Wasted Time (The Steel City #1)

2. Penny

CHAPTER TWO

penny

Squealing erupts from somewhere inside of the house, beyond the bright red door. It starts off quiet but grows louder and louder and shriller and shriller as heavy footsteps make their way toward me.

I swear the windows rattle on impact.

For a second, I’m convinced she’s going to barrel straight through the door without opening it. For such a little person, she has the footsteps of a water buffalo.

The door flies open. I open my arms without waiting for her to take a single step outside. I barely catch a glimpse of her face before she’s flying toward me with both legs off the ground.

I know the drill by now. We perfected this art of greeting each other four years ago, and not a single part of it has changed since that first reunion after we started our long-distance friendship.

Avery, my best friend in the whole world, clears the front step in one majestic leap and lands directly in my arms. She winds her short, little legs around my waist and squeezes my neck tighter than a damn serial strangler.

Her squealing quickly turns into excited, incoherent chatter that I can’t make any sense of. It’s the best sound in the world. Like a toddler babbling on with the utmost wonder in their eyes, you play along.

Soft laughter escapes me as I make the first attempt to walk forward, aiming for inside the house. I barely manage half a step before I sway toward the railing. I’m way taller than Avery. She’s just a tiny little thing that barely reaches my shoulder, but my god, she’s squeezing the oxygen out of me.

We might go barrelling down the small hill in her front yard, but at least we’ll be together.

“Let her come inside!” Seth calls from somewhere in the house.

“I have coffee waiting for you,” Avery says as she leans back in my arms to study my face. It’s the first full sentence she’s managed to execute properly. She grins, big and toothy and kind of creepy, but makes no move to get off me.

I smile back, staring at the face I have missed more than anything in the damn world. I mean that. More than anything . Her perfectly-styled, brown long bob frames her heart-shaped face. Silky, shiny, and enviable. Her olive skin is darker than usual from the summer sun, freckles trickling across her nose.

FaceTime calls do not fill the void that Avery Oliver leaves in my life when she’s not within arm’s reach.

I prefer looking at her dark brown eyes in person and trying to find her pupil in the near blackness. I like physically seeing the way the skin beside her eyes crinkles when she laughs.

Avery Oliver is someone you have to experience live. Like Taylor Swift or Harry Styles.

“You know the way to my heart,” I muse.

And it’s true. Coffee is a direct source of happiness for me. If you ever want to kidnap me, just open the door to your van and wave a latte in my face.

“Of course I do,” she beams at me, and bam—there are the crinkles.

She pats my cheek lightly three times and hops off me, but she doesn’t let me go too far. She’s been waiting for me as long as I’ve been waiting for her. Almost seven months. Yes, I have been counting. She winds her fingers through mine and drags me into the house that she shares with her boyfriend, Seth.

Avery has been my best friend since the eleventh grade when we both realized that we had a mutual love of drinking coffee and tequila. We were individually our parents’ problem children that remarkably turned out okay. It was an instantaneous thing. We’ve been each other’s rock since the very moment she smiled at me at the lunch table, rolling her eyes at something the horrible Tyla Oxford said.

Seth, her long-term boyfriend, is our friend from college.

He entered our circle later in life and brought the rest of them with him. He played on our university’s hockey team as their goalie. His grades were tragic because he was partying too much during freshman year, which put him at risk of losing his spot on the team. He needed urgent help in an English course, and Avery was the smartest person in that class.

Frankly, she was the smartest person in every class.

Naturally, he sweet-talked her into helping him. Even more naturally, she couldn’t stand him for the first little bit. But eventually, they somehow became friends, which led to Seth and I becoming friends, which led to Seth and his teammates practically living at whichever house Avery and I shared over the next four years.

They eventually got their acts together and realized their feelings for one another, but it took time. The rest of us knew exactly how that story would end. Avery just had to catch up. She was in utter denial until Seth finally kissed her. She was even denying it to me, and I could see their cosmic chemistry every time they looked at each other.

One night, he got fed up and kissed her at the bar in the middle of a sentence. She was yelling at him for calling the guy that she was flirting with an ‘ off-brand Justin Bieber ’, and he just grabbed her face and kissed her.It’s been four years now, and they still look at each other the same way they did that night.

I know. Cute as hell.

