And because he’s such a damn golden boy, he immediately heads toward me instead of his own house, reaching for my door like I suddenly don’t have working arms. I roll my eyes as I pop it open. “You don’t have to—”

“I got it,” he cuts in, reaching for my bag in the passenger seat before I can grab it myself.

I let out a soft laugh, shaking my head as I climb out, letting him take it because, honestly? He’s gonna do it no matter what I say.

The house is quiet when we step inside, but the second Carter shuts the door behind us, I hear it.

Tate’s voice. Muffled but still clear, coming from down the hall, his usual cocky drawl filling the space between the occasional burst of keyboard clicks. He’s streaming. An idea hits me. A bad one. A funny one. A Tate-will-probably-love-this-but-Carter-will-definitely-have-some-feelings-about-it one.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I follow the sound, stepping toward Tate’s room, pushing the door open just enough to peek inside.

Tate’s at his desk, his mask perched on top of his head, headset locked in place, eyes glued to the screen in front of him. His chat flies by, comment after comment flooding in as he leans into his mic. I don’t hesitate. I step into frame. “Well, well, well,” I announce, voice dripping with mock rivalry. “The ultimate enemies finally meet.”

The reaction? Instant fucking chaos. His chat explodes, a flood of reactions filling the screen, messages coming in so fast I can barely register them.

Tate throws his head back with a laugh, his chair tipping slightly as he turns to me, the biggest shit-eating grin on his face. “Oh, pretty girl,” he says, his voice practically a purr. “You have no idea what you just did.”

I grin, resting my hands on the back of his chair, playing it up, watching the chat explode even more.

I glance over my shoulder, catching the way Carter’s jaw tenses for just a split second, the way his arms cross, the way his soft energy dims for just a moment before he forces an exhale and shakes his head. He knows it’s funny. But he doesn’t like it. And fuck, why does that make me like it even more?

Tate’s grinning like he just won the lottery, one hand still on his mouse, the other tapping at his keyboard as he shifts his gaze between me and the chat. “See, chat?” He leans back, spreading his arms wide like he’s welcoming me into his chaos. “She talks all that shit online, but here she is. In my house. In my fucking bedroom.” His chat explodes again, messages flooding in at an unreadable speed.

I bite my lip, holding back a laugh as I glance at Carter again.