“What’s that?” I question, sure I’m going to regret asking.

“Your ego got so big you forgot how to put in the effort to ask a girl out the right way.”

“Oh, shiiit.” Nathan covers his mouth, but it doesn’t hide the huge ass grin on his face.

“I mean, did you put any thought into it at all or did you just wing it and expect her to fall at your feet?”

Nathan doubles over with laughter. Glad he’s amused.

Regarding me seriously, Michelle’s voice is full of sympathy. “Not every girl is a lying, backstabbing, no good cu–”

“Alright, I think it’s time for you to go,” I say, screw my eyelids shut and hope I’ve cut off her rant for good. The fact that my baby sister knows just how badly relationships can blow up in your face is all on me. But at least it doesn’t seem to have made her any less of a romantic.

She laughs softly and I open my eyes and sigh in relief as she heads toward the door. Thank God. “I hope your bruised ego won’t affect the game this weekend,” she adds, waves, and disappears.

“She has a point,” Nathan says. “I mean, when’s the last time someone made you do more than ask nicely before they were volunteering to bounce on your penis?”

“Work for it,” I say, mostly to myself. Sadly, the thought hadn’t even occurred to me. Damn. Well, challenge accepted. I mean, honestly, how hard could it be to convince a girl I know already wants me, to go out with me?

3

JOEL

Present Day

The sound of an incoming text is my second alarm of the day. The first came five minutes ago when Z pounded on every door of our house.

The second, though, always comes precisely at five thirty in the form of a text. Specifically, a meme. Nathan loves them. Hand to God the guy sends me like ten a day. He must spend a good portion of his free time combing through Imgur to find the best ones. They’re funny as shit so I don’t tell him to stop even though ten texts a day from another dude is a bit much.

Slide my finger over the screen and tap on the text. Squinting through the bright light of my phone, I kick off the blanket and prop a hand behind my head. The meme reads “How do I sleep at night knowing I’m an asshole?” The white words are on a plain black background. Disappointment flickers because I prefer funny pictures to a wall of text, but I keep reading anyway. “Butt-ass naked with the fan on.”

This earns a gruff chuckle and I snap a picture of my junk, angled so the black fan beside my bed is visible. Dude knows me too well. I hit send and jump out of bed. Pull on boxer briefs, shorts, and a shirt. I brush my teeth while I piss – multitasking like a pro. Once I’ve finished in the bathroom, I grab socks and shoes and pad downstairs. The rest of the guys are already in the kitchen eating breakfast. Z is the only one that’s sitting. His big frame is seated at the dining room table with a plate and glass in front of him – using manners the rest of us reserve for mixed company. By some unspoken agreement we take turns making breakfast and by the slightly burnt toast splayed out on the counter with various condiments – butter, jelly, Nutella, and peanut butter, I know this is Wes’ doing.