Page 13 of Subscriber Wars

I level Aspen with a flat look. “I swear I will never forgive you if my tit pops out of this thing.”

I’m being dramatic. My boobs are secured, but they have never been on this much of a display.

“Your girls are nice and secure. Stop worrying about it.”

Easy for her to say. Aspen never worries about anything. She’s a make-life-decisions-over-beers kind of girl. I’m the more reserved one. I would rather know what I’m walking into. “I just don’t think a strapless top is the right choice given the fact that I will have to run when I kick the ball.”

A loud snort interrupts our walk across the courtyard. “Since when have you ever gotten on base in any of the games we’ve played?”

Dressed like a Hollywood celebrity in his Ray-Ban aviators, Fenn Von Bremen, star pitcher of Havemeyer University, shoots me a shit-eating grin.

“Don’t be a shit this early in the afternoon, Fenn. We just ate.” Aspen pretends to gag just as Bennett walks up behind him.

Oh shit.

I nudge Aspen in the side as Bennett’s eyes narrow into slits, seemingly right at Aspen’s top. “I think you forgot the rest of your swimsuit,” he drawls, his voice simmering with barely controlled rage.

Aspen shrugs a shoulder and snatches the vinyl sheets from Fenn. “Where do you want these set up?”

A low growl rumbles in Bennett’s chest, making Fenn drop his head to his shoulders. “I swear I will lock you in the trunk of my car if you piss him off again, Asp. I’m tired of living with Bruce Banner.”

I chance a look at Bennett. He’s still staring daggers at Aspen’s body. “I think I’ll go check on Drew while you guys get things sorted out.”

Fenn flips me off, but Aspen grins and waves. “Bring me a drink when you come back out.”

I nod, inching around Bennett before hightailing it across the lawn with my sights on a familiar black door.

Midtown Heights, the townhome complex where we live, lines two parallel streets with green space in the middle. Basically, all the backyards face each other. The complex has done a good job with creating shrubbery walls for privacy and adding gardens and fountains so you can walk your dogs, but it’s still as private as an outdoor shower.

When I get to the guys’ back door, I don’t even bother knocking. I just barge right in.

“Drusilla!” I call. “Are you making me a drink, biotch?”

A rumbly laughter comes from the kitchen and I follow the sound until I’m greeted with a pair of board shorts with the word LIFEGUARD down the side and a grin that makes all the freshmen girls swoon. “Your bubba is about to yell at Aspen. I figured I’d come help you where it’s safe and quiet.” I look at the counter full of liquor bottles and wince. “Are you planning on celebrating your birthday with alcohol poisoning?”

He cocks a brow, those mint green eyes alight with amusement. “Mybubba, huh?” He gives me a thorough once-over. “Did mybubbaalso yell at you?” The replica of Bennett narrows his eyes at my bathing suit but with much less anger. “You left half your swimsuit at home.”

The Jameson bothers are hotheaded, but fortunately for me, Drew is the easier one to sweet talk.

“It was Aspen’s idea. I opted for a t-shirt and shorts.”

Drew makes a face like he can’t decide if my t-shirt would be better or worse than this bikini. “I bet it was. Let me guess, her bathing suit is worse than yours?”

Honestly, neither of our bathing suits are that revealing. Sure, mine shows a lot more skin than I’m used to, but if I were to rate it from fully covered to a cheek hanging out, I’d say it was a solid, appropriate, college two-piece.

“Aspen’s bathing suit is fine. You both are being ridiculous. You don’t see Fenn making a big deal about it.”

Drew raises a brow, and I quickly wave him off.

“Never mind. Forget what I said.”

Fenn is a little different; half the time he doesn’t give two shits about anyone and the other half, he’s a downright asshole. It probably doesn’t bother him because he knows no one will say anything in front him about me or his sister, without him ending the evening with an assault charge.

Drew chuckles, probably thinking the same thing as me. “Here,” he pats the countertop, “come put the ice in the blender for me. I assume you want something where you can’t taste the alcohol.”

Eh, not really, but I’m not going to correct him. Truth is, over the past few months, I’ve learned how to shoot tequila and drink moonshine, without gagging or throwing up. Fruity drinks are no longer in my repertoire of alcoholic beverages. Nevertheless, I hop up on the counter and begin scooping ice from the bag in the sink, dropping it into the blender. “So, who all did you invite to this little shindig?”

Drew eyes me funny while he pours way too much Jäger into his own glass. “Any one person you’re particularly interested in?”

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