Page 3 of Striking Range

“Yeah, dude, you were hot as hell out there.” Henry smiles, bright and lively. “Good thing my girlfriend wasn’t here. I would have had to blindfold her with all of those lean muscles on display.” He’s making some obscene gestures as he says this, wiggling his brows at me.

Everett makes a disapproving sound, smacking the back of Henry’s head.

“Next time, I’m blindfolding you,” he says, turning his smile onto me. “Ready to go?”

My favorite thing about Everett? No matter how many people are around, that gaze of his always tracks back to me.

The moment barely lasts, though, because soon he’s turning his attention toward Dante and saying, “Hey, man.”

“Hey, Everett. Nice to see you again,” Dante greets politely.

“Let’s go, Sky.” Kelly grabs my arm, pulling me away from Dante, his arm falling back to his side.

I give him a smirk, finding his groan quite entertaining. “Later, man, see you at practice.”

Dante waves, turning back to his stuff and getting caught up in another conversation with Coach Myers. Poor guy.

“So, Angie’s Diner, then?” Henry asks, looking between the three of us.

“Yep.” Everett grabs my duffel, slinging the long strap onto his shoulder.

I slip my sneakers on, falling into step between him and Kelly.

“Sky, you need a new teammate. That guy is a total horndog,” Kelly complains, her arm looping through the crook of my elbow as we head toward the parking lot.

“I’m pretty sure Evie has slept with more of the female population than Dante has,” I counter, at which Everett gasps in offense.

“But at least Everett is kind to them afterward! Dante ghosted Georgia like she was trash. Fucking dick,” she grumbles.

“His dick sure was fucking,” Henry jokes, earning another slap, this time from Kelly herself.

“Guys—I’m far too tired for this. I need chicken, and my legs hurt.” I’m whining, but there’s sweat dripping into my eyes that’s making the whites turn red and burn like crazy. I rub at the sting, no doubt making it worse.

Everett hands Henry my duffel, then proceeds to step in front of me and stop suddenly. In one quick motion, he reaches behind himself, gripping the back of my thighs and hoisting me onto his back. I groan once in protest, but I’m promptly ignored.

Instead, he murmurs, “Come on, puppy. Let’s go eat.”

Henry and Everett continue a conversation they must have started before I joined them, but I don’t care to listen anyway. I rest my cheek against the back of Evie’s neck, letting my arms dangle loosely over his shoulders.

I can feel it as he talks—the vibration, the frequency as it leaves him and zaps straight into me. The warmth of his bare skin against mine is so familiar, our sweat mingling and mixing so that as I adjust slightly, and I feel the slide of it, I can’t tell if it’s his or mine collecting between us.

My eyes fall closed. Not because I’m tired, but because I want to focus on every point in which I’m connected to him. Evie feels like home; he feels safe.

As does the setting sun, the sound of familiar voices, and the smell of him so close to me.

My life is so genuinely peaceful, so perfect to me in this moment. I hope it stays this way forever.

The diner is only half full once we arrive, which is normal for 7 p.m. on a Thursday. We settle into a booth, Henry and Kelly sharing a menu on one side and Everett and me folding napkins into airplanes on the other. We’re here so often we don’t bother looking at the laminated menus.

Jenny, the elderly waitress, approaches us not long after we sit. “Skylar Parish, how was your game, sweetheart?”

The SPC volleyball sweatshirt I threw on before we came in did not tip her off; Jenny just knows us that well.

That, and Sinclair and Wagner (the neighboring town that Sinclair Public College’s campus borders) are both so small that everyone seems to know everything. I’m more surprised that she didn’t hear the results before I made my way here.

“We won, of course,” I brag.

Jenny pinches my cheek. “Aw, good boy!”