ready for it? • t. zegras

thirty one

The annual summer party started long before I was born. Grandma started it as a way to guarantee she gets to see everyone at least twice a year. It's this and Christmas. There are a lot more people during that first day but then it thins out to only... The inner circle, I guess you could say. Grandma has her kids and grandkids stay along with the Sauer's, long-time family friends.

It must be something with the acres of land in the middle of nowhere that messes with Sunny's head because the boy gets messy. Like. He cannot resist being anything but messy. The whole drive out, he was fucking with Trevor. Things like "Oh, Granddad has never liked any guy, friend or not, that Tenner's brought." and "You've got a lot of people to impress." Which, sure, both statements are true. Unnecessary. More unnecessary than true.

So, I don't think the queasy look on Z's face is from the winding dirt road to the house. He sends me the quickest of smiles while holding his hand out, helping me out of the car I've known longer than I've known him. He'll be alright.

"Don't let Sunshine get to your head," I say softly. "You're Trevor fucking Zegras."

"Honey, could you watch your language in front of your grandparents," Mom warns. It sounds like a request. It's not.

* * * * *

I put my hand on Trevor's back and guide him past the kitchen and dining room where everyone else goes. "We're going to start you off easy."

"Which means..."

No response. It needs to have some surprise. The double doors to the game room are already open. One of them's missing. Not the doors. One of the goddamn twins isn't even in here. Does nobody want me to have my life perfect? Ugh. Whatever.

Roman leans down to grab the mini basketball he just absolutely fucking bricked. When he pops back up he is way too tall. No. He didn't. No! The Bastard got a growth spurt. Spencer, I could deal with because he sucks at basketball. Sunny's a lifelong bench rider. Rome, however, gives me a run for my money. I would never tell him that of course.

"C'mon, Tenner, took you long enough," he says. "We've been here since nine."

"Overachiever."

"Rich coming from you."

"Got me there," I mumble. With the hand on Z's back, I shove him a step forward. "This is my friend, Trevor. Trevor, this is Roman."

"Nice to meet you, man," Trevor says. Oh god. I'm going to clock Spencer in the head.

"Loosen up, hon. He's fifteen. You don't have to impress him."

"You look really familiar." Roman's brows are furrowed as he doesn't even try to hide the stare he's giving Z.

I walk past the idiot frozen in place by a fifteen-year-old, getting comfy on the couch. When Trevor says nothing, I fill the space. "He plays hockey. You into that at all?"

"Oh, my god." To my surprise, Rome starts laughing his ass off. This is the funniest thing in the world to him. "Dude, Reyna's going to freak out when she gets back."

"Why?"

"She's on this kick of being in love with a bunch of different NHL players for like... months now. Surprised it didn't come up on our little trip."

"Do you know names?" I ask. Z lays down, propped up with his elbow, on the little longer part of the couch. I think Dad said it's supposed to be like a chaise lounge in the couch or something. I don't know.

Rome sighs and hums. "Wanna say... Jack something. Marner something. Some name with like a Chuck in it, for sure. Zebras? There's got to be a Z name."

"Zegras? Trevor Zegras?"