Prince Charmings (BOOK ONE)

1

Koby Greyton wasn't the smartest guy, but for sixty bucks and a half carton of cigarettes, he was more than willing to look the other way as we raided the convenience store's backroom for beer. 

Standing five-six, the guy hung back against the door in all black and attempted, like always, to make conversation with us. As if a group of seventeen-year-old guys would want to be his friend outside of the exchanging of alcohol. My best friend, Remi Clark, called it a depressing attempt to reclaim his youth, stating it was obvious Koby wasn't the coolest guy in high school and definitely spent more time crying at home than out getting laid.

Thumping me on the back as he passed by, Clark promptly signalled Koby's first attempt at conversation.

"I caught your race last Friday," he called out to Tommo, who did little more than grunt back. The guy was a bruiser, closer to seven-foot than six-five, with hair he refused to let grow out beyond a buzzcut. I doubt he'd ever said more than five words to Koby, yet the dude kept missing the hint to piss off.

I cut in before Koby continued, dusting my hands off against the off-white jumper my Mom desperately wanted to throw away. Sure, the thing had more holes than I had body parts to fill them, but it was comfortable as hell.

"I thought said you logged off six crates." I cocked a brow at Koby, gesturing at the weak pile by the door. There stood two boxes of bottled Heineken that had seen better days and far better storage facilities. I knew for a fact the store's back freezer was faulty, with a fire alarm that tripped at the barest gust of wind.

Koby swiped a thumb along the side of his nose before squinting around the floor. "Did I?"

Clark rolled his eyes, not in the mood for any holdup. Jessica Andrews' party started in an hour, and if we were late that meant she'd be in a pissy mood and most likely spend the night ignoring him. I still had no idea if they were dating. Clark iced me out every time the topic came up. Which was odd, since in the ten years we'd been friends the guy never clammed up about girls. He was good looking enough that his love life was more a revolving door of chicks than anything else. Jessica though, she was a surprising constant of the year, holding his interest for over two months even though she played hardball and mainly called him over for beer.

Like this evening.

"We don't have time, man," Clark said, shoving his way through littered boxes and into Koby's space. "If you don't have the rest, know that means business is done."

He didn't mean it.

Koby was the only idiot in town willing to sell to minors on the DL, so he was our only feasible hookup. Anyone else in town who caught me trying to buy alcohol, well, they'd rat me out to my Dad before I could even pull out a twenty.

That was the one issue about having a hotshot brother, everyone was on your ass twenty-four/seven and had expectations. Didn't help I never met said expectations.

"I may have some in my office, let me go check. No stealing," Koby teased, slipping out the room and toward his office.

I upended a crate of candy, sitting on the box to stretch my legs out. They were still sore from a late-night helping the guys run drills. I rubbed at the back of my neck, fighting back a huffing yawn I could feel tickle at the back of my throat. Not for the first time that night I wished I was home already, half-conscious in bed.

Clark gestured for Tommo to take what we had to the car, making his way over to me. In the burnt-out light of the storeroom he looked tanner, his eyes a more chocolate brown than normal. I swallowed a little as he squatted in front of me, arms draped on my knees like it was nothing, natural almost. I knew from his body language he wanted something. Something that would most likely come to bite me in the ass, but then again I had never been the best at telling him no. He knew all my weaknesses.