“Yes and stop drooling, you horny biatch.”

“I’m not drooling.” Laila shifted in her wheelchair, her small hands gripping the arm rests. “I changed my mind, I need to call my mom and tell her to bring me my braces after all.”

I snorted and went to pop the strap of her bra peeking out from under her tank top.

She didn’t even make a face when the material snapped back against her skin; she was so focused on the three men standing around. Her brown eyes flicked up to mine. “Which one of them is the Sacha-guy you’ve been telling me about?”

“How do you know it’s one of them?”

“Because if I remember correctly, your text message said, ‘I just kicked the hottest guy I’ve probably ever seen in the ass.’ And I asked you what he looked like and you texted me back, ‘Like a double bacon cheeseburger I’d take a bite out of.’”

Apparently, she had gobbled up the information like a hooker would a penis. Because okay, that sounded about right. I gave her a look. “He’s the one in the middle with the sleeve tattoo,” I muttered.

Laila let out another little low whistle. “That’s the same guy that kicked the ball at your face?”

“Yep.”

“Introduce me,” she demanded with a smile, looking up at me.

The little slut.

“Yes, mistress.” I bowed to her, earning a pinch to the back of my knee. “Follow me, Wheels.” She pinched me again even harder.

Under normal circumstances, I would have offered to push her wheelchair but we’d been friends for more than ten years, and I knew her like the back of my hand. I could tell you all of her favorite foods, her pet peeves, what size and style her clothes were, and even what kind of tampons she preferred.

And I knew she wouldn’t want me to push her wheelchair when we were going to meet new people she found attractive. She’d been battling for her independence her entire life, and I was behind her every step of the way. Because of her spina bifida, most people tried to tiptoe around her. I couldn’t say I hadn’t tried to smother her in those first few years we’d become friends, but now we’d figured it out. She liked it when I gave her shit and teased her since most people didn’t.

The moment we were close enough, I smiled at the TCC members.

It was Sacha that spoke up first. “Hey.”

“Hey. This is my friend Laila.” I think I did this weird thing with my hand, drawing a sloppy line between the two of them, but I wasn’t positive since I wasn’t paying attention when Sacha thrust his hand out to shake my best friend’s hand.

“Nice to meet you,” he said after giving her his name.

Freddy and Julian did the same.

Honestly, I was relieved they didn’t start acting weird or talking loudly. People had done that to her before for some reason I didn’t completely understand. Did they think she had hearing problems because she was in a wheelchair? I wasn’t sure, and it aggravated me a lot more than it bothered her.

It was the little things like that—how people treated one another—that mattered the most to me. I appreciated how normal they were being.

“What are you up to today?” Sacha asked.

“Hanging around here,” I answered. “I need to unload the trailer and then we’ll go grab something to eat.”

The man I’d come to think inspired the creators of Hungry, Hungry Hippos brightened up at the mention of his favorite word, eat.

I didn’t even need to ask Laila if it was okay to invite him—them—because I knew the answer. Plus, it would be kind of rude of me to not invite the man that had gone to eat with me in the past every time I’d asked. “We were going to get pho.”