Page 122 of The Wrong Quarterback

“Why are you telling me this?” she asked slowly.

“Just making sure…”

She grinned at me knowingly.

Cole was deep into his song, leaning into each note, when suddenly, a high-pitched wave of screaming broke through the music. He barely had time to register the sound before a group of girls burst through the security barriers in front of the stage. They somehow bypassed the security guards and ran across the stage floor with determined looks and hands already reaching out for him.

He froze mid-strum, eyes widening as he took in the scene. The first girl was just a few feet away when Cole’s survival instincts finally kicked in.

“Oh, hell no,” he muttered, and bolted around the mic stand as more girls pulled themselves up onto the stage, their arms outstretched like they were zombie extras in an episode ofWalking Dead.

His guitarist started playing a fast-paced riff, adding an absurd soundtrack to the chaos. Cole dashed behind the drum kit, ducking as one girl lunged at him. He laughed nervously, sprinting to the far side of the stage as security rushed in, grabbing fans left and right.

“I’d rather not!” he shouted over his shoulder, just as another fan managed to get up close. He hopped backward, narrowly avoiding her grip. Cole half-ran, half-laughed his way across the stage, dodging the crowd like it was a bizarre game of tag.

Finally, security managed to get a handle on the situation, ushering the determined fans back down. Cole caught his breath, hands on his knees, shaking his head as he looked out at the crowd.

“That’s going on YouTube, isn’t it?!” He laughed into the mic, brushing off his shirt and adjusting his hat with a dramatic flourish. He’d lost a feather while he’d been running, so it looked slightly less ridiculous. “Love the enthusiasm, Nashville, but let’s leave the tackle moves to the Tennessee Tigers when they kick Florida’s ass this weekend, okay?”

The audience roared, and Cole grinned at me before he held up his guitar triumphantly and launched right back into the song.

“Walker is going to hate that he missed that,” I muttered to myself, thinking that a video wasn’t going to do it justice.

“That’s the kind of reaction I want when I walk in a room,” said Jace as Matty gaped at him. “Don’t look at me like that, Matthew, you have a stalker. That’s an affront to nature, especially because of the size of my?—”

“Don’t talk about dicks,” I growled, covering Casey’s ears this time.

The three of them laughed at me like I’d done something funny.

The final chord struck, the crowd exploded in cheers, and I grabbed her hand.

“I’ve got a good one for your brother this time,” Jace said. “Want to hear it?”

“Don’t say yes. This one is not good,” groaned Matty.

“Well, now I have to hear it,” I said.

Jace rubbed his hands together, obviously really excited about this one. “Okay, prepare yourself.”

“I’m prepared. Hit me with it.”

“What kind of bees produce milk?”

“I literally have no idea.”

Jace grinned. “Boo-bees.”

Casey giggled, and I glanced down at her, only smiling because of her laugh. And not because it was funny.

“See what I mean?” said Matty.

“Cole’s going to love it. He appreciates me for my comedic humor,” Jace retorted, scowling at the two of us like we’d deeply betrayed him.

“Cole also wears birds on his head, so I’m not sure you can trust him,” I mused as the man in question waved to the crowd and strode toward us off the stage.

I got ready to hug my brother in all his sweaty glory, but to my horror, he had something else in mind.

Before I could blink, he swept Casey up into a huge hug that made her squeak in surprise. “Hello, future sis-in-law,” he crowed as he spun her around.

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