They have been obsessed with each other ever since. It’s the most beautifully disgusting thing that I have ever had the pleasure to witness. I want to stab out my eyes with a fork and take a million photographs of them at the same time.

Still hand in hand, we round the corner of the hallway leading into their kitchen and living room. The second Avery lets go of my fingers, a mug of steaming hot coffee is placed on the island in front of me. There’s frothed milk and caramel sauce drizzled on the top in perfect, even lines.

Did I mention how much I love being home?

I meet Seth’s copper-brown eyes across the countertop. He offers a small, kind smile when I give him a nod of gratitude. He’s a welcome sight, but not more welcomed than the latte he made me.

Never more than a latte.

“You are an angel sent from the heavens above, Seth Tyler.”

His smile widens. It pushes his dark-rimmed glasses up his round cheeks.

“Nice to see you too, P.”

I hop onto the barstool and wrap my hands around the big, blue mug.

This is my mug. It was the first thing Avery and I bought for the first apartment we ever shared. It was originally part of a set, but the second one vanished one day and has never been found. I secretly think EJ broke it and hid the evidence. This mug has come with us to every house we've shared since. Now, it lives at Avery’s, and nobody touches it but me.

With one sniff, I know that it’s hazelnut creamer in this coffee. Not that either of them would ever get it wrong. Avery hates hazelnut, but she keeps her fridge stocked with it in case I ever stop by.

Did I mention that I live six hours away, and every time I ‘stop by’, she’s expecting me?

The distance doesn’t matter. The fridge will always have it, just in case.

Sometimes, I wish Seth would just let me live here with them forever. Maybe he will if I ask nicely. I’m a tidy person, and I respect other people’s space. I make a damn good roommate, too. I even do my dishes promptly. That’s rare roommate material.

“So, how was the drive? How’s Gavin? Are you coming back for Thanksgiving?”

Oh, right, I have Gavin.

Seth, who has already returned to the stove and is rustling some hashbrowns in a pan, peers over his shoulder at Avery’s line of questioning.

“Good, good, and no, Ave. I’ve been gone for four years, and the answer has always been no. I’m all yours for Christmas, though.”

As always, she gets two weeks in the summer and two weeks during the holidays.

Gavin used to come home with me once upon a time. Though it feels like a lifetime ago. We used to stay one week with my parents and one week with Avery and Seth, even when they had their tiny apartment with only a futon for us to sleep on .

It was silly, considering my parents had an empty house with more than enough space for us. That time spent with our friends was irreplaceable, though. I hold it so dear to my heart that a dinky little futon and a couple of back aches did not matter. Those are memories that I keep in the warmest parts of my heart.

We would come to town only to eat takeout, play drinking games, get drunk at The Swan Dive , and laugh until our stomachs hurt. It was a blast. I had been so worried that moving would change things, but it only solidified that this family I fell into was one I’d keep for life.

There was a point where my crew included Gavin, too.

Things change.

They change fast.

Gavin hasn’t come back with me in three years. He gave up on my home and on my favourite people after a year of trying. These people used to be his people, too. He forgets that more often than he remembers it.

They’re still mine. That should matter.

I push away the icky feeling that sprouts in my gut again. I refuse to continue to dwell on the fact that my boyfriend would rather sit alone every single day of the holidays than join me in the town where he went to college. The town where we fell in love.

We have developed a new tradition of our own. One I don’t particularly enjoy. We spend the day before Christmas Eve together with his family, and I drive or fly back home the day after.

He does whatever he wants to in the time that I’m away. He goes and hangs out with his parents and his brothers, and sometimes he parties with his finance friends, unphased by the fact that this is not normal. We should fight to be with each other during the holidays.

I even offered to compromise, alternate years with his family and my own to make it fair for us both. He has always said no.

It’s a hard no, too. He ‘does not want to come back and hang out with people he has nothing in common with anymore’ . There is no changing his mind once he makes it up, so there is no point persisting. I tried that very first year and it blew up in my face. I spent Christmas in shambles, arguing through text messages and hiding in the bathroom at Avery’s. Crying alongside festive, happy music is a different kind of torture.

I made sure to wipe my eyes and plaster on a smile the second I left the bathroom, but I think my friends knew. It was written all over my face.

Gavin seems to forget that my family is here, too. My parents, sometimes my sister, and my favourite kid in the world, my niece.

