BEG ME

ADRIANA LOCKE

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Otherwise, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 2026 by Adriana Locke

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Published by Umbrella Publishing, Inc.

NO AI TRAINING: Without in any way limiting the author’s [and publisher’s] exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.

Cover Design by Sarah Hansen, Okay Creations

Photography by Wander Aguiar Photography LLC

BOOKS BY ADRIANA LOCKE

My Amazon Store

Purchase Signed Copies

Play Me Series

Play Me | Try Me | Show Me | Make Me | Beg Me

Brewer Family Series

The Proposal | The Arrangement | The Invitation | The Merger | The Situation

Carmichael Family Series

Flirt | Fling | Fluke | Flaunt | Flame

Landry Family Series

Sway | Swing | Switch | Swear | Swink | Sweet

Landry Family Security Series

Pulse

Gibson Boys Series

Crank | Craft | Cross | Crave | Crazy

The Mason Family Series

Restraint | The Relationship Pact | Reputation | Reckless | Relentless | Resolution

The Peachwood Falls Series

Tempt | Truly

The Exception Series

The Exception | The Perception

Dogwood Lane Series

Tumble | Tangle | Trouble

Legends Football Series

End Game | Game Plan

Standalone Novels

Sacrifice | Wherever It Leads | Written in the Scars | Like You Love Me | The Sweet Spot | Nothing But It All | Between Now and Forever

For a complete reading order, visit www.adrianalocke.com.

To receive a text alert for new releases, text BOOKS to 740-206-6969. US only.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Markie St. James

Jory Plath

Hartley Adler

Mira St. James

Audrey Van

Brooks Dempsey

Gianna Bardot

Drake Bennett

Gray Adler

Astrid Lawsen

PLAYLIST

Playlist

Any Man of Mine by Shania Twain

Hell at Night by BigXthaPlug and Ella Langley

Dry Spell by Kacey Musgraves

U + Ur Hand by Pink

Can’t Feel My Face by The Weeknd

When You Say Nothing At All, by Keith Whitley

Go to Spotify for the full playlist.

SYNOPSIS

Markie St. James is officially done with men.

Unfortunately, she needs one to defend her pickleball championship title against her cheating ex-boyfriend.

Her solution comes in the form of Jory Plath, her brother’s best friend, a single dad, and a professional rugby player. He’ll help her defend her title if she helps tutor his son. It’s a simple arrangement. Everybody wins.

Until they don’t.

Somewhere between practices, late nights, and giving the town something to gossip about, Markie and Jory go from pickleball partners to fake dating. And the more time she spends with him, the more she realizes he’s exactly the kind of man she knows to avoid at all costs.

Now she’s not sure what’s worse—losing her title, losing the man, or losing her heart.

CHAPTER

ONE

Markie

“Do you think anyone would notice if I shoved a bunch of napkins between my boobs?”

My best friend Nettie laughs at my question, brushing a strand of dark hair away from her eyes. “Without a doubt. But it might make your job a little easier. They’ll come for the boobs and leave with a jar of jam.”

I laugh, too, shaking my head and wiping a sheen of perspiration from my forehead.

A sea of umbrellas forms a colorful line to my left in a futile attempt at shielding the farmers’ market stalls from the unrelenting sun. The doors of the old Dairy Barn housing the year-round vendors are wide open in hopes that a little air circulation might prevent anything, or anyone, from melting.

“What are you doing tonight?” Nettie asks, swirling a straw around her lemonade. 

“I’m not sure. My evening interview canceled on me.” The memory of the text I received this morning from a potential pickleball partner spikes my blood pressure. “Get this,” I say, placing a hand on my hip. “He said it was too hot and asked if we could reschedule to next week when the temperature wasn’t so … what word did he use? Obscene.”

Nettie’s hand lifts as if I’m a feral animal that she’s trying to calm. “It is ninety-three degrees today.”

“What if it’s ninety-three degrees during the pickleball tournament? What if it’s one hundred? Do you think they’re going to call off the games because it’s too hot?” I lift a brow, challenging her to debate me. “Five years ago, we played through a thunderstorm while lightning danced in the periphery. The tourney stops for no one.”

My hand slips off my hip, probably because of the sweat coating my body, and I groan.

In the decade I’ve been competing—and winning—the Sugar Days Pickleball Tournament, I’ve never had this much trouble finding a partner. My usual prospects are either out of town, dealing with a broken leg, or in a new job that prevents them from playing. Normally, I’d find a man with mediocre talent and enough ego not to want to suck and call it a day. I’m used to carrying the team on my back, after all. It happens every year. But this year, the stakes are far too important to entrust the odds to an inferior partner.

Losing is not an option.

“The tourney stops for no one,” Nettie repeats. “But neither does heatstroke.”

“Which is why I have to find someone already in decent shape, but with enough humility to listen to my instructions. I don’t have time to turn a dud into a stud.”

Nettie snorts. “Stop.”

