Forever Could Be Ours

Chapter 26. | Her Mere Presence

ALEXANDER

"Have we started a printer business?" Tristan's silvery voice cuts through the intense throbbing of the migraine crushing my skull. Standing at the end of a paper trail, his eyes scan mine with confusion.

"Midterms," I answer wryly, fixated on calculating the percentage answer result of Emilia Wyatt's paper.

His bulky shadow wheezes past me to get to the fridge, but not before taking a random set of papers, peeking at the results. "Please tell me you didn't actually subject your students to do the exam by hand?"

"Of course not," I prompt, writing down the result. "The school board wouldn't let me."

His eyes narrow and he shakes his head, snickering. He throws the papers back on the table and heads for the fridge, opening it. "Isn't it easier to correct them online?"

"It is," I throw the corrected midterm into the pile of finished with a heavy sigh. Fifteen out of twenty-three. Eight to go.

"But you choose to assault a printer instead?"

"Professor Payne specifically said reviewing the midterms off-screen helps you spot errors more easily," I mumble, flickering the yellow pencil between my fingers. "And if anything, the printer assaulted me."

The mechanical monster nearly cut my finger in half when I tried to add new sheets of paper. Annandale High is up to speed on all parameters with high-tech equipment, and newly renovated modern classrooms, but the printer? It's a relic from the relic from the prehistoric era that wheezes and grumbles every time it spits a page out.

Not to mention it smells like fried chicken when it overheats.

"You and Professor Payne share a level of understanding I'll never comprehend." A light smell of citrus fragrance fills the air when Tristan starts peeling oranges, dividing the wedges into two bowls. "You sure he's not your secret father?"

"The DNA results came back negative."

I don't even realize the thick sound of disappointment in my tone before I see the grin creasing on his face as he shrugs. "What a shame."

For the first time since planting my ass on this stool, I smile. It's small, barely noticeable, but enough to leave Tristan pleased as he reaches under the counter to pull out a cutting board.

"Remember Dami's birthday party this weekend." Finding a spot on the kitchen island that isn't cluttered by my mess, he grabs a pineapple and rips the crown off. "I know you got a gig, but you're more than welcome to show up after."

A low, surly grunt slips out of my mouth before I can prevent it. I have nothing against Tristan's teammates. They're genuinely nice and friendly, perhaps a little nuts, but always eager to share a laugh.

But parties at the soccer house are famously known for culminating in vomit-ridden disasters. I've had my fair share of moments being the designated driver to say that the morning after always resembles a crime scene investigation.

"Reid," Tristan cuts the pineapple over the middle, diving it into mini pieces. "It's okay if you're too tired after the musical. But Asher and Marco will be there."

"Really?" I tap the rubber against my cheek, pursing my lips in consideration.

Tristan nods, smiling satisfiedly as he watches me over his shoulder. "Thought it would be worth mentioning."

"Yeah," I drop the pencil to the countertop, tapping my fingers against the light marble instead. It's been a while since the four of us have been together.