When I see them, I see them alone. Ellie doesn’t even know what Gavin looks like anymore. She’s grown so much. If he didn’t have Aura on Instagram, he wouldn’t be able to pick Ellie out of a crowd.

I get it, in a sense. Nobody wants to be forced to be somewhere they don’t want to be. But my people should matter to my person. His people matter to me. Even after three years of this, not spending the holidays with him still hurts as badly as it did the first time. Backing out of the driveway, leaving him while I make the trek back home on my own—it always makes me feel a little nauseous. If the roles were reversed, I’d pack my things and go with him. I mean, I still have dinner with his family every Sunday because it’s important to him.

It’s what you do for your partner. It’s the bare minimum.

I’m getting tired of being the only one who pulls my weight.

I don’t want to dwell on this today. I’m finally home. This is the place where I can breathe a bit easier. He’s just so intertwined in the memories here, with these people who I love more than anything, that he’s hard to escape. Even when I try.

The blaring of a horn pulls me from my thoughts.

Honking trails closer and closer toward the house from a distance. It stops the conversation short, our ears perking up. It’s inconsistent, almost celebratory, and my god, it is far too loud for this early of an hour.

I lean back in the barstool with my mug between my palms, peering down the hallway as if I have somehow developed the ability to see through walls.

“The welcome party has arrived,” Seth says with a long sigh.

He pushes himself from the stove and starts to the empty coffee maker with a slow shake of his head.

I glance at Avery, cocking a brow.

She shrugs a shoulder, giving me a pointed look. “This is what happens when you only come home twice a year.”

“I have barely stepped foot in the door.”

“You texted Avery when you were an hour out,” Seth says, closing the lid to the filter. “That was your first mistake. Avery texted Tiffany, who texted Lauren, who texted Wyatt, who texted EJ… the list goes on and on.”

“You guys are ridiculous. We have a group chat,” I murmur into my mug, but I can’t help the upward twitch of my lips. “And you’re up way too early to be texting anyone.”

Avery shrugs a shoulder.

Yeah, this is beyond early for Avery to be out of bed and behaving like a functioning human being, but she makes Seth wake her up and keep her awake on the days I’m coming home.

Slamming doors echo from outside.

It’s really nice to have your own people.

Aura barely talks to the people she went to college with, never mind high school. I still have Avery. I still have the rest of them, too. Lord knows that I look forward to seeing them just as much. I spend most of my days counting down the weeks until I can visit again the second after I leave the city.

“Judging by the noise, I’m willing to bet that it’s the three stooges,” Seth says, pressing a bunch of buttons on his fancy machine.

On cue, the front door flies open and slams against the wall. Loud, obnoxious chatter explodes through the house.

I take another sip of coffee, unable to hide my growing smile.

Three grown men sprint down the hallway like little kids on Christmas, rushing to see their presents. They push each other as they run, desperate to get to the good stuff first.

I think I’m the present today.

The first to make it around the corner is Wyatt, who finds me on the closest barstool and flashes me a smooth, charming grin. He lets out a cry of success just as I’m forced into the biggest, tightest bear hug known to man. My shoulder is squished against his chest, my arms bent awkwardly in his restraints.

Best straight jacket ever.

Declan and EJ are neck and neck for second, but Dec plays dirty. He manages to shove EJ against the wall before he can reach me, sending him tripping over his feet and slamming into a framed picture of the group of us. He cries out as his elbow smokes the corner of the wall.

Declan barely even gives him a second glance; doesn’t bother checking if he’s okay. He just flashes me an arrogant smile and moves to shield EJ from my view. He opens his arms wide and winds himself around me on the side that Wyatt left open. He, too, squeezes me like I don’t have breakable bones.

I officially cannot move an inch.

Neither Declan nor Wyatt seems to care. Declan just places his chin on the top of my head and sighs heavily. His stubble scratches my scalp through my hair, and just to piss me off, he nuzzles his chin in even deeper to make it worse.

With a huff of displeasure, EJ finally walks into the kitchen, rubbing his elbow, giving up on the fight that he’s already lost. He smacks Declan on the back of the head, circling around to the other side of the island.

Catching my eye through the limited space that they’ve given my face, EJ smiles at me, dipping his chin in a greeting before his eyes cut to Declan and narrow.

