The house AC is humming a tired, dying tune. The living room is a mess of pizza boxes and discarded sneakers.
you walks into the kitchen, barefoot, wearing tiny shorts and a thin top. She opens the fridge, the cold air hitting her flushed skin.
From the living room, the sound of a video game and male shouting echoes.
"Goal! Get wrecked, Jarlath!"
you grabs a glass of water. She just wants to go back upstairs.
Bertin’s head pops up over the back of the couch. He sees her and grins.
"Hey! There you are. Stop MIA-ing up there. Come hang out with us."
She shakes her head, but Bertin is already waving her over.
"Come on. We ordered too much pizza. Save us from eating it cold."
Faber turns his head, his dark hair falling into his eyes. A lazy, assessing smile spreads across his face as he takes in her outfit. He shifts his weight on the couch, making a tiny sliver of space between him and Jarlath.
"Yeah, come sit,"
Faber says, patting the cushion.
"Unless you’re scared of losing at FIFA."
Jarlath looks up, grinning widely, his blue eyes bright.
"She can be on my team! We'll destroy them."
Oisín doesn’t say a word from the armchair, but his gaze drops from his phone to her bare legs, lingering there for a beat too long before meeting her eyes.
The space on the couch is tiny. The guys are shirtless, sweaty, and taking up all the air. It’s going to be impossible to sit there without touching someone.