Page 19 of The Wrong Play

“Proud of you for knowing that, bubs,” I told him, ducking at the towel Matty threw at me while simultaneously pulling a clean shirt over my head, even though my bare chest was obviously a gift to mankind.

Matty flung himself down on a bench, scowling at the room. He had the best RBF of anyone I’d ever seen, and somehow it worked for him, the handsome bastard.

“When the fuck do you think our trials are going to start?” Matty asked, his voice pitched low as he wiped a towel through his hair.

Parker, Matty, and I had all been recruited the first week of school by the Sphinx, a shadowy, high-roller secret society on campus that was apparently supposed to ensure us fame, riches, and power for the rest of our lives if we were lucky enough to join their ranks. Parker had already completed his three initiation trials—with some help from us, of course, but Matty and I were still waiting for ours to start.

Parker lifted a brow at him and took a step closer. “Are you two in a hurry to risk your life? Might I remind you about the littlegraveyardscene you both loved so much?”

Matty shivered, probably picturing all those imaginary ghosts he’d been so afraid of that night. I personally was thinking of the cookies I’d been eating during the event in question—but that was most likely because I was really fucking hungry at the moment.

I shot him a grin. “I mean, kinda? If I have to do some insane, life-threatening initiation bullshit, I’d rather get it over with now instead of living with the constant suspense of waiting for some guy in a creepy mask to show up and tell me I have to steal a cop car or something.”

Matty snorted. “Please. You’re going to wish that was all you had to do. I bet our first trial is gonna be something way worse than anything golden boy over here had to do.”

I glanced back at Parker, who was watching us, clearly amused. Probably because he was smug in his safeness thanks to the tracker I’d installed in that manly friendship bracelet he had around his wrist. Thanks to me alwaysgently observinghim, he was guaranteed to have a backup in case anything happened to him.

I was such a good friend.

“It will happen when you least expect it,” he said, standing up and tossing his towel onto the bench. “They won’t give you any warning.”

Matty groaned. “Awesome. Love that for me.”

I punched him in the arm. “I love that for you, too, Matty-kins. I know how much youluvvvvsurprises. Especially in the middle of the night…with a bag over your head.”

Matty looked faintly green at that statement. “Yeah,” he croaked, his eyes wide as he probably pictured how they really had stuffed bags over our heads the night we’d been chosen.

Parker shook his head, muttering something ominous like, “Just you wait,” like the drama queen he was, before heading toward the showers.

Matty still had his grumble face on when my phone buzzed, and I pulled it out, seeing it was a congratulations text from my brother Jagger. He was five years older than me and my favorite brother from the same mother.

Mostly since he was myonlybrother from the same mother. Everything about Jagger was a little sketchy and a lot cool, hence how he was related to me.

Jagger: There was a lot about that last touchdown celebration that could have been avoided.

Jagger: I may have a plethora of nieces and nephews in nine months.

Me: So you agree I’m sexy. Thank you. Not anything I didn’t know, but it’s always nice to hear.

Jagger: …

Me: Excellent use of that.

Me: Parker seems to think that his brother came up with that, but I’m pretty sure the Thatcher brothers were dot, dot, dot people loooong before the Davis boys.

Jagger: I have no idea what you’re talking about right now. But I agree, we are much better than them.

Me: So, tell me again how awesome I did in the game.

Jagger: Does anyone really need to do that? Pretty soon your head won’t actually fit in your helmet.

Me: What a jokester, Jagger-meister. We really only have to worry about me fitting in my pants.

Jagger: I’ve told you this before, Jace. I don’t want to talk about your dick.

Me: Ugh, what’s even worth talking about, then?

Jagger: …

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