“Anyone ever told you that you’re a piece of shit?”

I feel the rumble of Declan’s laugh against my head. “Most people, actually.”

“Alright, alright,” I laugh, doing my best to swat at them with what movement I am capable of.

“Not yet, Lucky,” Declan says, squeezing tighter.

His stubble rubs even deeper against my scalp, and I wince, ducking my head to avoid it.

“One minute for every month you’ve been avoiding us,” Wyatt adds.

Avoiding them. Yeah, right. I’ve been dreaming of this moment since last Christmas.

“You’re both so dramatic,” I shove them a little rougher this time, and miraculously, they let go.

I turn to Wyatt, my favourite.

Don’t tell them that I have favourites.

Wyatt has wiped my tears and punched many faces in my defense before. He has a special place in my heart, right there next to Avery. There’s just something about him. He is the most reserved out of the group of us from the outside looking in. He makes you earn his friendship and his trust, though I don’t think that’s intentional. Once you get it though, he’s got your back for life.

While EJ is a troublemaker, full of mischief and a young heart, and Declan is a spitfire, fighting with me just as often as we get along, Wyatt is a bleeding heart. He is loving, patient, and incredibly loyal. He gives the boys a hard time, probably the biggest chirper of the bunch, but it’s never mean spirited. He pushes them but doesn’t punish them.

His dark eyes are warm, lightening when my lips pull upward at the sight of him. They’re like coffee with a splash of creamer, and we all know how much I love my coffee. He flashes me that crooked grin and gives my shoulder another squeeze.

I reach up to pinch his cheek like he’s my sweetest child because he is. Always has been. Wyatt is that tall, muscular heartthrob who flirts with the seniors in line at the grocery store and who stopped outside of the locker room after every single game in college to talk to the kids.

Women love him, but he never really seemed to notice or care. He barely even hooked up with anyone in college, his nose either buried in his books or freezing on the ice. He was so focused on school and hockey that he didn’t care to make much time for romance. He did, on occasion, but never the same girl for more than a night or two. Now, in his late twenties, he doesn’t seem any keener on finding someone than he was then. His focus on school turned into focus on work.

It’s a shame. That boy is so sweet that he can give you a toothache. Someone would be incredibly lucky to be on the receiving end of that love.

“Coffee, you dumbasses?” Seth grumbles.

All three sets of eyes, which were previously trained on me, snap up to Seth. Even Wyatt’s sweet, sweet face turns a bit more menacing. Like a three-headed dragon, they take a second to register Seth’s tone, quickly noting his less than stellar attitude.

One by one, they break into mischievous, shit-eating grins. It happens as it usually does. It’s terrifying, especially when you know what’s coming.

If you looked up ‘shit disturbers’ in the dictionary, you’d find this group of four boys. That, I can promise you.

I peer at Seth above the rim of my coffee cup and take a slow sip.

This won’t end well for him. It never does for their target of choice in this weird, deranged source of entertainment that they’ve perfected.

None of them like this game, but they love it too much to let it go.

“Why so sour, so early, Sethy?” EJ taunts, leaning onto the island on his forearms. He juts out his bottom lip, but his bright blue eyes are pleading for trouble. Trouble is his favourite word.

“Did you only get seven hours and fifty-eight minutes of sleep last night, instead of the normal eight hours?” Wyatt pipes in.

They’re picking on him. It’s a source of amusement the four of them have yet to tire of, even after nearly ten years of it.

Seth stills with his hand wrapped around the coffee pot.

I almost feel bad for him. Almost. There is no escaping this nightmare once it’s started. He knows that. He’s one of the founders of how it works. He made the rules.

He drops his head between his shoulders and lets out a long, tired sigh.

“Did you not figure out those warts on your balls? I told you, that’s not normal,” Declan adds, snaking his arm around my shoulders with a lazy grip.

His hand hangs over my collarbone and I resist the urge to smack it in retaliation for picking on the man who had my coffee ready the second I walked in the door.

Avery rolls her eyes, but she’s not the best at holding her shit together either. Her shoulders are shaking with silent laughter as the three-headed dragon pushes forward. Toward her boyfriend. She’s leaving him to the wolves and they’re hungry.

