“Shut up.” They got to the kitchen and Stack groaned, dropping his head against the fridge.
Behind him, Armie snickered. “Looks like you could use a few zees, as well. You don’t want to disappoint her. I have a feeling her expectations are pretty high.”
He’d rather have Vanity over sleep any day.
Taking pity on him, Armie clasped Stack’s shoulder. “I promise to get everyone moving soon as we hit halftime. I’ll bribe them all with pizza to ensure they go. How’s that?”
His eyes felt gritty, his limbs heavy, and a dull throbbing reverberated through his brain. Yeah, he was pretty damned exhausted, so Vanity had to have felt the same.
That made him wonder, so he turned and straightened away from the fridge. “Did she tell you she was tired?”
Armie snorted—and scooted him aside so he could get a bottle of water. “No. She was all about manning up. It was cute.”
If Vanity heard Armie say that, she’d find some nice, sweet way to eviscerate him. No doubt she’d smile the entire time.
That was another thing Stack liked about her. Her quick wit, always delivered with deceptive good humor. “I’m going to take a shower.”
“Here?” Armie asked.
“Yeah, here. What of it?”
Holding up his hands in surrender, Armie said, “Just didn’t realize you guys had gotten to the stage where you made yourself at home.”
His shoulders bunched. “But you guys are okay moving in?”
Armie grinned. “Dude, I get it. Jealousy is a bitch. But you know the guys better than that.”
“I know all of you.” And that was part of the problem. Other than Gage, who was fully committed to Harper, they were all players.
And Vanity had admired each of them.
“You wanna back up that particular train wreck?”
Yeah, maybe he did. Scrubbing a hand over his face, Stack said, “Fuck you,” by way of apology.
And Armie took it as such. “Guys in love are so pathetic.”
Love? Whoa. Rallying real anger and a heaving heapin’ of frustration, Stack took a stance and opened his mouth—
“Checked the fence,” Armie said, cutting him off. “I fixed a few spots, and now it’s secure. I even did you a solid by taking the mutts out a few times so they could get used to things. Give them a few chews—which I picked up for you when I made a snack run—and they should give you an uninterrupted hour. Anything beyond that, though, is dicey.”
Damn, but friends were nice. “I owe you.”
“I won’t let you forget,” Armie promised him. “Now go take your shower. Make it cold enough to freeze out the stupidity.”
Yeah, he’d shower, and hopefully that would revive him, too. “Keep it down. And seriously, the second halftime hits, I want everyone gone.”
“Got it covered.”
Yeah, he’d owe Armie. Big time. But right now, all he could think about was what he owed Vanity.
It was a debt he couldn’t wait to pay.
* * *
WHEN THE BACKGROUND noise faded, Vanity stirred awake. A little disoriented, she lifted her head and glanced at the clock on her nightstand. Wow, for sure she’d slept long enough.
Levering up on to her forearms, she realized she hadn’t moved. She’d literally crashed to the mattress face-first, and that’s where she’d stayed. A touch to her cheek confirmed a few creases caused by the comforter. Yawning, she rolled to her back and indulged in some luxurious stretching.
Now, finally, she’d get things underway with Stack. Smiling widely, she bounced out of the bed.
Taking two minutes in the bathroom, she splashed her face, brushed the tangles from her hair, and quickly cleaned her teeth. Makeup was out. She just plain didn’t care enough. But she could at least change out of her wrinkled clothes.
Still feeling ebullient, she rummaged in a drawer and found one of her favorite T-shirts representing the SBC. It had special meaning to her for many reasons.
After she’d followed Yvette from California to Ohio, Cannon had given it to her. He’d told her it made her an official part of his family now that he and Yvette were reunited. Such a great guy. She couldn’t be happier for them.
Lacking any close family, Yvette had become like a much-loved sister to her, and now she had a brother in Cannon, as well.
She’d also seen Stack eyeing her in the shirt whenever she wore it. It was big and boxy—clearly a man’s shirt—from a limited-edition collection the SBC had done. Did Stack wonder if a fighter had given it to her?