I don’t know why my sister is so in love with him—okay, maybe that’s a lie—but it still stings when I’m usually the one taking care of her when we aren’t in school. Mom works a lot to make up for being a single mom, and I don’t mind picking up the slack. Like I said, Lucy is a cool kid. It’s fine. It’s completely fine.

“Kennedy is going to be pissed off if you don’t party with her tonight.” I say, pulling open the heavy door to my truck.

He waves that off like I knew he would. “Nah. She’s probably already halfway through a bottle of Jack. She’ll be fine.”

My brow furrows, looking at him over the top of my truck. “You don’t care that your girlfriend is getting drunk around a bunch of horny football players on a high from a win, and probably other shit?”

He runs his hand through his still-damp dark-brown hair and just laughs like he always does. His blue eyes sparkle with laughter because Kingston Wells is a happy guy—he can’t help it. Nothing is really serious to Kingston. “She’s a big girl. She can take care of herself.”

He’s not wrong. Kennedy Reeves is head cheerleader, blond, gorgeous, and the girl who punched Oakley Easton in seventh grade for grabbing her ass when we were all playing around out at the lake. She’s a badass, all right. She’s been Kingston Wells’s girlfriend for two years now. They’re the It couple in school. And she’s one of my best friends too. “Yeah, no doubt. Though, it should still probably bug you.”

“Let’s go.” He doesn’t spend any more time talking about it, and instead of arguing with him like I probably should, we drive to my house to send my mom off to work and watch Lucy.

Like I assumed, Lucy’s already in bed. Mom gave her a snack and a drink of water before tucking her in, so she’ll probably be out for the night. Mom gives Kingston and me each a kiss on the cheek before rushing out, and we hang out on the couch, eating popcorn and absently watching whatever is on TV while reliving the game, play-by-play.

This is my typical Friday night.

And honestly, I wouldn’t change it.

Not yet, anyway.

2. Kingston

TWO

KINGSTON

Kennedy’s finger trails under my t-shirt, her long painted fingernail dragging over every ridge of hard-earned muscle. “You missed a hell of a party last night. It was epic.”