So long as you’re not the target of their banter, it is hard not to laugh. It’s pretty messed up, if you think about it. Explaining it in words, it sounds like a tamer version of bullying, but I promise that it’s all in good fun. Nobody has ever taken it to heart. Nobody goes far enough to truly hurt somebody.

They’re funny.

It’s irritating, but it’s true.

Don’t tell them I said that. I’ll deny it.

They usually tend to leave us girls out of it, but we have been pulled in once or twice. It’s not that they say anything mean , they just don’t know when to stop . Sometimes, that’s worse. Like that mosquito that flutters around your room all night when you’re trying to sleep.

You can take the boys away from the team, but you can’t take the team away from the boys. That mentality is ingrained in them for life.

“No, I’m just going to have to deal with the neighbors bitching about how you guys drove in here acting like college students at the ass crack of dawn.” Seth yanks the full coffee pot from the machine and spins on his heel. He shoots them a look of warning. Even I shrink underneath it, and he’s like a puppy. “So, dumbasses. Do you fucking want a coffee?”

A pause floats through the room. A stillness of sorts.

Seth is staring at the boys and the boys are staring right back at him. They’re debating whether to keep poking the bear. They want to. The four of them are relentless when they pick a target. They do not give up easily.

Today, the target is Seth.

Today, it doesn’t look like Seth has the patience for this game he’s typically a part of.

Declan winds his other arm around me from behind, tugging my back to his chest.

I reach up to place my hands on his forearms.

He lets out a low whistle, right in my ear and glances down at me.

I meet his eyes, trying to hide my growing smile.

“I would never welcome you back to town with an attitude like that, Lucky.”

“Yeah, I really don’t know how you put up with him, Avery,” Wyatt mutters.

Avery peers over her shoulder at him, her eyes crinkling at the sides. “It’s his wiener. And his cooking.”

“He does have a good wiener,” EJ nods, placing his hands on Avery’s shoulders. He presses a quick kiss to her head and then rounds the island toward her boyfriend. “I would love a coffee, sir grumpsalot. No spit in it, please.”

“You’re good. He swallows,” Declan says naturally, like this is pure fact.

“Grab a mug,” Seth grumbles. That’s all it takes to mend the peace.

Declan slides his arms from my shoulders and takes the last empty stool on the other side of Avery. “Grab me one too, bud.”

“Me three,” Wyatt says, perching his bum against the top of the couch behind us.

EJ retrieves three mugs from the cabinet. He smiles innocently at Seth when he gets close, but Seth just rolls his eyes. He can’t look lethal. It’s impossible. Seth Tyler just has that sweet, adorable kind of face.

Seth returns to the stove, resuming his breakfast preparation without another word. I know this tactic. Stay quiet and hope the boys move on. It’s a risky move. It doesn’t always work, but sometimes you get lucky.

He does have the power of food on his side. They won’t risk breakfast. Especially a Seth breakfast.

I only now notice that Seth is making a hell of a lot of food, way too much for just him, Avery, and I to eat. He knew the cavalry would show up at some point.

It’s like college again and I’m not mad about it.

I don’t know why I yearn for a time when I was young, dumb, and constantly making stupid decisions that left me riddled with anxiety for weeks on end, but I do. I do it so often that it is starting to concern me. I don’t think you’re supposed to feel nostalgic for your college years before you’re in your thirties, but here I am.

Add that to the list of many things I store away and try not to think about.

Luck seems to be on Seth’s side today. The conversation diverts back to me before it gets any worse.

“So, P. How are things?” Wyatt asks from the couch.

I glance over my shoulder at him. He’s head-to-toe in black, his joggers loose on his muscular legs, his tight black shirt hugging his toned chest, black ink covering the dark skin of his one arm. Those coffee-coloured eyes are trained on me.

“The same as always. I lead a terribly boring life. I want to hear about you guys. How’s work? How’s the off season, Dec?”

“I have been home for a month and a half, so I can’t complain,” Declan says, grabbing an orange from the fruit bowl and beginning to peel. He looks relaxed, which is a stark difference from how he is during the season.

EJ turns to him, offering him the steaming mug in his hand.

Declan smiles wide, his hazel eyes igniting. He drops the orange mid-peel and lifts himself from the island.

EJ leans forward and pretends to spit in his drink.

