𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐀.ᐟ 𝗮𝗱𝗮𝗺 𝗯𝗮𝗻𝗸𝘀

get a grip, sinclair

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chapter forty-two: get a grip, sinclair

{ i've had an eyelash stuck in my eye for the last two hours and it hurts everytime i blink so if there's misspelled words or grammar i apologize. like i genuinely couldn't see BAHAHA

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CHARLIE CONWAY WAS (KIND OF) FUMING.

Here Adam Banks was almost two hours late, standing outside of his apartment while holding his mothers famous lemon bars. There was a stupid, sorrowful smile on his face that basically said, 'sorry, but not really.'

The two hockey players continue to stare at one another for a beat of silence until Charlie reaches for a piece of fake fruit, an orange, from a bowl sitting on the side console and chucking it towards the blonde.

It misses him by a distance.

"Dude, what the hell?"

"Why're you late? You're never late." The brunette states with a deadpanned expression though you can hear the agitation in his tone. "Is it because you and Vera lost track of the time while macking on each other or what?"

It reminds Adam of someones envious, clingy ex-girlfriend. He chuckles, "Hey, it's not like you've gotten any since I left. Les overheard Monique talking about how she might leave you because of your tiny, little friend."

Charlie smirks, the corners of his eyes wrinkling. He laughs, too,"Leave school for one semester and you still can't think about anything but my dick."

"Well, yeah it's just so small. It's hard to stop thinking about something so tiny."

"Man, you know I had to have dick reduction surgery. Just got so old tripping over it every day, having girls play jump rope with it..."

Adam's eyes are wide. He's realizes now that he's never going to get use to Charlie's humor. "Gross," The blonde laughs and shoves the casserole in Charlie's arms. "You realize this is why you're never going to get laid, right?"

"Never going to get laid. Fewest concussions. Most likely to still remember how to write my own name when I'm 28. You can make fun now, but one day you and some of the Ducks are going to be so fucking jealous of the way I can tie my shoes and recite the alphabet and shit."

"A-B-C-D-E-F-U-C-K-Y-O-U," Adam sang.

Charlie grabs another piece of fake fruit, an apple this time, and throws it at the rich blonde, once again missing by an embarrassing margin.

"Your mother should've considered signing you up for the Little League instead of hockey."

The two boys make their way to the loft where most of the Ducks were. (Ken, Dwayne, and Julie were missing as they returned back to their homes for the holiday.) They were scattered around the room, a variety of different foods spread out on a foldable plastic table in the center of it all.