Just Roll With It: a Just Us novel (24 page)

"Will you be at the hoedown?" Lawrence asks me as he strips down to his long johns.

"Hoedown?"

"You know, the after party. It will be over there in an indoor arena." He points behind us.

"We'll be there." I physically swoon to the deep sound of Roman's voice coming from behind me.

"Sweet, see you in a bit then. Oh, and I brought Crown and Coke for the OGs, I hope you're feeling better than you did on New Years’," he says to me and winks, but then he almost stumbles so he redirects his focus to not tripping over and falling on his face as he pulls his jeans up and buttons them.

"About that …" I start.

"No worries, I'll make sure to help you pace yourself better than the last time. Plus, it will be mixed, so you should be good." He walks out of the tent, and with his back toward us, holds up his two fingers in the air behind his head and yells, "Peace!"

Lyle's done dressing now and walks over to us with the signature goofy grin of his. "Were you watching? Not bad, huh? Glad your first time was on a day we kicked some serious ass."

"Yeah, no it was great. A hell of a lot more entertaining then I imagined," I say, thinking to myself about the sexiness of it.

"Ran-som bro-thers, Ran-som bro-thers!" the team starts chanting as they finish dressing. I think they are half being sarcastic and making fun of the absurd popularity the brothers have received. Regardless, they make their way over to take turns fist bumping, slapping shoulders, and, of course, grabbing ass.

I can tell he does enjoy the attention and appreciation of his team by the light he has in his eyes and the way he smirks. He finishes packing up his duffel and then the only trace left of
Baller
Roman, is the layer of sweat still glistening on his face and in his hair.

Inside, the indoor arena is surreal. It looks like the entirety of the crowd outside has made their way in. By the time we showed up, the party was going strong. There was a table set up at the front doors taking a cover charge and giving a stamp if you are over twenty-one, but with the Ransom brothers by my side, we were able to by-pass it completely. As we walked past the table, Roman whispers something to the guy and I watch him cross my name off of a list.

I feel bad, like I'm cheating someone out of money. "Shouldn't I pay?"

"No, you're good, I made sure you were on the list." Roman puts his hand on the small of my back to guide me in.

"List?"

"The guest list."

"Fancy."

"VIP treatment, sweetheart. OGs don't have to pay."

I've heard the word twice now, so I have to ask. "OG?"

"Original Gang-sta," he sounds out the last word like it was bitter taste in his mouth. "It means the guys who have been playing for a while."

"I don't know, sounds sort of pompous."

"Agreed. It's fucking irrelevant. Another reason why I don't talk about it much. I still live at home with my parents and only make enough money to pay for what the sponsors don't, with a miniscule amount left to save, there is nothing extravagant about it."

"Oh, I don't know. Watching you play was pretty extravagant." I smile up at him. "You are really really good. You didn't mention to me how fucking famous you actually were. I had to show up and be blindsided with banners of my boyfriend's face everywhere!" I say with a bashful laugh to let him know I'm not actually mad.

"I guess there's that." He looks down at me with a lopsided smirk and bumps my shoulder.

There are a variety of tables set up, ranging from card to picnic, and we stop at one close to the indoor field. Lyle, Lawrence, and Thomas are already sitting at it with bottles of liquor, mixers and cups. Before I even get my coat off a cup is shoved in my hand.

"For the O-G lay-dy," Lawrence sings as he hands it over.

I lift the cup and take a sniff of the Crown Royal. Its potency burns my nose hairs so I already know the drink will be strong. A group of guys from the team, including Malik and Dirks, run up to our table with sloppy smiles and sloppy girls hanging from their arms. They each have drinks in their hands but you can tell they've already gotten a decent head start.

"We. Were. Fucking. Epic!" Dirks screams as he roughly lets go of the girl and raises both arms high, bottle still in hand. He shuffles his way over to the bench and sits on one leg, setting his elbows on the table, leaning in and completely invading Thomas's personal bubble. "T-Bird, man, did you see the one guy on the rival's bunker hugging a Dorito like he was in heat? Dude was a mutant and we lit 'em up!"

"It wasn't hard bunkering him, he was totally distracted," Thomas says, being genuinely modest.

"Yeah, but, T-Bird, you didn't even get him from the side, you ran right the fuck up and shot directly over top of ‘em. He has got to be feeling some kind of sore right 'bout now," Dirks exclaims as he jumps up on the table and mimics Thomas's so-called "bunkering the mutant" by mock shooting down at us.

"Get the fuck down," Thomas tells him while reaching out and swiping his foot from under him, causing Dirks to fall backward on his ass.

"What the shit, dude?" Dirks sits up on the table and rubs at the spot he fell on.

"You deserved the ass plant anyway, shithead, for blind firing and over shooting, you bitch ass newb," Malik hounds him.

"Hey now, cockwaffle, I was fogged and eating paint so eat a dick. Oh, wait, wouldn't be such a stretch for you."

Malik throws an empty cup at him and roll his eyes. Listening to them go back and forth is pretty entertaining, even if I don't understand half of the stuff they are saying. Roman is sitting next to me rubbing my back with one hand and drinking with the other. I look over to see him smiling at every joke the guys throw at each other.