The second Declan winds his fingers around the handle, he takes a big slurp of EJ’s ‘saliva’ riddled coffee.

I shake my head. Boys.

Declan is the only other person in this room who no longer lives in town. He and EJ are from here, like me and Ave. He loves this place as much as I do. We have a mutual understanding of how important this place and these people are.

All four of the boys played on the hockey team in college, but Declan was the only one who went pro. He plays in Pittsburgh now, so he typically only comes home in the summers and for a short while during the holidays.

He moved away before I did. I’ll never forget the hole that he left in the friend group when he first got drafted to Ottawa. It was surprisingly hard for all of us to get used to the distance, and though he’ll never admit it, I think it was hard for him, too.

Declan is an only child; his friends are his family. It probably helps that he is a fan favourite in the league no matter where he goes. He has support wherever he turns. I’m sure it doesn’t replace the feeling of home, but at least he knows what he’s doing is worth it. At least he knows people care no matter what city he steps into.

EJ delivers Wyatt his coffee, perching himself against the sofa beside him. He tugs at his beige crew neck, hissing when a drop of coffee hops out of his cup and splatters onto his pants. He tries to wipe it away, but the stain only grows.

“Fuck,” he grumbles.

“Work is good,” Wyatt continues, crossing his legs at the ankles. He curiously glances down to watch the struggle between EJ and his pants.

“Except for the fact that you’re still not asking for what you’re worth,” EJ reminds him, another drop of coffee slipping over the rim of his cup and landing on his sock. He yelps, nearly dropping his coffee all together.

Wyatt shoots him a look. “My god, Ernie Junior, enough with that. I’m fine where I’m at. Is this your first day using your hands?”

“You do need to talk to your boss, Wyatt,” Avery chimes in.

Wyatt’s gaze snaps to her. “You all need to mind your own business.”

“No chance,” Declan snorts, resuming his work on his orange.

I have long since withdrawn myself from this fight. Wyatt confessed to me once, albeit drunk and frustrated, that he hates when our friends nag him about his job or his personal life. We’re close, so it’s natural to encourage your friends to fight for what they’re worth, but anything that makes Wyatt uncomfortable is off the table for me.

So, I stopped. Declan doesn’t ever add much either.

Wyatt knows what he’s doing. He knows why he doesn’t ask for more money. What he makes or why he doesn’t ask for more is none of our business. He coaches the team they used to play for in college, but his workplace puts a lot on his shoulders. More than they should. But he’s happy there. That’s all that should matter.

Sometimes, I worry that his smile doesn’t hit his eyes anymore. I fear that his job is burning him out, that he’s too kind, too selfless, to ask for what he deserves. For what he needs. But I trust him to do what’s best for himself. I respect the boundaries he’s built.

“You need a hand with anything, Seth? ”

Seth peers over at me, already shaking his head. “You’re the guest of honour. You just sit there and catch up. I didn’t have enough flour for cinnamon rolls. I’m hoping you’ll forgive me.”

All three boys gasp dramatically.

A big wave of coffee splashes out of EJ’s mug and onto the tiled floor. He winces, but hurriedly cleans it up with his sock, flashing me an innocent smile that begs me not to rat him out.

Declan falls forward on the barstool, the bottom of his mug smacking against the island.

“That is a sin !” he cries, placing his hand on his chest as though Seth had just said he hates me and that I deserve to die alone.

Here we go. Round two.

The three-headed dragon roars back to life.

“Penny comes to town, and you don’t stock up on the ingredients for cinnamon rolls ?” EJ barks out, finally giving up the war against his clothes to stare at Seth in shock.

Seth intakes a heavy breath again, his eyes fluttering shut. These boys are doing a number on him today, and he’s the biggest morning person in this room.

“It was my fault,” Avery confesses, raising a guilty hand. “I forgot the list on the counter last night.”

“Modern day travesty,” Wyatt grumbles, shaking his head in disappointment.

“I’ll survive,” I say. I meet Seth’s tired eyes. “And I forgive you. I had one on the drive down.”

There could never be enough cinnamon rolls, but he’s already making a full breakfast for the lot of us, so I think he gets a pass on this one.

“Speaking of drinking.”

All of us turn to look at EJ.

