College Ruled

twenty-five

| 25 |
____________

MY BIRTHDAY begins with an angry smoke detector and four dirty football players.

This morning, I woke up with yet another sticky note on my forehead telling me the guys were at film in preparation for the game tonight. By the time I actually woke up enough to crawl out of bed and downstairs, they were already back, their loud movements and cackling chatter droning on from the kitchen.

The smoke alarm began screeching before I even made it across the living room. Followed by a lot of cursing and the sound of a sizzling skillet being thrown under the sink faucet.

Now, Maverick and Preston are squeezed in by the stove, shoving into one another's shoulders to watch Wesley plop a lumpy ladle-full of pancake batter onto a fresh skillet. Loose batter is sprawled across their fingers and forearms, their lips turned down in concentration. Grayson stands in the corner. He waves a folded takeout menu in front of the smoke detector, arm muscles stretched, shirt riding up to showcase a sliver of tanned skin above the band of his sweats.

They've been home for at least half an hour if the plates of already-made, crispy pancakes lining the countertop are any indication.

A lone stack of pancakes rests in the center of the table. Whipped cream melts off the edges, pooling along the edges of the paper plate. There's a chocolate chip smiley face decorated across the top.

       It's adorable. And sweet. And absolutely unexpected.

A grin stretches my lips. "For me?"

"Rem! Happy birthday," Wesley sings and steps back from the stove to swivel toward me. Effortlessly, he flips the ladle in his hand and points the metal handle my way, completely ignoring the drops of batter that fly through the air to land on the cabinets by his knee. "Only the best for Gray's girl."

His words sink heavy in my chest. My throat tightens. For many reasons, really. For the fact that we're lying straight to their faces. For the fact that they're spending their time doing something nice for me, for someone who they wouldn't think twice about if they didn't believe I actually meant something to their boy.

It feels wrong, not being able to tell them that they're off the hook. That they don't have to pretend to care about whether I have a good birthday or not just because I'm Gray's girl.

       Because, well—I'm not.

"You really didn't have to," I eventually say, smile shy and warm on my face. It's the closest I get to the truth. "But I do like pancakes." I sink down into the chair and waste no time cutting into the cream-smothered stack.

"See—pancakes are good. But hazelnut?" Maverick flips another pancake onto the skillet. "Personally I think it's absolutely disgusting, but to each their own."

        The fork pauses on its way to my mouth.

         "Hazelnut?"

          "Yeah, Theo said—" Preston frowns at the grimace on my face, his eyebrows pulling in when I set the fork down without biting into it. "What's wrong?"

         Guilt immediately pools in my stomach as I look at the mess sprawled across the kitchen. At the four boys now staring at me—faces pinched, hands still holding dirty utensils.