Page 33

Byron

The relief that came over me when Ivy threw Jalen and me a list of errands that would have us running all over Manhattan was second to none.

The first thing on our to-do list was to pick up some pizza dough. Surrounded by eighty floor skyscrapers and New Yorkers rushing like they are the only people with somewhere to go, I lock my eyes on the cracks in the sidewalk. Let’s be honest. I don’t need any more bad luck.

I had one conversation about what happened at my mom’s with Jalen and it went like this:

So, when Lola and I got to the apartment today to surprise my mom, she was cuddled on the couch with my dad.

Oh shit.

Yeah, oh shit.

Then, like the mature men we pretend to be, we didn’t talk about it for the rest of the day.

We spent a few hours walking around Chelsea and Hell’s Kitchen checking one thing after the other off on Ivy’s list. I have to say I don’t think about my parents once.

Relationships are weird, there are the ones that end and you never know why.

Ones where you don’t have to talk everyday, but pick up where you left off.

I think if you’re really lucky you’ll be able to find your soulmate.

Your perfect match. The one you’re meant to find in every lifetime.

Jalen found that in Ivy. I think I could have that with Lola.

“How’s the wedding planning going?” I almost have to yell to be heard over the bustling Manhattan streets.

“If I’m being honest, I have no clue,” he says before dodging a man on an electric scooter.

“Other than my Mom wanting us to get married in a church, I don’t care. I just want to be Ivy’s husband,” his eyes soften.

“Her sister is having the time of her life planning it with Ivy. She didn’t get to have a big wedding when she got married.”

“Are you guys having the wedding before or after she has her twins?”

“Are you kidding me? After.” He puts his bag down and hails us a taxi.

“Something about Ruby not wanting to feel like a whale at the wedding. Ivy said she doesn’t mind the long engagement. It will give us a couple of seasons to get used to an eighty-two-game schedule, and she’ll be halfway through school by the time we get married.”

Before I can answer, his phone rings and by the smile pulling at his lips there is only one person it can be. After a chorus of mhmms and yes babes he hangs up the phone and turns to face me.

“The girls have finished everything that they could for tonight and planned a game night for us.”

Four overly competitive people in a small Manhattan apartment. What could go wrong?

“That’s going to go well.”

Game night is out to an interesting start. The teams are split kindergarten style, boys versus girls. According to Ivy, She spends too much time with Jalen and wants nothing more than to beat his ass.

I expect nothing less from a relationship that was built on bets and bragging rights. Game night at the Holloway household is not for the faint of heart.

We started with Jenga. Lola thought it would ease us into the night’s festivities. Now the two of us are sitting at Jalen and Ivy’s kitchen table—a luxury in New York City– as we watch the supposedly happy engaged couple read through some obscure Jenga Reddit.

“I don’t know how much longer I can sit here and watch this,” I whisper to Lola.

Across from me, both Ivy and Jalen are scrolling on their phones. Desperately looking for some random stranger to prove themselves right and their significant other wrong.

Lola fakes a yawn and stretches her hands over her head, really playing up the moment.

“I think I’m going to bed. We had a long day of travel and there is still a lot to do tomorrow.”

“Byron, the extra blankets and pillows are in the closet if you don’t want to go home,” Jalen mumbles, not looking up from his phone.

I appreciate him not making me ask, but I’m not necessarily ready to go to bed.

“I have toothpaste if you want to use your finger to brush your teeth,” Lola offers.

She’s barely taller than me when she stands up.

I’ve missed her like this. Baggy sweatpants that she has to roll up a few times resting on her hips.

A t-shirt that’s three sizes too big. Black hair in a pile at the top of her head.

She is not putting on a show. She’s just Lola and she looks beautiful.

We walk back to the spare bedroom staying silent until we are out of earshot of the homeowners.

“They are insufferable when they do anything competitive,” she sounds annoyed, but there is a slight shimmer in her green eyes.

“I don’t mind sleeping on the couch; I know when we get back to school, you have a bunch of important games.”

Her face falls when she opens the closet door, realizing that the spare pillows and blankets are out of her reach.

“Is Pipsqueak not tall enough to reach the blankets?” I coo.

The heat behind her eyes would make a weaker man cry. For me, her sometimes cold personality and glaring glances won’t run me off. Not this time.

She’s a persistent little thing, pushing up on her toes and letting these little grunts that honestly stir something up inside of me.

I step behind her, using my height to reach over her and grab what I need to make up the couch.

The supplies slip from my hand on the way down.

Instinctively, I lunge forward to grab the falling blanket, all my momentum stops when my front grazes against Lola’s back.

My pants instantly grow tighter, and all bets are off when Lola lets out a little groan.

“Lo, you can’t make sounds like that in front of me if I am just trying to earn your friendship back.”

She stays snuggled into my groin just long enough for her shoulders to move up and down once before she turns to face me. I keep the playful smile on my face, no hint of disappointment when I feel her moving away.

She clears her throat. “So I’ll take the couch?”

“No,” I shake my head. “I’m the one crashing the party. I don’t mind taking the couch.”

She turns–and damn, her ass looks good–to pick up the blankets and pillow.

“Good night, Byron.”

“Good night, Lola. I hope you dream of things that could be.”