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“You two coming inside?” Colter shouts, reminding me where I am.

Holding out his arm, Stefano declares, “After you.”

I nod, passing by him before we both climb the stairs.

“Stef, I wasn’t expecting you today,” Colter states through gritted teeth.

“Don’t worry,” Stefano quips. “I’m not staying just needed to see my room so I can instruct the movers where to put my shit, man.”

My gaze volleys between their standoff.I wonder what that’s about.

“You go to school here?” The question bursts from between my lips without a second thought.

Shifting his attention to me, Stefano responds, “Si, signorina.”

“Fucking Pepé Le Pew-Fabio motherfucker,” Colter mumbles, but it’s loud enough that we all can hear.

Chuckling, Stefano rebuts, “You only got it half correct. Pepé is French, and I’m one hundred percent Sicilian.”

I snort, then blush when his eyes land on me.

“I’m a junior, just like Coop and this dickhead, Colt,” Stefano confirms, crossing his arms across his chest, accentuating his broad shoulders and athletic build.

“Keep it up, Stef,” Colter threatens as Cooper comes into view.

Throwing his hands up in mock surrender, Stefano jokes, “I come in peace.”

“What’s taking you all so long to come inside? You’re letting out all the damn air,” Cooper expresses, and Colter moves out of the way to let us both in.

“Stef, you finally made it, asshole,” Cooper exclaims, then they both do some version of a handshake before dapping fists.

Colter rolls his eyes. “You two are still doing this shit. What are we five?”

I giggle, remembering how Farrah and I would greet each other. It always ended with us bumping hips, and we joked that it was how she would grow hips of her own.

When I look up, all their attention is on me, causing my skin to heat.

“They’re idiots,” Colter mumbles.

“And you’re just jealous,” Cooper retorts.

Huffing, Colter turns to me. “Let’s grab something from the kitchen until the pizza arrives and leave them to their bromance.”

Laughing, I follow Colt deeper into their house, down a hall, and into the kitchen.

“Grab a seat,” he instructs, motioning to the island in the center of the kitchen as he strides toward the fridge. “What do you want to drink?”

I wipe my sweaty palms on the back of my shorts, then pull out the oak barstool chair and sit. “What are my options?”

Pulling open the refrigerator door, he says, “White cran-strawberry juice.”

I freeze, forgetting to speak. Colter grabs the juice and a glass before he approaches the island. “Cat got your tongue?” he teases.

Shaking off my initial surprise, I exclaim, “You remembered?” It’s more of a question than a statement because I can’t understand why they would retain such mundane information.

“Our house is still stocked with this, in case you drop by.” Colter shrugs, placing the glass on the table in front of me.

His response reminds me there’s a family that welcomed me and still does, even with the damage I’ve caused.