Relying On Ben and Jerry (Waltham #1)

Chapter Twenty-One: The Negative Effects of Peer Pressure

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Quinton said smoothly as he slid onto the lunch bench beside me, smiling charmingly as he looked around at my conversing friends and me, all of us indeed having been in the middle of a discussion on the best superhero and being disrupted by him, but I would have given one of my precious kidneys to hear what he had to say. I turned to look at him and blushed because his arm was close enough to brush against mine if we were close enough, smiling up at him.

“You weren’t interrupting anything,” I assured him, dazed by his gorgeousness.

“Really?” Colonel snorted sarcastically. “What is it that you want, Lancaster? Some of us got more important things to be talkin’ ’bout than somethin’ with the likes of you.”

Norma slapped him on the arm, horrified, but Quinton didn’t even seem to hear it.

“So I’m going to be as overly cliché as possible,” he assured us, grinning as he leaned forward. “There is going to be a party on Friday, and you should come.”

“What?” Peter demanded, blinking a couple of times before pointing at his own chest. “Us?”

“Yeah,” Quinton said, smiling. “I was going to invite just Lena, but I figured that would be a dick move.”

I turned to stare at him in horror, and he burst out laughing.

“I’m just kidding,” he assured me, holding his hands up in surrender. “Jeez, don’t have a heart attack.”

“Oh,” I replied, laughing nervously, before I started to shake my head. “I don’t know . . . I don’t think my parents will let me. Is Felton going?”

“Nope,” he replied, popping the p cheerfully. “So, basically, they’ll probably let you go just because your horrible influence of a brother won’t be in the immediate area.”

“Wouldn’t it be opposite?” Norma asked.

“You haven’t met my brother,” I told her, and we settled with that.

“Anyway,” Quinton said, glancing around at my group of friends with his eyebrows up at his hairline. “You in?”

“Absolutely not,” Colonel replied curtly.

Norma shot him a glare but it didn’t matter, because she immediately turned back to Quinton to say, “Our anniversary is on Friday, so more than likely not. Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he said, shrugging. “I’m just a middleman that’s been sent out to recruit as many people as possible. Trent Keane wants to make this the biggest shebang of the year or something. I couldn’t really understand him that much, though, since he got his tonsils out a couple of days ago and when he talks he sounds like a dying cat that enjoys singing.”

“Lancaster,” Colonel said. “Too. Much. Information.”

Kline hesitated up the table, shifting on her weight and looking between me and Quinton, definitely probably noticing the limited number of cubic air space in between us and getting a disproportional idea, as she normally does. She chewed on her lip for a moment before shrugging, leaning forward. “Yeah, I guess I’ll go. If Lena’s going to be there.”

“Maybe?” I amended, but it was definitely a question.

Peter, from next to me, nudged me in the ribs, which basically meant that his flailing sharp bone stabbed at my side relentlessly, trying to make my ribs touch my lungs. I winced, but he didn’t even seem to notice. “Oh, come on, crazy—we don’t have time for maybes. Yeses are what get the ham and cheese omelets.”