“Wow, looks just like our place,” Emory says, setting the food on my table and reaching into her pocket. She hands me a key and says, “In case you need anything.”

Smiling wide, I hold up the key to Knox and Emory’s apartment and say, “Well, would you look at that. I have a key to the sex den.”

“Sex den?” Emory’s lips curl in disgust.

I thumb toward Knox. “That’s what he calls it. Says you’re horny all the time.”

Eyes wide, Emory spins on her heel just about to pummel Knox with her fist when he says, “I did not fucking say that.”

“Yes, you did. When we were lifting the couch into the elevator, you said you guys must have fucked on your couch at least fifteen times since you got back together, so it was good you had a sturdy one.”

“Knox.” Emory smacks his arm as Knox gives me his I’m going to kill you eyes. “If anyone is horny in our apartment it’s you. I can’t walk by you without you reaching out and trying to graze my breasts.”

He stares at her chest. “Can you blame me?”

Milly, the more private of the bunch says to Carson, “We’ve been together for years. Surely you don’t still talk about that stuff, do you?”

“Eh, depends on what you want to hear. If you don’t want me talking about our still fucking incredible sex life, then nope, I haven’t said a damn thing. Stopped years ago.” Knox and I both snort. Milly’s face turns bright red.

God, he’s a lucky fucker, because Milly is the best. Seriously, when we first met her in college, the girl only had to start talking the mechanics of baseball and the guys in the loft got a boner. Throughout the last four years, she’s Skyped with me numerous times to offer advice and encouragement, somehow knowing when I needed to and was able to hear both. She’s one of my best friends.

To ease her embarrassment, I say, “Don’t worry, Milly, he was just asking us if it’s normal to only last thirty seconds before blowing his load. For the record, it’s not. Normal guys can last longer. If you want to see, I can give you a key to my apartment.” I wiggle my eyebrows.

“Hey fuckhead, that’s my wife,” Carson spits at me.

I scratch my chin. “Yeah, I guess wives are different than girlfriends, huh?” I turn to Emory. “I guess that means all my sexual teasing is coming your way.”

Knox steps in front of Emory, plucks the key to his apartment out of my hand and sticks it in his pocket. “Or you can get a girlfriend for yourself.”

“Yeah, if you had a girlfriend, we wouldn’t be moving all your shit for you.”

“How do you see that?” I ask.

“Because you would be so busy with her, you wouldn’t need us to keep you company,” Carson replies. “You would have hired movers instead of being a cheap-ass motherfucker. Dude, we have money, so we shouldn’t have to move boxes anymore.”

“But then we wouldn’t be able to share my first meal in my new place together.” I hand out sandwiches with a winning smile. “How nice is this? The gang is together again, minus Holt and Romeo, and Gunner . . .”

Carson takes his sandwich and says, “I still think you need a girl. Did you even date in Tampa?”

I shake my head and pop open the chips bag. We take a seat on the floor, spread out the wrappers of our sandwiches, and pass the chips around, taking a few and placing them on the wrappers while Milly hands out waters.

“Here and there.” I shrug. “But nothing serious. Not even sure I’m looking for anything serious at this point.”

“But you’re such a catch,” Knox deadpans with a roll of his eyes.

“Hey,” Emory says, defending me. “I think Jason could make any girl happy. He’s sensitive—”

“Too sensitive,” Knox says.

“Handsome.”

I “fluff” my short hair. “Why, thank you.”

“And he knows how to cook. That’s a win for me,” Emory says with a wink in my direction.

Just to piss Knox off, I say, “Well, you’re not married yet. Want me to give you a key to my place, you can test things out with me?”

“Keep pushing your luck, man,” Knox warns. “See where it gets you. I can get you kicked out of this place. The majority of people who live here are Bobbies fans.”

“Yes, but do they get to play baseball with Cory Potter?”

Milly groans and rests her head against the wall. “Please, don’t remind me that you’re going to be playing baseball with my brother. It haunts me that he is playing for Satan’s team.”

Born and raised in Chicago, Milly Potter has been a Bobbies fan her entire life. When Carson even joked about playing for the Rebels, she nearly had a heart attack, so to say she took the news hard that her brother was going to be a Rebel is an understatement.

According to Carson, she cried sporadically for a week and refused to acknowledge real life until her other two brothers dragged her back to work.

“Have you worn a Rebels shirt yet?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “No, and I refuse. I can’t fathom the idea of even touching one. When Carson and I started dating, they went back and forth with whose jersey I would wear. I thought of making one myself that supported both men in my life, but now”—she shakes her head—“I only support my husband.”