Page 29 of The Play Maker

“Tell me someone brought food,” I groan, dragging myself onto the couch and kicking my shoes off.

Ryan doesn’t look up from his phone. “You’ve got two legs and a wallet. Figure it out.”

I grab a throw pillow and place it behind my head. “I’m emotionally fragile. The least you could do is feed me.”

Nathan glances up from his phone, arching a brow my way. “You’re suspended, not starved.”

“There’s a kitchen right there,” Ryan adds, nodding toward it.

I give it a quick glance, then scowl. “You know I can’t cook. That’s why God invented takeout.”

Logan kicks back on the couch, one arm slung over the backrest. “You guys down to check out that new bar near campus tonight?”

I glance at Nathan. He gives a shrug.

Ryan doesn’t miss a beat. “Can’t. I’ve got plans.”

I grin. “Lemme guess. Hot date with your PS5?”

He shoots me a smug look. “Hotter,” he says with a smirk. “Isabella.”

Nathan groans and drops his head back against the cushion. “For the love of God. Can you not?”

Ryan grabs a chip from the bowl and flicks it at him. “Can you be less dramatic?”

“She’s mysister, man.”

Can’t even blame him. The idea of my little sister dating a hockey player makes me want to crawl into a hole and stay there. We’re the worst.

Ryan just shrugs and a smug-ass smirk pulls at his lips. “And she loves me.”

Nathan scoffs. “She also used to eat glue and thoughtHigh School Musicalwas peak cinema. Her judgment’s always been questionable.”

Ryan chuckles. “You’ve got to get over this, man. She picked me.”

Nathan shoves his shoulder. “She likes making bad decisions, clearly.”

“Must run in the family,” Ryan shoots back with a smirk.

Logan barks out a laugh. “Hey, how long before we start calling Ryan your brother-in-law?”

Nathan’s face goes flat. “Don’t.”

“I’m picturing the wedding already,” I say, stretching out my hands behind my head. “Matching tuxes. You crying in the background.”

“I will light myself on fire,” Nathan mutters.

“Better get used to me,” Ryan says with a wink. “Family dinners, holidays, matching Christmas pajamas?—”

Nathan grabs the nearest pillow and clocks him in the side of the head. “Shut the hell up.”

Ryan laughs like he lives for this. And honestly, maybe he does.

This is the best part of the day. Sitting around, talking shit, no pressure. Just the guys being dumb. For a minute, I can pretend I’m not drowning in stress over the essay I didn’t finish or the scholarship I’m barely holding onto. Pretend I’m not one bad grade away from losing everything.

Right now?

I just breathe.