“I say we go.” Elliott sat forward, poking his head between the front seats.
“Yousay we should go?” I started the car. “You never want to go anywhere.”
“Yeah,” Miguel agreed, equally confused.
None of us ever wanted to go anywhere unless we absolutely had to. We’d grab pizza occasionally, and sometimes Elliott and Miguel went to the library in town, but overall, we’d much rather veg out alone at home.
“It’s a big night for you.” Elliott bit his lip, staring in the direction all the cars went. “Let’s go.” He sounded more sure this time.
I twisted to face him. “I don’t want to go. I wanna lie in bed, listen to you tell me how badass I was out there, and then I want to fuck Guelly.”
Miguel groaned, planting his face in his palms.
“Sorry, I meant ‘make love.’ Jeez, so sensitive.”
He gave me a deadpan look, letting me know that how I’d said it wasn’t the problem. Maybe it was that I’d said it at all.
“What’s wrong with me saying I want to fuck you? It’s the truth, isn’t it? You know,” I started thoughtfully, “one of these days you’re gonna have to accept me for who I am.”
Miguel rolled his eyes, smiling despite obviously not wanting to. He kissed my frown. “I already do, Q.”
“Q for quarterback,” I said, cheesing.
“We can still do all of that,” Elliott said. “Afterwe celebrate you with everyone else. Your whole team’s gonna be there. Imagine how many compliments you’re gonna get.” He knew just how to manipulate me. It worked like a charm.
“I guess I shouldn’t deprive them. But only for a little while, and the moment you’re ready to go—”
“We’ll leave,” Elliott finished for me.
“And we stick together. I’m glue—”
“And we’re hip,” both he and Miguel said in a rehearsed tone.
“Right.” I lowered my voice, my words meant only for Miguel. “And when we get home, I’ll be the stick and you’ll be—”
“We get it, you freak.” Miguel laughed, slapping his palm over my mouth. “Now drive before you end up with nothing to keep your cold stick warm tonight.”
I pulled his hand away, crowding him until his back was against the passenger door. “I own that hole, Guelly. It gets my big stick whenever I say it does.” I pressed a hard kiss to his mouth, shoving my tongue in and out in demonstration before buckling him in and speeding away.
The three of us took up position on the loveseat in the darkened living room. It had been pushed against the wall with the other furniture to create space for the impromptu dance floor. It could only hold two people comfortably—since one of those people was me. So, Miguel sat on my lap while I held Elliott’s hand from the spot next to me.
“We look silly,” Miguel shouted over the music. “I’m gonna sit on the couch.” There was only room for one more person on the couch. I gripped his waist when he tried to stand.
“We stay together, or we go home,” I said into his ear. Elliott squeezed my hand as he took in all the grinding bodies and the people disappearing down halls or up the stairs together.
“Could we stick together standing up? I feel like an idiot sitting on your lap, Quentin—and if you say anything about me sitting on your lap last night, I swear you’ll regret it.”
I laughed because I’d been about to say exactly that. “No one cares. Everyone’s either too drunk, too stoned, or too horny to be paying us any attention.”
He sighed. “Can I at least get something to drink?”
“I’ll get it.” I didn’t trust anyone not to spike it or to proposition him. He looked too fucking tempting in those skinny jeans.
The punch bowl was straight ahead, but I’d seen enough movies to know nothing good ever came from drinking the punch. With one more glance back at Miguel and Elliott, I headed for the kitchen.
Avoiding a puke-puddle and weaving through my drunken teammates at the keg-stand, I quickly grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge.
Darren shouted my name from the hall as soon as I cleared the kitchen. He was plastered, staggering over to me and clapping me on the back. “What up, man?”