Page 10 of Riot

Riot stepped toward the stack of tables. “You know the layout better than we do?”

“Tragically, yes.” I moved beside him and reached for one end of the top table. My fingers brushed metal. His hand closed over the other side. “I’m sort of rec center adjacent. They use me when they run out of actual staff.”

“Lucky them.”

That came with a small smile, and I had to look down so he wouldn’t catch mine going soft and stupid.

Mayhem grabbed the other end before I could make a fool of myself standing there. We lifted together and started for the side exit.

The table legs rattled with each step. My shoulder bumped the doorframe on the way through. Grace was never really my ministry.

“Smooth,” I muttered.

Riot glanced over. “You do this a lot?”

“Embarrass myself? Constantly.”

Outside, the morning felt better than before. The breeze cut some of the heat, and the side lot sat mostly in shade. We carried the table over to where a grill would probably go later. I helped set it down, then straightened and wiped my palms on my shorts.

Riot looked at me for a beat. “I meant move tables.”

“Right. That makes more sense.” I pushed a hand through my hair. “Sorry. My brain likes to take the scenic route.”

Mayhem gave Riot a look that I didn’t bother trying to decode. Then he said, “I’ll grab the next one.”

He headed back inside, leaving me and Riot standing near the table in a patch of half-sun.

That should not have felt as noticeable as it did.

I shifted my weight. My heartbeat was still a little up from the game, which I was choosing to blame for all this. “So. Riot.”

He nodded once. “Calvin.”

“Those are both names.”

That got a laugh out of him. A real one, quick and warm.

“Last I checked,” he said.

I smiled despite myself. Then I looked toward the door, took a quick breath, and looked back. “I’m just saying. Riot and your friend Mayhem showing up together feels a little on the nose.”

He huffed another laugh and hooked his thumbs in his front pockets. “You worried?”

“About a cookout turning into an action movie?” I tilted my head. “A little.”

His gaze dropped briefly to my basketball shorts and sneakers then lifted again. It didn’t linger in a gross way. It just noticed. I noticed that he noticed, which was its own problem.

“You play out here a lot?” he asked.

“Whenever I can. It’s free, and it gives me the illusion of athleticism.”

“With that shot?”

I gave him a look. “You saw that?”

“I caught enough of it.”

“That was one good shot,” I said. “Please don’t build a legend around me.”