He smiles mischievously over the rim of his mug. I see everything he is thinking in those pale blue eyes before he even utters another word. Those chiseled cheeks hollow out when he takes a sip of whatever coffee stayed in his mug after the rest hit the floor.

“Nobody said anything about drinking,” Seth says.

“ Speaking of drinking,” EJ says loudly over him, lowering his mug to his lap. “What time are we hitting up The Swan tonight?”

“It’s her first night home,” Wyatt reminds him. “I’m sure she wants to relax.”

Now, I’m positive I never said that.

EJ’s eyes flicker to me. His lip twitches upward, daring me. That’s EJ. Charming, mischievous little troublemaker, and I eat it up every single time.

EJ knows I’m the right person to look to right now. Hell, I know that I’m the right person for him to look at. I currently hold the powerful position of being one of the two people who don’t come home often, and who is very, very missed. It’s also my first day on home soil, which makes me the queen of the castle tonight.

Declan’s been home for two months already. He’s old news.

Guest of honour, as Seth pointed out.

“I could go for a swan dive,” I shrug. Mostly because I want everyone together tonight, but also because I never back down from one of EJ’s challenges.

EJ’s face lights up.

Avery glances at me, a slow smile tugging at her lips.

“I thought we’d just have a night here,” Declan says, popping an orange slice in his mouth. He’s pouting, which is hysterical for a world-famous hockey star to be doing at the ripe age of twenty-eight.

“You’re just tired of people asking for your autograph,” EJ counters .

Declan’s brows shoot upward. He stares straight ahead, considering this. Then he shrugs, nodding in agreement, as if he hadn’t even realized that it was the truth.

“I’m in,” Avery says.

“I’ll drive. I work in the morning,” Seth says, stirring the hash browns on the stove.

A long sigh leaves Declan’s mouth, but he says nothing. He just continues to peel apart his orange, popping slices into his mouth one at a time, his eyes glued to the white, viny rines as he rips them off.

“Yeah, fuck it. Whatever. What time? I have to stop by Tiffany’s quickly. She bought a new oven and needs it lifted into the house. She said it’d be around five,” Wyatt says.

“Make sure she and Lauren know the game plan, too,” Avery says.

“Will do. I reckon I’ll be free by six the latest. Should we come here for a bit beforehand?”

Seth begins to dump the contents of the pan onto a large, serving plate. My eyes zero in on how good it looks, and I can’t even see what delicacy he has cooking in the oven. I just see potatoes. Who doesn’t love potatoes?

“I’ll swing by and help with the oven,” EJ says.

“I have to meet up with my parents for dinner at four or I’d offer my services.” Declan sounds less than enthused about that plan.

I glance at him, but he doesn’t meet my eyes. I have a feeling that even if there wasn’t a dinner with Mr. and Mrs. Lowes to suffer through, Declan would schedule one to get out of having to move that oven.

“That’s fine. You enjoy your vacation time, Gretzky.” Wyatt smirks at the back of Declan’s head. He says Gretzky’s name like it’s a taunt, like it’s a jab that should somehow offend Declan Lowes .

Except he’s Declan fucking Lowes.

“You can’t call him Gretzky as if he isn’t his own legend now,” I remind Wyatt, dipping my finger in the frothed milk in my mug and popping it into my mouth.

Declan whirls to me, his teeth chomping down on another slice of orange. His face lights up like a damn Christmas tree, gaze flickering to my finger as it pops out of my mouth and then back to my eyes, his lips curling upward.

He leans his body across Avery’s, hardly caring that he’s trapping her arms against the island. He’s smiling so hard that I can see his dimples through his stubble.

“You think I’m a legend, P?”

I flash him a look of warning, but his smile only grows. “That’s what all of the preteen boys say on Twitter, anyway.”

“That’s what everyone says on Twitter,” he corrects.

Declan Lowes. Humble as ever.

I shoot him a bored look. He doesn’t falter. He winks, pleased by the little I’ve given him. He leans back into his chair, freeing Avery to enjoy her coffee again, that smile that I somehow created not wavering for even a moment.

Men are easy. A little ego boost goes a long way.

If only the man in my relationship was that simple.

“Let’s aim to get here by seven,” EJ decides for the group, swiping his thumb against the coffee on his sweats again.

“Sounds great.” Seth pulls the finished meal out of the oven. “Until then, grab a plate and eat.”