I shrug because there’s nothing that I can say to temper that statement. I know how it sounds. But the facts speak for themselves, and I’m not in the business of shrinking my abilities to make others, namely men, feel comfortable.

“Why do they have you out here hawking jam?” Mr. Crowder asks, shuffling to the stand. He grips the edge of the table with shaky hands. Out of all the Saturday regulars, he’s my favorite. “I looked for you inside by the concessions where you usually spend your time instead of working.”

Nettie snickers as I pretend to be offended.

He grins. “I thought this was your weekend off.”

“It was,” I say. “But Brenda called this morning and said she wasn’t feeling well. So I volunteered to stand in for her today. I mean, we can’t have people going without her famous peach jam, can we? The whole town may come to a stop.”

Nettie touches me lightly on the shoulder. “I’m going to head home. Mom’s coming over this evening so I can help her plan her new husband’s birthday party.” Her eyes roll. “Yay, me.”

“Have fun.”

“I’ll call you later.” She waves at my customer. “See you soon, Mr. Crowder.”

“Perhaps at church in the morning?” he asks.

She purses her lips. “Perhaps.” Her nose wrinkles as she turns away, heading toward the parking area.

I take a moment to appreciate the crowd of people despite the heat. The farmers’ market is open every weekday and every other Saturday, and the Saturdays prove to be the busiest. Instead of just drawing in the Sugar Creek townies, the weekend brings people from across the whole county. I’ve loved coming here since I was a little girl. So when the town board discussed closing the market because no one wanted to take responsibility for it, I threw my name in the hat. I had no experience, and the pay barely covers my martini habit, but there’s something great about contributing to a wholesome endeavor like a small-town farmers’ market.

It balances my karma. I think.

I grab two jars of jam off the shelf behind me. “So, we have peach, but Brenda also made some cherry jam this week. Have you ever tried it?” I set both in front of Mr. Crowder. “It’s been selling like hotcakes, and I overheard a little birdie saying this is the secret ingredient in the Cherry Pie Pizza at Piper’s.”

The corner of his wrinkled mouth lifts. “It won’t be a secret anymore if you keep telling people.”

“Are you going to go snitch on me?”

“Are you going to give me a discount?”

My mouth falls agape. “You’re blackmailing me? Over jam?”

“Wouldn’t think of it.” He chuckles, taking fifteen dollars out of his wallet. “I’ll take ’em both. But if I don’t like the cherry, I’ll be back to let you hear about it.”

I take the cash, place the jars in a paper bag, and hand it to him. “I have no doubt.”

“Stay cool,” he says, the bag trembling in his hand. “I’m heading home. It’s too humid out here for me. Makes me regret smoking for thirty years.”

“Need me to get someone to help you to your car?”

He snorts. “What do I look like? An old man?” He chuckles. “I’m fine. Thank you. Have a good day.”

“You, too, Mr. Crowder.”

I give him a wave as he turns away and then grab my bottle of water for a quick drink before my next customer. The stream of people exiting the barn has slowed, and the crowds buying artisan breads and local vegetables have thinned. Maybe we’ll get to close early.

“What are you selling over here?” A boy with a smile way too ornery for his own good leans against the table. “A jar of jam is $7.50? Who still uses change? Or cash, for that matter?”

“We do. It’s part of our charm.”

He hums, scanning the area like he’s searching for something.

“Can I help you?” I ask, tugging my brows together. “Are you looking for something specific?”

“Yeah.” He pulls his face to mine. “A way outta here.”

Blondish hair, big green eyes, and a cheeky smile—this kid is trouble … but probably the same version of trouble that I was as a kid.

And an adult.

I lean against the table. “A way outta here, huh?”

“No offense, but this is for old people.”

“Well, I mean, I’m here, and I’m certainly not old.”

He starts to speak but stops himself, smoothing his features like he wasn’t about to say something he shouldn’t. “I just mean there isn’t anyone here my age.”

Well played. “The kids hang out at the park in the summer. There’s always a pickup baseball or basketball game. Do you play?”

“I play it all. I’m just new here and don’t know anyone.”

“Head over to the park. I’m sure you can find something to entertain you there.”

“I will. Thanks.” He turns to leave but faces me again, eyes twinkling with mischief. “One more thing—are you single?”

My brows lift in surprise, but I can’t help but smile. “That’s wildly inappropriate of you to ask.”

“I’m not asking for me, lady. You’re way too old for me.”

I pause to take another drink. “Can we stop with the old people crap? You’re giving me a complex.”

“My apologies.” He sighs as if I’m exhausting him. “I don’t see a ring …”

“I’m not married.”

“Boyfriend, then?”

“No, no boyfriend.” The words come out of my mouth before my brain can think fast enough to stop them. Why am I having this conversation with a little kid? “This is really none of your business.”

“What about a girlfriend?”

“What? No.”

He shrugs. “Had to ask. You never know.”

“Again,” I say, taking another drink, “it’s none of your business.”

