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“You should have one, too,” Twyler says.

“Huh?” I ask, dragging my eyes away from the pair. “One what?”

“A drink. I know you’ve been holding off when we go out, but this is a safe space.”

If I’ve learned one thing over the past few weeks is that Axel Rakestraw is very dangerous, sober or not.

“I’m okay. I’ve gotten kind of used to it.”

“Used to what?” Reese asks, stepping next to Twyler and sliding his arm around her lower back. A pang strikes my heart, jealousy, there’s no doubt about it. I want that. The public affection. The casual touches. Belonging to someone else. Even now, Heather has no problem putting her hands on Axel.

“Not drinking,” I admit, holding up my sparkling water.

“Who would’ve thought Axel and Nadia would both be sober,” Jefferson says, obviously listening. He pours a glass of wine for the other girls.

“And celibate,” Reid adds cheerily. I cough and every eye lands on me. “I mean Axel,” Reid clarifies. “I don’t know, uh, anything about Nadia’s sex life.”

An awkward silence follows until Axel strokes his mustache and flashes the room a grin. “Hey, we’re undefeated, no one should question my methods.”

The result is drawing the heat away from me, which I have no doubt was his intention.

“I think all the food is ready,” Darla says, somehow the unofficial hostess of this dinner. “Grab a plate and dig in.”

“Wait,” Heather says. Reid groans, already dishing up a spoonful of mashed potatoes. Darla punches him in the gut and he drops the spoon. “Shouldn’t we say a blessing or something? List what we’re grateful for?”

“What about Axel,” Pete says. “Your dad’s a minister, right? You can kick off this dinner.”

“Oh right,” Bridget says, eyes widening. “Your dad is that guy on TV. From that huge church out in Texas, right? What’s it called?”

“Kingdom,” Pete supplies, earning a glare from Axel. “What? My aunt watches it on TV.”

“My mom watches sometimes,” Reid confesses. “Your sister is hot. How come she never visits?”

The look Axel gives his roommate is a death glare, but his girlfriend beats him to any kind of retribution by smacking him with a serving spoon. “What did you say?”

“Nothing, babe.”

Bridget, on the other hand, studies Axel closer. “You’re like a celebrity.”

“Not a celebrity.” Axel’s tone is clipped. “But we should totally do the whole thankful thing.” He saunters over to the food, grabs a plate, and piles my pastries on the top. “I’m thankful for undefeated seasons, kicking the Thunderbolt’s ass, and these delicious Texas delicacies that taste better than the ones my mother makes.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Twyler’s gaze slide from Axel to me. Refusing to give an inch, I nudge Reid, “Go eat.”

The guys fall like dominoes, forgetting a blessing or being thankful, ready to dive in to the feast. I grab my own plate and fill up on a hodge-podge of Thanksgiving-ish dishes, many store bought. We spread out around the room. I look for a seat andthere’s one next to Axel on the couch, Heather on the other side, her thigh glued to his. I don’t miss the pleading in his eyes–an SOS–wanting me to save him from the puck bunny, but Twyler calls out my name.

“Nad,” she pats the empty seat next to hers at the small dining table, “here.”

“Oh cool.” I give Axel an apologetic face.

Twyler takes a bite of her kolache. “Damn. These are good. How did you know to make them?”

Picking up my fork, I shrug. “Axel mentioned them being his favorite a few weeks ago. I got curious and looked them up.”

“I’m glad you did,” Reese says, shoving one in his mouth, “they’re fucking delicious.”

“What’s up with that about his dad?” Twyler asks.

“He’s a big-wig minister in Texas,” he says. “One of those mega churches. He doesn’t like talking about it.”