her. “I’m responsible now, Kens.”

“That’s what you said last year. Do you remember what happened?”

“Nothing that caused permanent damage.”

Her hands immediately land on the fake weapon, pushing it down and away from her.

“Come on, it’s not real,” I say.

She shrugs, replying cheekily, “Better safe than sorry.”

“What are your costumes?”

Volk drops an arm protectively over Kennedy’s shoulders. “It’s Stranger Things ,” he says, like it should mean something. When I only stare, he asks, “Wait—you don’t know that show?”

“No…” I say, drawing out the O.

Kennedy nudges him in the ribs. “You had no idea about this show until I forced you to watch it. And then you were always like”—Kennedy drops her voice and puts on her best Russian accent, which isn’t that bad—“ Kennedy, come over. We need to watch the next episode .”

“That’s not why I invited you over.” Volk gives her a lazy grin, enough to force a gagging sound from me.

Kennedy cutely smiles back, the look they exchange speaking a language the rest of us aren’t privileged to know.

I fucking want that .

“Come on, guys,” I groan.

“What?” Volk plays dumb, exaggerating a shrug and sending his voice an octave higher. “I invited her over to talk about the show. Get that trash out of the gutter.”

“Mind,” I mutter, but Volk ignores me. He always thinks he knows common phrases better than the rest of us, even though English is his second language. Stubborn pain in the ass.

Kennedy leans into him, hearts in her eyes as she stares up at his face. “Trash makes more sense.”

Volk plants a kiss on her forehead. I turn away, no longer wanting to intrude on their private moment.

Then I see her and lose my damn breath. Finley stands at the kitchen counter, holding a glass to her lips as she surveys the room.

Please be looking for me .

A bright red wig covers her blond hair and stops at her collarbone. A black shirt reveals a sliver of her stomach above black leather pants clinging to her strong legs. The entire outfit emphasizes the muscles she uses to excel in her sport, and knowing that makes the already sexy sight even hotter.

Sufficient words do not exist to describe her.

“This is why you need a girlfriend,” Kennedy says, but I don’t know why she’s saying it.

“What?” I rip my gaze from Finley before everyone reads the forbidden thoughts on my face.

I try to rearrange my expression, but the smirk on Volk’s face confirms what everyone’s always told me—they can read my every emotion.

“To elevate your life,” Kennedy clarifies. Volk’s chin rests on her head, his arms draped over her shoulders. Her hands grip his forearms.

“Don’t say another word,” Matt chimes in as he sidles up to our group. His light-blue denim jacket flutters wide to show off his bare chest and abs. Boxers rise out of his jeans, the white waistband reading Ken . “I don’t need another year of drama like when you two idiots caused a media shitstorm.”

There’s a tic in Volk’s jaw. Matt knows better than to say anything critical of Kennedy in his vicinity. When they temporarily broke up two years ago for reasons still unknown to me, Volk wouldn’t tolerate one bad word about her.

“It was good for the team,” Kennedy argues.

“No, the fuck it was not,” Matt says, jabbing a finger in Volk’s direction. “Every time you two had a… thing , he acted like a get-off-my-lawn grandpa. It was exhausting.”

“Fuck off, man.” There’s a subtle warning in Volk’s playful tone.

Matt’s eyes light up. “Oh, are you still embarrassed about how quickly you became hopeless for her when she still wanted to slug you?”

“Kennedy always wanted me. Even when she found me annoying, she would’ve—”

Kennedy’s fingers brush his lips. “Do not finish that sentence if you ever want to see me naked again.”

Volk’s mouth snaps shut. Kennedy spins in his arms, then lifts herself on her toes to whisper in his ear. His hand immediately finds hers, and I turn away, needing to relieve the ache settling into my chest as I absorb their dynamic, the way they effortlessly flirt.

This time, when I turn back to the kitchen, Finley is watching me. I don’t say anything to my friends before taking off in her direction, drawn to her like a defender to the puck. Her gaze remains on me until I stand next to her.

“You look badass,” I say in lieu of hello.

“I’m a spy.” She kicks one foot back, her leg bending at the knee, sending the weapon of a heel into the air. She effortlessly balances on one razor-thin spike, like she’s standing barefoot.

I lean one elbow on the counter and rest my head in my palm. “I’d tell you my secrets.”

One side of Finley’s lips upturn, and I bowl over in relief. I want to erase the last few days of awkwardness, go back to our comfortable dynamic.

“I think you already do.”

“So do you, High-flyer,” I reply. “Maybe you’re not a good spy after all.”

“I’ll clue you into a secret of the trade.” Finley leans in closer, and I’m hit with a blast of the fruity coconut scent I love. “Sharing a secret is the best way to learn one. It puts people at ease.”

I’m grinning like an idiot, I’m sure. I can’t play it cool around this girl, even when I try. “Is that so?”

She straightens, then shrugs. “I don’t know, but it sounds good. Spies love to use their sexiness. Or at least Jennifer Garner did.”

I swallow hard. “You’d be a very good spy, Finley.”

She goes to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, forgetting about her wig. Her hand instead drops to her side, fiddling with the gun strapped to her hip.

“Jennifer Garner?” I ask to save Finley from squirming in embarrassment. The insecure part of me loves knowing I do that to her, but I never want to make her uncomfortable. Affected, yes, but never unsure she is anything other than perfect in my eyes.

Finley lets out a relieved breath. “From Alias . It’s such a good show. You’ve never seen it?”

I shake my head.

“Okay, that’s unacceptable. I’m making you watch it with me.”

“If you insist.” I hope the show is incredibly long and drawn out so I can spend more time with you.

Finley beams, turning her already beautiful face into a sight that hurts to see.

“So are you going to tell me what you’re dressed as?”

I flash the crossbow at her. “You can’t tell?”

“Are you an assassin too?”

“Of a kind. It’ll make more sense when you see Jennings.”

I spot him in the corner and gesture in his direction. Finley walks beside me, my hand on the small of her back to guide her through the crowd.

“Who’s Jennings?” she asks.

“Sawyer Jennings, my teammate.”

She hesitates long enough for me to notice there’s something else going on with her. “You want me to meet your teammate?”

“I want you to meet all my teammates… if you want.”

The emotion in those sky-blue eyes does something to me. I’m already a complete goner. She could ask me to do anything, and I’d say yes—as long as it kept her in my company. Her brother might be my friend, teammate, and captain, but the more time I spend with Finley, the less I find I care . Which is a massive problem I have no idea how to fix.

“Okay,” she says finally.

“Okay,” I say, smiling like I scored a playoff goal, and I lead her to my teammate to show off my girl.