Page 170 of Whisper

Jamie: Mads, your cupcakes better have extra icing.

Wes: *laughing emoji*

Landry: I’ll bring a big platter of subs.

Win: I’ll make Lars one here.

Lars: I can make my own sandwich.

Win: I won’t have it.

Arsen: Whose place?

Max: Yours.

Kruger: You mean mine!

Prism: Same difference.

Jess: Arsen gets done at the radio station around 8, so let’s meet around then.

Kruger: How do you know his schedule?

Jess: He’s my brother.

Kruger: Prism is your brother.

Jess: Well, now Arsen is too.

Arsen: *yellow heart emoji*

Kruger: You better wear a shirt tonight, Arsen.

When Matthew told me his friends were ridiculous all the time, I had no idea how true that was. The running banter, commentary, and shit-talking seemed to have no end. It was entertaining as hell.

I’d hung out with them plenty in the three weeks since I’d started dating Matthew, but this would be the first movie night for me, and I had a feeling it would be extra entertaining. Apparently, Jamie was a screamer.

Since I had a few before having to be at the radio station, I swung by a store just off campus to grab popcorn and some snacks. I knew they were already bringing food, but Matthew sent a popcorn emoji, and I was going to make sure there was some.

It took a few to find a nut-free brand, but I managed and grabbed three bags. Then I remembered Jamie ate like a goat and grabbed another. I also grabbed a few other snacks I knew Matthew favored and an energy drink for me for work.

As I was loading the bags in the back of the wagon, my cell rang. I pulled it from the pocket of my black and white Adidas track pants, noting my father’s name flashing across the screen.

I hadn’t talked to him much in the last week or so because, it being election season, Dad was going hard on the campaign trail. It was usually something he dragged me around for, but this year, he was blissfully undemanding about my time.

I wasn’t sure if he was trying to respect the fact that I had a boyfriend now and my own life or if he was feeling guilty for his rival directing his ire at me. Maybe it was both.

“Hey, Dad,” I said, accepting the call as I walked around to the driver’s seat of the Mercedes.

“Son, did I catch you at a bad time?”

“No. I’m on my way to the radio station.”

“Do you have your hands-free driving on?” he asked as I was hitting the speakerphone button and slipping my phone into the cup holder.

“Of course I do,” I said.

“Good man.”

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