Sweet as Syn

8: SYN-Pasta Night

It's funny. Twelve years I've been on my own, and I was cool with it. It became normal. Twelve years. Yet, three days without my guys has me feeling at a loss. One taste of their warmth and I'm a damn addict. Of course, I'd never tell them that. Instead, I dropped protein shakes off at their second practice of the day because what do you gift the men who give you warmth? A protein shake, I guess.

Their first game of the season is tomorrow, which means tonight is pasta night for the cheerleaders. Have I mentioned I love food? Yeah, well, I do. A lot. And I made a ginormo mac and cheese dish to chow down on and share with my teammates, but before I could follow my roommates out of our dorm to where pasta night is being held, I am stopped.

"Where do you think you're going?" Jackie asks, halting at the door.

"Uh..." Where do you think I'm going holding a giant thing of pasta, you dumb bitch? "Pasta night."

"Oh, no, sweetie." She laughs in my face. "Pasta night isn't for the flyers."

"Yeah, we're the ones who have to lift your ass tomorrow, and you're heavy enough," Rachel says, and I do my best to refrain from throwing the heavy glass dish at their heads.

What have I done to deserve this? All I've done is try to be a good, quiet roommate and a kick-ass teammate, and they constantly put me down. Every fiber of my being shakes to fight back, but my years of silence keeps me from exploding, out of respect.

Instead of basking in my misery, I decide to call a ride and drop my dish off at the Playboy Brownstone. Whatever. The guys will appreciate it.

But what I wasn't expecting was for Jay, one of the football players I met at Barzy's, to open the door. He gives me a big, welcoming smile before turning his head and screaming to the house full of football players, "Yo! Syn is in the house!"

Talk about a flip of emotions. The sting from my teams' rejection wisps away as I am warmly regarded by the guys I recognize from the other night, piled in the kitchen, living room and patio outside, everyone eating and laughing. The energy is buzzing, and I can practically feel the excitement for tomorrow. Maybe I should feel awkward walking in on a team of like, eighty football players, but I've never felt so at home.

"Grizzly!" Cameron shouts when he spots me, jogging over. I quickly placed my dish on the kitchen counter before he could trample me and knock it out of my hands. He wraps me in a huge bear hug, lifting me off my feet. "I'm glad you stopped by. We wanted to see you before the big game."

"You pumped for tomorrow, or do you still have the shits?" I ask, and he throws his head back in laughter.

"I'm pumped. And you should be too. It's your first time at a BC football game! You're gonna love it."

"I can't wait to see you guys do your thing," I smile cheesily and squeeze his muscular forearm when he plants me back on my feet. "Anyway, just came to wish you good luck and drop off some mac and cheese."

He grins his big, white smile and ruffles my hair. "That's sweet. Come," he instructs, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward the buffet of food, adding my dish to the end of it and placing a plate in my hand. "Help yourself to whatever you'd like, then come outside and join us."

I thank him before adding a shitload of carbs to the plate, enough to put me in a comatose state, and following him to the patio. The boys don't seem surprised to see me, like this is where I was meant to be in the first place. I look like an infant in a crowd of giant, grown men with beards and testosterone and penises, but I feel like I fit in.

After most of the team clears out, I help clean up and wash the dishes. I take my time because if I'm being honest, I don't want to leave again.

"I think you just became our team's unofficial mascot," Greyson concludes as he dries off a clean dish I've passed him. "I'm glad you stopped by tonight."

"Thanks for letting me stay. I had fun," I grin, cleaning off the last dish of the night and handing it off to him.

He dries it quickly then pushes me with two hands on my shoulders into the living room, where we both plop down on the couch. I lie back, my belly jutting out from the excessive amount of carbs I ate tonight. Suck on that, stunt group.

"Can you promise me something?" I question after a beat of pleasant silence.

His brow quirks inquisitively. "Depends. If you're about to tell me you murdered someone and need me to help bury the body, I'm probably not your guy. I'm a shit liar and I'd probably run straight to the police and turn myself in."

A hearty chuckle slips through my lips. I lift my arm lazily to smack his, and da-yum it is extra shredded from those two-a-days. I can't even blame the redhead, Amber, from lunch for rubbing all up on those muscles.

"No dead bodies," I assure. "But tomorrow you're going to find out something about me that you're not going to like. Can you promise to try not to hate me?"

"Hate you? Dude..." He rolls his eyes like I'm being dramatic, and maybe I am, but the way they look at the cheerleaders freaks me out.

"Can you just shut up and promise you won't make a huge deal about it?"

"Yeah, sure, I promise. Wanna sleep over tonight?" he offers randomly, and my heart somersaults in my chest.

"No, I'll let you guys get your rest." I open my phone and order an Uber.

We watch Friends on his flat screen, The One Where Ross is Fine, and laugh as if we've never seen it before, even though I have, about sixteen times. But Greyson laughing is like nothing else. It makes me hyper aware and hyper happy.

"Alright, Decker, my ride's here," I announce when my phone dings.

I roll over and give him a lazy attempt at a one-sided hug, still so full I can barely move. But he apparently has the strength to tug me by my arms into his lap and squeeze the living daylights out of me. I feel like a human-sized bowling ball after everything I ate, but in his arms, I feel tiny. I try to ignore the harsh waves of heat rolling through my body from the intimate embrace.

"Can't wait to watch you destroy UMass tomorrow," I say before bravely leaning in and placing a soft kiss on his cheek, almost melting at the way the dark scruff on his jaw tickles my lips.

Gosh, I want to rub my palm over that beard, that strong jawline, and into his shaggy hair. I hear him suck in a breath and feel him squeeze me tighter, like he doesn't want to let me go, like he wants my lips on him as much as I do. But I pulled back and climbed out of his lap and out the front door before things got weird.