Cam
Anyone who walked into the library would not think this was a group of guys who’d just had their asses handed to them. They were chatting as they wrote their essays.
Baloo was getting Perry’s advice on how to take an Alpha selfie that didn’t scream toxic masculinity.
Ryder was assuring Crabcatcher that, with him in the eight seat, they’d still crush Westvale.
Noah was explaining to Quaid what contrition meant.
Josh made a sound like a trumpet heralding great news. “Here’s how we’re celebrating my birthday,” he announced.
Maybe it was Josh’s way of trying to cheer everyone up after Coach’s tirade. Or, more realistically, maybe the idea that everything wasn’t revolving around him was too much to handle.
Teagan, who’d sat next to Cam, rolled her eyes and whispered, “It’s like he thinks his birthday is a national holiday.”
Pretty much.
“First up,” Josh said, “I’ll be hosting the obligatory family dinner party for Grandad.”
Ryder, who always got twitchy when talk circled around the Regis power players, mimed kissing a ring. “Thanks for the life of luxury, Grandad.”
Josh ignored him. “Then it’s time for the real party. The one you’re invited to. I call it the ‘Young, Rich, and Depraved’ weekend.”
The boys leaned in. Josh jumped on a low table, loving the limelight. His temporary stage was probably an antique, but when your family owned an airline, what were a few scuff marks on an irreplaceable plank of wood from the eighteenth century? “We’ll start with Formula One go-kart racing.”
“Sick.” Ryder snapped his fingers.
“Then MMA lessons and a cage match.”
“Baller!” Perry shouted. Hilarious considering Perry freaked out if so much as a solitary hair on his head moved out of place. He probably saw it as a way to increase his followers.
“And finally,” Josh said, cuing a human drumroll from Baloo, “a private jet to Atlanta because… we’ve got backstage passes to see Kendrick!”
Everyone lost their shit. Even Cam. Because, well, backstage passes to Kendrick and a private jet? That wasn’t an invitation he’d get twice.
Teagan shot him a look of disbelief. “You’re going? You guys aren’t even friends.”
True. “It’s a team thing.”
“Right,” Teagan said, all sarcastic. “Is that why all of you were Quaid’s henchmen today? I didn’t think dumping loaded fries ingredients into someone’s car was your kind of thing.”
It wasn’t, but… he’d had to. “Look,” he started, figuring out the best way to explain the complex machinations of showing up for someone you’d probably never be friends with in real life.
“Quaid’s a doofus, but we’re teammates. He asked for our help.
He had his reasons. It would’ve been a dick move to say no. ”
“Even though you knew it was wrong?”
She really didn’t get it. “Have you ever been on a team before?”
She scoffed. “Yes. Swimming, tennis, track—”
“Those are solo sports.”
“What’s your point?” she snapped.
He shrugged. He got it now. Why she didn’t understand. “I’m thinking someone’s only-child syndrome means she never learned how to play nicely with others.”
“That’s not—” She glared at him, huffing like a baby dragon trying to snort her first squirt of fire. He grinned.
She stomped off, like an only child who’d never learned how to play nicely with others.
He wished he knew how to help. He’d seen how much work she’d put into becoming a better cox.
The guys had, too. But there was still a line between them she hadn’t figured out how to cross.
It was probably one of those lessons you needed to figure out yourself.
The hard way. Like he had. The less time spent with Josh Regis the better as far as he was concerned.
But a backstage pass to Kendrick? It definitely took the edge off.