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Rossi squinted.
Morgan opened his mouth and closed it again.
Chandler tapped his beer glass against the table as he tried to make sense of it.
Boris stroked his chin in deep concentration, and Marlon smiled sadistically as he waited for their reactions when they finally pieced everything together.
Christiansen shook his head so hard I thought he’d shake something loose. “You’re lying. You are NOT dating the Biochem Baddie with the braids and leather pants!”
“That’s what we’re calling her now?”
“You’re full of shit,” Chandler declared, peering at me over his pint.
“I’m confused,” Boris announced. “Wait… wait… you are restaurant guy.”
It grew quiet as two and two started clicking.
“Noooooo!” Rossi exclaimed, turning his cap backward, a quirk he did when he was overly excited.
“Bro, you’re in so much trouble,” Morgan laughed, waving down a server for another round.
“No wonder you looked like you were chewing glass,” Christiansen offered.
“She flirted with your captain in your face,” Boris said plainly.
“And that idiot told her she was a free agent and offered to buy her and her friends drinks,” Chandler reminded the group.
Marlon sighed. “I still haven’t mentally recovered from that.”
“Fuck all that. How did you two meet?” Morgan asked.
“We met on IG,” I said, giving them the sanitized version. It technically wasn’t a lie since our first interaction was on IG.
“You shut the fucking restaurant down for her?” Chandler asked through narrowed eyes, looking like a disappointed father.
“I shut down the patio for the second half of dinner service,” I corrected.
“So, you’re in a committed relationship now?” Rossi questioned.
I nodded. “Yep. But we’re still keeping it on the low until Flip does his thing and I introduce her to y’all and the WAGs.”
“Bring her to the Thanksgiving potluck at my place,” Chandler volunteered.
Chandler and his girlfriend thrived off hosting the team for kickbacks and gatherings. Part of it was because they were snobs and wanted to show off their mansion; the other part was because they thrived on compliments. You wouldn’t find me complaining because my place was off-limits.
I do not want my teammates’ badass kids tearing up my shit.
“She’s young, no?” Boris asked.
“Twenty-one,” I answered honestly.
“You’re not afraid that’ll be a recipe for disaster?” Rossi asked.
“What do you mean?” I asked, mildly offended.
“I mean, she’s still in that college life, and let’s not forget the guys she rolled in here with.”
Hums of agreement made me roll my eyes.
