Page 106 of Pucking Revenge

“Ha ha,” I mutter. I slip my oven mitts on, then follow them into the living room with the lasagna.

“Camden, what do you call a thirty-year-old virgin?” Hall teases.

Our second-line center shrugs. “Your sister?”

Hall scoffs. “Dude, that’s out of line.”

This guy. “And you’re not?”I give him a pointed look.

“She’s my twin sister,” he says. “She’s only twenty-three. And she’ll be a virgin until she’s fifty.”

I roll my eyes as I place the food on the table. “You’re insane.”

“Don’t anyone at this table even think about Millie like that.” He points a finger at War, then drags it around the room, making sure to make eye contact with each of us. Then he sets my beer at the head of the table.

War rubs his hands together and sits beside me. “Okay, boys, we gotta strategize. How should Brooksy pop his cherry?”

“I don’t have a cherry.” I lean back in my chair and drop my fists to the table. “Also, I don’t need your help.”

Across from me, Camden is tapping away at his phone. “I looked it up. A guy doesn’t have a cherry, but,” he says, dragging out the word and grinning at me, “you can drop your Skittle.”

War chokes on his beer again, and I slap him on the back.I consider cutting him off. Drinks seem to be a hazard for him tonight.

“Fuck,” Camden says. “Some of these are ridiculous. Virgout. Cherry blaster?—”

“Please stop talking.”

“Where’s your whiteboard?” Aiden is up and out of his seat in a flash and headed toward my bedroom.

“How many times do I have to tell you to stay out of my room?” I should have locked it before he got here.

The ass ignores me and disappears inside.

McGreevey grunts. “This’ll be good.”

“Enough out of you, old man,” Hall volleys. “He doesn’t need to be slapping the tims.”

I sigh. “What the hell does that even mean?”

“Or playing with the ketchup.” Aiden snorts, wheeling the whiteboard into the living room.

War pinches the bridge of his nose. “Playing with the ketchup?”

Aiden shrugs. “Canadians. What can I tell ya?”

“We don’t play with the ketchup.” McGreevey grunts. He shoves a big bite of lasagna into his mouth, then he points at it with his fork. “But I’d full mountie my wife if she could cook like this. Jesus, Brooks. You’ve been holding out on us.”

War slaps me on the back. “Man can cook, and he’s got a donkey dick covered in glitter. He’ll do just fine.”

I shake my head and pick up my fork. “Hope y’all enjoy the first and last Bolts team dinner.”

THIRTY-EIGHT

SARA

“You sure you’re up for this?”

I laugh at Brooks as he leads me toward Beckett’s house. “They’re kids. Why are you acting weird?”

---