I know now being anxious in new situations is only natural, to a certain degree, and I'm not uncomfortable. Far from it, in fact. But, it would be nice to contribute to a conversation so I think it's time to down the Crown and calm a few of these nerves. Maybe I won't be so goddamn shy after a couple of drinks. I do
not
want to get like I did on New Years’, though, so Lawrence better keep his word about helping me pace.

At three drinks in, they are tasting better. Everyone’s laughing about something I missed, when I hear the scream of a girl seemingly coming from the bathrooms. I look around and realize Roman's not next to me anymore. Neither is Lawrence or Dirks. Thomas, Lyle, and Malik are laughing so hard about something they are pretty much useless to ask so I scan the room for the other boys.

And then I see Roman run out of the bathrooms with a wad full of clothes in his hands. He swerves to the left, hops over a bench like he's Bruce—er, I mean Caitlyn Jenner—in the '76 Olympics, and drops the pile of clothes through a slot in the net wall surrounding the field. When he sees the clothes are safely on the other side of the netting, he jumps up and cheers like he's scored some sort of goal and everyone begins laughing and cheering with him. He struts back to our table panting and bends over with his hands on his knees, half wheezing, half laughing while trying to catch his breath.

"Couldn't make it too easy on them now," he says before he takes a drink and shakes his head in amusement.

"What just happened? What did he do?" I ask, pointing to the field.

"You'll see. There's no getting out of this one so … just wait, you'll see," he says with pride.

He slides back down next to me and whispers in my ear, "Here we go in five, four, three, two and …"

Suddenly, the entire place is hooting and hollering as a very naked Lawrence saunters out of the bathroom. He stops right in front of the line of people and takes a bow, and everyone starts clapping.

"All right, where are they, Ransom?" He looks at Roman.

"I don't know, man. I think I might've seen some asshole throw them onto the field, so you're gonna have to crawl." Roman's body shakes with silent laughter, he can barely hold his lips together and is about two seconds away from bursting.

Lawrence rolls his eyes and throws his head back in a groan as he walks up to the entrance of the field. The only way to get on the field at the moment is by crawling under some netting so Lawrence proceeds and gets on all fours.

"Balls to the floor!" Lyle and Thomas take turns screaming.

"What the hell is taking so long?" I turn toward the new voice and low and behold, in the bathroom doorway stands Dirks, butt ass naked as well.

"Come on, man, hurry the fuck up. That Katie chick is getting cold, and to be completely honest, the chill isn't very conducive to my willy, either!" Dirks cups his hands to his mouth, projecting his voice toward the field.

Roman and Thomas start cracking up again, watching Dirks throw his mini fit, putting his hand on his hip and stomping his foot like a bratty teenage girl.

Lawrence moves past us with the pile in his arms. "Her name is Kayliegh, dipshit."

He walks back into the bathroom, and without stopping or looking he chucks, what I'm assuming are Dirks' clothes at him from the side. I must be looking at Dirks with my mouth wide open or something because he puts his hands in the air like he's surrendering and directs his next statement at me.

"What? It was completely consensual! It was all Kat—Kayliegh's idea! We didn't touch, I swear! Well, except for that one high five," he rambles.

A few minutes later, Lawrence and the girl who must be Kayliegh walk out of the bathroom and continue on as if nothing ever happened. She didn't seem upset about the ordeal at all, she actually comes off smug. She must be one of the groupies the boys always talk about. The girls who are only there to get with any and all paintball players. Roman reads my mind because when he sees me looking at the girl he nods his head in agreement.

I notice the table start to shake when the liquid in my cup ripples. I peek down and see Roman shaking out and rubbing at his knee again.

"Are you sure you’re okay?" I ask him.

"It's fine. Just landed wrong in a slide. It'll be fine in a day or so."

"You sure?"

"I said it's fine," he snaps, clearly aggravated.

"All right, geesh."

He looks up at me. I watch a new and mischievous light gleam in his eyes, as the last trace of pain disappears.

"If you won't take my word for it then you'll just have to go in the bathroom with me and let me show you how okay my knees are."

The look on his face tells me he's not expecting me to actually take him up on it, but my whole body began to vibrate in excitement at his words. Glancing over at the bathroom door, I smirk to myself and then I stand up. I look over my shoulder at Roman and wink, and then I start walking. It takes him all of four seconds exactly to register where it is I'm headed before he's up and hastily following me in the right direction. 

"I think we should get two rooms, adjoined. One smoking and one non."

"Sounds good, he's turning twenty-two not twenty-one so it's not like we have to go to the bars. Plus, it will probably be cheaper booking two hotel rooms and buying cases and fifths then it would be buying drinks out."

"Ain't that the truth, shit's getting crazy expensive."

I met up with Lyle, Thomas, Dirks, and Malik to talk about Roman's birthday. Malik brought his step-sister, Willow, too. It's nice to have another female opinion on my side. It was really surprising to get a text from Lyle to meet up without Roman. I am finally feeling included in their little group of weirdos, like I actually belong.

Before now, the only time I felt a sense of belonging was when it was only Enzo and me. Malik and Willow claim to be best friends, much like me and Enz, so they said they could relate. But, there is a definite tension between them that Enz and I don't have. I can't put my finger on it, and I'm trying to figure it out. It doesn't seem like they even have it figured out, though, so I let it go for now.

Malik is currently trying to put a straw wrapper back on the straw halfway to try and spit it like a spit wad in Willow's direction. She clearly knows what his mission is, but she goes with it anyway. That is, until he can't get it on.