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“Nah.” He chuckled. “Believe it or not, Mom taught me.”

“She did not!” Wyatt gasped dramatically in his drunken state.

“Mom was a beer-pong champ in college!” Jude told us. His smile softened a little around the edges as he added, “After the treehouse went up, Mom and I used to play juice pong. I’ve been fucking awesome at this since I was ten years old.”

I couldn’t help smiling a little as I imagined Mrs. Kennedy teaching ten-year-old Jude to absolutely destroy people at juice pong.

Before I could say anything, Jude reached for another ball and tossed it into another cup. Across the table, Max looked personally offended at just how good he was.

“What the fuck, man?” Rodney exclaimed.

“You know he’s not allowed to play anywhere else!” Max replied.

“Damn straight,” Jude said. The next shot bounced once off the table, sailed neatly over Rodney’s frantic attempt to swat it away, and landed dead center.

The room exploded. Half the team started yelling that it didn’t count while the other half immediately declared Jude some kind of beer-pong god. Terry began demanding an equipment inspection, even though there was absolutely no equipment to inspect.

I laughed so hard my stomach hurt, and it felt good. Better than good, actually. Their noise, ridiculous competitions, shit-talking, and beer pong was exactly what I needed. It pulled me out of my head for a little while, which was more than I could have hoped for.

We made it exactly three steps into the kitchen before our brilliant plan fell apart—which, in hindsight, was probably generous, considering the plan had started with walking from the frat house to Rhodes’ in December. It hadn’t seemed that bad when we left. The house was close, we were both too drunk to drive, and Jude had insisted the cold would sober him up. Instead, by the time we got there, my fingers were numb, my face hurt from the wind, and Jude had spent most of the walk alternating between belting out random songs and loudly complaining that Maine was an inhospitable frozen hellscape. Some random guy getting ready to leave for work agreed with him.

I’d spent the last block begging him to remember that Rhodes was definitely asleep at this hour and that we were sneaking in. Waking him up at three-thirty in the morning with drunken shenanigans wasn’t on the list of things I wanted to do.

Unfortunately, Jude’s promise lasted until the back door closed behind us, and another bout of song inspiration hit him.

“To the window!” Jude sang at the top of his lungs. “To the wall! Til the sweat—”

“Absolutely fucking not,” Rhodes interrupted, flipping on the kitchen lights. I froze. Jude froze too, though his version involved swaying so wide on his feet that I grabbed him to keep him from falling over.

Every inch of his handsome face looked severely annoyed, and I offered an apologetic smile. So much for sneaking in. Rhodes crossed his arms and stared at both of us. The look he gave us would’ve been intimidating if, in my slightly drunken state, I didn’t find him so attractive when he did that domineering, grumpy thing of his.

Beside me, Jude’s face broke into an enormous grin, and I just knew he was about to say something stupid.

“You,” Jude began with a laugh as he pointed at me, “are in trouble.”

“So are you,” I shot back.

“But I’m his brother, and I don’t have to worry about him punishing me,” he said.

“But I like it when he punishes me,” I replied all too quickly and before I could think better of it. Alcohol had erased my filter.

“No!” Jude exclaimed while Rhodes groaned. “Theodore Daniel, I said no dicks!”

“Go to bed, Jude,” Rhodes interrupted. Jude made a face, staring at his brother as if deciding whether or not the instruction was worth following. I silently hoped it was.

“Fine.” He sighed dramatically and started toward the hallway. He muttered something under his breath about Rhodes being no fun. I pressed my lips together tightly as I did my best to hold in the laughter threatening to bubble out of me.

Jude almost made it out of the kitchen before stopping—damn it. He whirled on his feet and nearly toppled over.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Rhodes muttered, but Jude ignored him. He marched back across the room and planted both hands firmly on Rhodes’ shoulders, his expression deeply serious.

“Mom was a beer pong beast,” Jude said, “and I have only lost one game ever. I definitely let the other guy win. I had my reasons. Special reasons. Maybe stupid reasons.”

Rhodes frowned but said nothing. I could see his brain turn as he processed that information. Jude gave his shoulders a hard pat, nodded once, and disappeared down the hallway. The door to the second bedroom closed loudly, and I knew it was only a matter of minutes before he was passed out on the bed.

The kitchen fell silent, and Rhodes’ attention shifted back to me. His gaze dragged over me with the kind of intense, deliberate focus that made my body temperature spike. Heat crawled up my neck and settled in my cheeks, which was deeply unfair, considering I was pretty sure I’d already embarrassed myself enough for one night.

Rhodes said nothing, and he didn’t have to. The longer he looked at me, the hotter my face grew.