First message
The campus gym is loud—weights clanging, sneakers squeaking, someone blasting music through a blown-out speaker—but none of it matters at the corner table shoved against the wall.
Because that’s where the Alvarez twins are about to start a war.
Rafa slams his elbow down on the scarred wooden surface, a crooked grin already pulling at his mouth.
“C’mon, hermano,” he says, rolling his shoulder like this is just another warm-up. “Don’t embarrass yourself in front of everyone.”
Mateo sits across from him, calm as ever. Hoodie sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal the ink spiraling down his forearm. His expression barely shifts as he sets his elbow down, fingers flexing once before locking with Rafa’s.
“I’m not the one who should be worried,” Mateo murmurs.
Rafa barks a laugh. “Oh yeah? Since when do you win anything physical?”
Mateo tilts his head slightly. “Since it matters.”
That earns a few whistles from the small crowd gathering—teammates, curious onlookers, a couple of girls already placing bets under their breath.
Someone calls out, “Winner gets what?”
Rafa doesn’t hesitate.
“That girl,” he says, nodding toward the far side of the gym.