Page 72 of Hating On Riot

“I don’t.” He uncollars me. We stare at the couple. “Cam and Tony would already be escorting Brock out, but they’re not. Something’s up. Let it play out. Give Arie time. Give her space. In this, you have to be patient.”

“Four years is long enough,” I grouse. “I’m done being patient.”

“You can’t fuck this up, Riot.”

I sigh. “You’re right.”

“I am?” His dark brows shoot up to his hairline. A grin spreads across his tanned face.

I flip him the bird. “A rarity. A unicorn. So don’t take it to heart.”

He rubs his fist over the spot above his heart, like he’s wiping away lint or something. “What you plan on doing next?”

I repeat what he said. “Let it play out. Give Arie time. Give her space. In this, I have to be patient.”

“Good, that’s good, little bro. Now, let’s go TP and egg Tony and Cam’s place.”

I look at my thirty-year-old brother. His green eyes gleam with mischief. His smile is lopsided. Women go crazy for that smile. He looks tough on the outside with his bulk and size. Yes, he’s the height women are gunning for lately, six-foot-five. He’s tatted. Another thing women are into. Women can’t decide whether to seduce him or run far away from him. He’s been single for almost five years now, since he found his fiancée riding some dude’s dick inside their bedroom.

Merrick broke off their engagement right there as the guy finished in his girl. Then, Merrick took a bulldozer to his dream home and bulldozed it to the ground. He’s been bitter and distant with women ever since.

I turn the ignition. “Thanks, M.”

“For what?” He reaches over and ruffles my hair. I swat his hand away.

“For being here. I’m glad you’re here.”

He cups the back of my neck and pulls me to him until our foreheads touch. “Blood is thicker than water. You’re my flesh and blood, and I will do anything for you. Grayson too. Don’t ever forget that when you make the life-changing decision. Follow your heart. Or stick with your flesh and blood.”

28

Arie

I chomp on my fries and stare at my phone, which is between me and “Sean.” It’s not his real name. Neither is our conversation private. When Sean picked me up, Tony and Cameron made it clear that our conversation would be on speaker so they could hear what we’re discussing on their Bluetooths.

We discussed the weather, how unusually warm it is for September in the Pacific Northwest, and how we’re ready for hoodie weather and speed walking to our classes with a coffee in one hand, and, of course, no umbrellas, because who carries one, anyway? If they do, they’re most likely from out of state.

I’m chipper. Smiling. Enjoying catching up with a guy I went to high school with, though I don’t remember him too well. Laney died, then Riot dared me to be brave. My world was so wrapped around him that nothing else existed until the stolen kiss wrecked us. Inside, I’m a mess. Riot and Merrick are watching us from Riot’s truck.

That guy of mine thinks he’s sneaky, but he’s not. His truck is loud and has a distinctive muffler pop. I forgot to tell him he should do something about it, or at least borrow my Honda for reconnaissance.

I’ve ignored him for the past week. I need my space. I need room to think about everything, from my time in the rugby house with him and the guys, to the water gig I am thoroughly enjoying, thanks to him, and to what happened at the Nerf War finale.

I replay the final moment over and over in my mind. Riot was about to break the rules and pop the guy in the eye with a dart. He saved me by breaking the rules, not caring that the team would be pissed for getting disqualified. Then, Coop saved us all when he took the dart meant for our opponent’s eye and took it to the back of his head.

Breaking a rule to save someone, only to be saved again by someone Riot once thought was his rival for my attention, somehow turned into a friendship.

When Coop’s football practice doesn’t conflict with Riot’s, he’s in the stands, supporting Riot and me just by being there. The two of them walk to their trucks afterward, and I hang back, getting in my own car once I see them drive off.

The guys and the coaching staff know something isn’t right between us. They left us alone, though one of the guys hung back and asked if I was okay. Imagine our surprise when Riot was right there, his face in the guy’s, growling. Growling, for goodness’ sake!

Brock’s words pull me back into the present. “We need to talk, Arie, about that day.”

I’m confused. “What day, again?” I barely know him.

He tents his fingers in front of his mouth. Dips his head toward the phone that’s on speaker.

“Whatever you have to say can be said in front of my brothers.”