“Oops, did we bump into you?” one of the girls asks.

“Yeah, you did.”

“Nichole?” Banner says, looking over my shoulder.

“Oh hey . . . uh, Brandon.”

I snort as Banner’s smile droops. “It’s Banner.”

“Oh right.” She steps up between us now. Wearing a white shirtdress, she has the top few buttons undone, showing off cleavage that is propped up by a red bra. “Banner, the best sex of my life, still to date.” She pulls the other girl forward. “You remember my friend, Myla, right?”

I twist just in time to see the grape girl who ruined my flag next to Nichole. And holy fucking shit is she hot.

Sure, when I came home from my game and found her on my couch drinking a Capri Sun and eating my grapes, I thought she was pretty, but I was too clouded by my irritation to really take note. When I saw that she commented on my post the next day, I checked out her profile, which didn’t show much of her. Actually, her account has been dedicated to taking up-close pictures of her drinks—my Capri Sun being featured. It was such an odd account, so I decided to follow it, never expecting her to follow me back.

I considered asking her what was with the pictures of drinks but moved on quickly.

Now that she’s here, in this getup, I’m thinking maybe I should have asked her about the drinks, because fuck. Her tits nearly kiss her chin, and her hair is pulled up but with tendrils cascading down and framing her face. Her nurse’s shirt-dress falls to her upper thighs, thighs so goddamn thick my mouth waters, and she’s wearing the brightest red lipstick I’ve ever seen. A red so bright, I wonder what it would look like all over my body.

“Yes, I remember Myla. You’re the one who used our flag as a blanket,” I coolly say.

Myla raises her hand cutely. “Guilty.” Then she turns to me and asks, “Invest in any snacks yet?”

“Not so much,” I answer.

She shakes her head in disappointment. “You disappoint me.”

“Are you girls hungry?” Banner asks. “We can grab a table upstairs and get something to eat.”

“I don’t have my wallet,” Myla says. “It didn’t fit in my cleavage.”

“I have exactly twenty-nine dollars,” Nichole says. “That’s what fits in mine.”

“We got you,” Banner says. “Our treat.”

“Well then, don’t mind if I do.” Myla sweeps her hand in front of her. “Lead the way, kind sirs.”

Banner hops off his chair and nods toward the stairs at me, indicating that I’m a part of this too. Grumbling to myself, I take my pint glass in my beer-covered hand and follow them up the stairs to the dining area of the bar, which I wouldn’t really call a dining area. Booths are lined along the perimeter while high-top tables fill in the middle. It’s shrouded with people decked out in costumes—a few superheroes, sexy devils, sexy maids, sexy just insert a noun here, and a dedication to the costume T-Rex in the far corner—leaving me looking like the odd one out.