Sweet as Syn

25: SYN-Call of Duty

"Come in," Hunter shouts from the other side of his bedroom door. He pauses his video game when I walk in and sit on the edge of his bed. My gaze roamed all the artwork on his walls that I hadn't noticed the last time I was here because he was almost naked and that took all my focus, but I didn't peg him as an artsy guy. The photographs are rich and colorful and totally not something I'd think he'd have hung up. I wonder if they mean something special to him.

"Everything good?" He gives me a warm smile. He's the type of handsome that makes a grown woman feel like a giddy little girl with a hardcore crush. He even makes me nervous—That's how brokenly beautiful he is.

"I, um, just wanted to let you know I'm not going anywhere," I say timidly, worried I'll upset him more than he already seems to be. "If me seeing Greyson gets between you two or you and me, I'll end it." Maybe it's the wrong thing to promise, but Grey and I agreed on it.

When I spoke to Brooklyn and Cameron, they came up with our new ship name (#Greysyn), went online and overnight shipped custom-made hats for the house before the day was up. After that, Brooklyn asked, with the most serious expression I'd ever seen on him, if he could watch while we hooked up.

Hunter hasn't said a word.

"I mean it, Hunt." I put my hand over his and give it a reassuring squeeze. His blue-greens meet mine. "I'm right here."

"Yeah," he mumbles, dropping his gaze to the controller in his hand. "Got it."

"You got another one of those?" I jerk my chin at the controller, and he hands it to me, grabbing a second one by his PlayStation.

"Know how to play Call of Duty?" He side-eyes me as we both settle with our backs to his headboard.

"Oh, yeah. Sure, sure." Looks violent. Legally shooting men. Totally my scene.

Four hours later, and I'm standing on his pillows and he's on his knees at the foot of the bed, screaming at each other.

"Stop blowing me up, dude!" his thunderous voice demands. "I'm literally on your side, for fuck's sake."

I topple to my back, fighting for breath. "Your trigger finger is non-existent! I'm trying to help you!"

He flips around, fuming, then laughing when he sees me wheezing for breath. "Aim it literally anywhere else." He reaches back and snatches the controller from me, showing me where not to blow him up.

Before I could grab it back, the door flies open and Cameron hoists me around his neck like a scarf. "I'm trying to jerk off in peace, and you screaming at each other is the worst foreplay ever. Greaves, it's midnight, turn that shit off. Grizzly, I don't want you getting any more ideas on how to violently murder us." With that, he whisked me away, stopping briefly to let me wave goodnight before bringing me down the hall. "Wrong man, Synnie," Cam smirks at me over his shoulder. "I bet it's hard to tell them apart, you know, besides the different eye and hair color, completely different races and different personalities." He winks, barging into Greyson's room and depositing me on his bed. "Now, you two bumping uglies is the type of foreplay I'm talkin' about."

"If you ever say bumping uglies to my girl again, I'll make sure you have nothing ugly to bump with. Yeah?" is Greyson's welcoming line.

Cameron grins that million-dollar grin, shoving a giant hand in my hair and ruffling it. "You're so gone for Syn, man. Sleep tight, love birds."

When he leaves, Greyson's scowl redirects to me as he shuts his TV off. "Hi, baby."

I grin. "Hi."

"Everything good with Hunter?" he asks, and I nod. "Good. You have any studying to do?"

"Finished before practice," I answer, and a lazy, sinful smirk tugs at his lip.

I fully expect him to whip out his peen and screw me sideways now that we're dating, but he saunters over and puts my chin in his palm, admiring me sweetly. My heart jerks in my chest.

"I can't believe you're mine," he murmurs.

"I can't believe you convinced me to be yours," I taunt, taking his hand that's on my face and yanking him on top of me.

Instead of kissing me, he reaches down my sides and begins attacking me with tickles. As if I didn't already laugh enough with the guy.

"Grey! Greyson!" I squeal, gasping for air. Not the exact foreplay Cam asked for, but I'm sure it'll do.

He finally relents, but only after he's made me cry and lie breathless on my back at his mercy. He could do anything he wanted to me right now, and he chooses to lean down and softly kiss my tears, then my eyelids, making my lower belly flip and flutter. Then he kisses my nose and both cheeks.

It's funny watching him with me—like a lion caring for an abandoned baby gazelle. Outsiders must hold their breath, bracing for natural instincts to kick in and the lion to attack. But the gazelle knows.

Nose to nose, we stare down, admiring the view, basking in the sweet moment. After a minute, he softly closes his eyes and breathes in deep before planting a feather-soft kiss on my lips.

"Syn," he whispers on my mouth, giving me a few more seconds of sweet bliss before rolling off my body and lying next to me. "You're the best goddamn kisser on the planet." He reaches his strong arm over, veiny and shredded from holding himself above me, and traces the seams of my lips. "Let's get ready for bed, baby." He pinches my cheek before rolling off the bed, pulling me up with him.

After brushing our teeth and changing into his clothes, I climb on top of him in bed, this time covering his body with mine, my face in his neck and my legs curled around his torso. Mine. Mine. Mine.

He picks his phone up from the nightstand and showcases his photo album in my face. "Pick your favorite picture of us," he told me. I picked the one of me carrying him into the club on my back after the first game of the season. He logs onto my Instagram account from his phone and posts it, captioning it: No one can support my mans like I do. He presses post before I could snatch it out of his hand.

"You make me sound like a psychopath!" I squeal, trying to change the caption, but he tagged himself in it and already after thirty seconds, my phone is blowing up with likes and follows.

"Trust me, we gotta present you as the possessive type that no girl wants to mess with, or I'll keep getting groped wherever I go," he says, and he's got a point, but I'm really not possessive, and don't want to have to act like I am. "Don't worry, I'm going to post an equally cringeworthy caption."

He takes his phone and posts a picture of all five of us in the tattoo parlor with our pants half-down, showing off our new ink. He captions it: You're not best friends if your initials aren't tatted on each other's private parts. P.S. The short one is my girlfriend.

"Thanks for the clarification," I snicker, and watch his phone go into overdrive with notifications. Along with likes and comments, he gets a dozen angry texts from jealous girls, as if they've been cheated on.

"Sorry," he apologizes, shutting his phone off and putting it away. "I don't really know how to do the whole boyfriend thing. I just want everyone to know you're mine and I'm yours."

"It's okay." I smile. "You're doing a good job." As if I would have any experience.

He lifts my chin up to his face and crashes his lips to mine, then grabs my ass, pressing me into his erection that sprouted out of thin air. We make out eagerly for a while before falling asleep in each other's arms, surprisingly not going any further than a little kissing and dry humping.

If I knew dating Greyson was going to be this fun, I would've sealed the deal after the first kiss.