Page 52 of The Replay
“Not lately,” I admit. “I can’t wait for the semester to end, honestly. Online classes while living at home is driving me insane. I miss being on campus. I miss having an excuse to see him every day.” God, I sound so needy.
Adriana stands up, her wet feet slapping against the pool deck as we retrieve our towels. “Ugh, I can’t even imagine. I mean, I love my parents but living with them again,” she shivers. “No thanks.”
“Exactly.” I grab my towel and wipe the water from my face. “I shouldn’t have switched to online. And … I think it’s time I consider moving out, again.”
“Really?”
I nod. “I need my own space. And my own routine, and … normalcy. Maybe when all the Austin stuff is finally over,” I sigh. I’m just so ready to have control over my own life again.
We walk toward the locker room, our teammates already heading in that direction, their laughter and chatter filling the space. Adriana slings her towel over her shoulder, eyeing me curiously.
“You thinking about the dorms again? Or are you looking off campus?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t really given it a lot of thought but—” I shrug. “I think it’s time to.”
Adriana’s expression softens, and for a second, she looks like she’s about to say something, but instead, she just pats my arm. “You still have time to figure it out.
“Yeah,” I agree softly. “I guess I do.”
“And hey, if you need to talk about any of the Austin stuff, you know I’m here, right?”
I nod, grateful for her offer even if I don’t feel like diving into that mess right now. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”
She smiles, nudging me with her shoulder as we push through the locker room doors. The scent of chlorine is even stronger in here, mixing with the smell of damp towels and soap.
“So,” Adriana says as we step inside the locker room, her voice light again, “what are you going to wear to this BBQ? Please tell me you’re going to rock something that’ll make Gabriel lose his mind.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “I’m thinking casual. It’s not like I’m trying to seduce him in front of his teammates.”
She rolls her eyes. “Please, if you showed up in sweats that boy would still be drooling all over you.”
I snort, throwing my towel over the bench as I peel off my swimsuit. “Maybe. But I’ll save the ‘mind-blowing outfit’ for after the BBQ.”
She winks. “That’s the spirit.”
gabriel
. . .
“Yo! Hurry the hell up, man!”Felix hollers, wheeling the shopping cart down the aisle like he's training for a NASCAR pit stop. His energy radiates off him, buzzing, as if grocery shopping is a sport instead of a chore. He takes a sharp turn, barely missing an old lady by inches. My stomach drops.
"Felix!" I hiss, jogging over to the woman. Jesus. My heart races. "I’m so sorry," I say, my voice tight with embarrassment. "He’s a little … enthusiastic today."
She waves it off, her shaky smile attempting to reassure me. “Oh, no worries, dear. He gave me a little startle, that’s all.”
I nod, but the tension doesn’t leave my shoulders until I’m halfway down the next aisle, trying to catch up to the idiot. “You’re gonna run someone over, you dick,” I mutter under my breath, yanking the cart to a halt. Felix is standing on the lower lip of the cart, coasting like a damn five-year-old. Sometimes I wonder how he makes it through his classes every day without adult supervision.
He glances back, one eyebrow quirking. “We don’t have all day, man. Meat’s not gonna grill itself and people are going to start showing up to the house soon.”
I roll my eyes. “If we get kicked out because you take out somebody’s grandma, we won’t have a BBQ at all. Also, I’d like to avoid a lawsuit, so just chill. Okay?”
Felix huffs, grabbing a random can off the shelf and holding it up. "Cheez Whiz. Great idea for an appetizer, yeah?" He smirks. There’s that mischievous glint in his eyes that usually means trouble’s about to follow.
I knew I should have made the store run solo.
"Put that shit back," I mutter, grabbing it from him and tossing it aside. We’re here for carne, tortillas, and the essentials, not gross-ass Cheez Whiz. I steer us toward the meat counter, where the butcher gives us a once-over, probably wondering if we’re serious customers or here to cause a scene.
“Seven pounds of Arrachera, please,” I say, placing my order.
