Sweet Little Nothing

I snort out an unintentional laugh. “God, I wish.”

“Uh huh, tell me more.” Someone yells his name, and he reroutes us toward the sound of it. “Hold that thought, sweets.”

He blazes a trail through the cavernous room, me hot on his heels. He stops in front of a table occupied by a handful of people, but he only has eyes for the tall, dark-skinned man seated at the center.

This must be Zach.

Even seated, his presence is commanding. He stands to greet us. “You must be the mysterious Emmy I’ve heard so much about.”

He gives me a once-over, and I return the favor. Zach is made up of long lines and compact muscles, an obvious athlete. He’s taller than I thought he’d be, but still shorter than Gabe; though I think everyone is shorter than the bear of a man to my left. His dark hair is woven into tight braids which are secured with an elastic at the base of his neck. With his wide smile and friendly eyes, I can instantly tell he’s good people.

“That’s me,” I say, suddenly feeling shy. “It’s um... it’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s good to meet you, too. Now, let’s eat. No offense.”

“None taken.”

“Workouts were brutal this morning,” he says, rounding the table so we can walk together.

“Do you play football, too?”

“Yes,” Zach says, but Gabe’s voice spills over his.

“No.”

They share a laugh, leaving me to stare between them in confusion.

Zach shrugs. “It’s called football everywhere on earth except here.”

“Be that as it may, in the great state of Georgia, it’s...”

“Soccer,” Zach mumbles begrudgingly.

“Oh!” Understanding dawns. “I get it!”

Zach gives me an amused look before herding us into line. The guys grab enough food to feed a family of four, while I settle on a kolache with a fruit cup.

We bypass the table Zach was at when we came in and cluster into a smaller, more intimate table instead. They both dig into their meals, while I pick at my fruit. I feel strangely comfortable with the two of them, but the events of class still weigh on my mind.

Gabe finishes his first sandwich before pinning me with a look. “About earlier?”

I sigh. “I was hoping you had forgotten.”

Zach rolls his lips in to smother a laugh.

“Go ahead and say it, babe.”

“An elephant never forgets.”

Gabe gives an exaggerated, dry laugh. “Ha-ha. Never gets old.”

“You love it.”

“I love you; I tolerate your smartass mouth.”

“Now I know you’re lying. You really love my smartass mouth.”

“Sure, when it’s stuffed full of my dick.”

“Too true,” Zach muses.

I’ve never been around this kind of PDA. But if I’m being honest... I like it.

“Now hush,” Gabe scolds. “Emmy here was about to tell me why she was upset when I ran into her earlier.”

“I just...” I shake my head. “I don’t know.”

“Talk to me, sweets.”

“The TA for my Psych 101 class hates me.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Zach says.

“No. It is. We have... a history. He’s best friends with my stepbrother, and yeah, he hates me, and is determined to make me miserable.”

“Why does he hate you? You seem cool as hell to me.”

I turn slightly toward Zach. “It’s a long, messed-up story.”

“CliffsNotes, sweets.”

“Right.” I swallow roughly. “Um. My stepbrother and I have a really bad relationship. Like, really bad. And some things happened and I spoke up, and no one believed me. Now he’s determined to ruin my life and has apparently enlisted the help of a friend to do it.”

“Some things?” Gabe asks, a blond brow arched.

I nod, unwilling to elaborate. But I think both of these men are smart enough to put two and two together.

“Why didn’t anyone believe you?”

“Because he’s a Pearson, and while that doesn’t mean much here, it means a hell of a lot back where I’m from.” I shrug. “He’s basically Texas royalty, and it was my word against his.”

“What about your parents? Didn’t they—”

“Dad’s dead and my mom chose her husband over me.”

“Man, fuck them!” Zach declares. “We’re your daddies now.”

I don’t mean to, but I can’t help but laugh.

“Yeah, that sounded bad.”

“So bad,” Gabe agrees with his boyfriend. “But I dig it. Daddy Gabe. It’s got a ring to it.”

“Y’all are crazy.”

“The best people are, sweets. The best people are.”

Chapter Thirteen

Sterling

Watching Emmalyn eat lunch with those two jocks has my heart racing and my blood pumping.

As irrational as it may be, I need to know who these two men are. I need to know what they are to her. How close they are to her.

I need to know it all.

I tell myself it’s because I need to know my enemy and knowing the company she keeps is paramount to taking her down.

However, telling myself something doesn’t make it true. And if the way my gut twists in anger at the sight of her—head tipped back, laughing at something one of them said—is anything to go off of, I’m absolutely lying to myself.