“Then stop answering my questions.” 

I sigh, closing my water bottle and placing it back on the bench under the table.

“Listen,” he says. “I have a dad, and he’s quite the catch. And he needs a woman to spend time with him so he stops wanting to spend it all with me.” He rolls his eyes. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate it, because I do. I’ve known him for a couple of years, and it’s great having a dad. But I’m eleven, and this is our second summer together, and he needs a hobby.” He leans closer, his eyes locking onto mine. “That doesn’t involve me.”

A laugh passes my lips before I can stop it, and I can’t decide if the kid is amused or offended by my reaction. Either way, I can relate. When my parents died when I was fourteen, my grandparents stuck to my sister, Mira, and me like glue for months. Then again, I’d known my parents for my whole life.

Why hasn’t this boy known his dad?

Before the thought can take root, I shove it out of my mind. Family relationships can be complicated, and this is not my circus. I have enough of my own crap to worry about.

“So …” he asks, grinning. “You are single?”

I’m not exactly sure how to answer him. If I tell him that I’m not in a relationship—that I’m technically single—he might take that the wrong way. But I’m not in the business of explaining to little boys, who are too nosy for their own good, that I’m not looking to change that. It’s not like I can tell him that my last boyfriend cheated on me and is now trying to dethrone me as the Pickleball Princess with his mistress in tow.

That’s too much for me, let alone this kid. 

“What’s your name?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

“Augustus. My friends call me Gus.”

I grin. “Okay, Gus. It’s complicated.”

He stares at me. I wait for him to respond but get nothing.

“Hello?” I ask.

“I was waiting on you to tell me your name, considering you used Gus and all.”

“I’m Marcia. My friends call me Markie.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Markie.” Gus leans against the table as if he’s settling in for the long haul. “Now, why is your relationship status complicated?” 

“I have things I’m working on and don’t have time to date.”

“Like what?”

“Like a pickleball tournament, for one.” I straighten the stickers that Brenda gives away as marketing material. “I’m not in the dating pool, so you’re going to have to hook your dad up with someone else.”

“But you’re his type.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

Gus groans. “You’re telling me. I thought you were the answer to my prayers.”

I laugh, waving over his head at the mayor’s wife. Plenty of men have thought that. Join the club. “There are plenty of single women in Sugar Creek. I’m sure the answer to your prayers is out there.”

“I’m sure. Except I never get two minutes to myself to find her. You’re basically my only hope.”

“Oh, so you weren’t picking me based on compatibility, just availability.”

He narrows his eyes. “It was a mixture. I’m working with what I have.”

“Well, I’m sorry for ruining your dreams, Gus.”

“Yeah. Me, too.” His shoulders slump. “I better get going. I’ve spent four minutes away from Dad, and I’m sure he’s looking for me. God forbid I have some space.” He shakes his head. “It was nice to meet you. I hope your decision keeps you up at night.”

“Hey!” I laugh. “That’s not nice.”

Before he can respond, a set of large hands grip his shoulders.

My gaze trails up the muscled forearms, over the developed biceps and sharp jaw, and into another set of sparkling green eyes.

They’re the kind of eyes that I love—playful. Slightly wicked. Eyes that promise a good, slightly debaucherous time.

“Where have you been?” the man asks, his gaze never leaving mine.

“Shopping,” Gus answers, a cocky edge to his tone. 

The man surveys the jam behind me. “Find anything worth bringing home?”

Gus’s grin deepens. “We’ll see.”

Oh, this little shit.

CHAPTER

TWO

Markie

“Dad, meet my new friend, Markie,” Gus says, winking at me like we’re as thick as thieves. I lift a brow, which only seems to amuse him even more. “Markie, this is my dad, Jory Plath.”

Why does that name ring a bell? It tugs at something in the back of my mind, and if Jory and Gus weren’t so entertaining—and Jory so damn attractive—I might be able to figure out why.

Jory slides his hands off Gus’s shoulders, his lips twisting into a smirk reminiscent of his son’s. “Seems that my son inherited more than my green eyes.”

“I sense a really cheesy line on its way …” I say, trying not to smile.

Jory’s laugh is warm and easy. “I was about to say that he has a knack for finding the prettiest woman in a room, but I guess I’ll keep that to myself. I’d hate to be cheesy.” 

“Come on, Dad.” Gus sighs. “You can do better than this. Don’t embarrass me.”

I bite my lip, but a giggle escapes anyway.

Gus steps to the side so he can see both of us at once. “I’ve spent the past four minutes buttering her up. I crafted a perfect opening for you, and you come in with that? It’s no wonder you’re single.”

“I think you both have some work to do,” I say to Gus.

He flinches, as if suggesting he isn’t a brilliant matchmaker is ludicrous.

“Your dad’s line might’ve fallen flat on its face⁠—”

“Hey!” Jory protests.

“But your attempt at crafting a perfect opening wasn’t exactly a success,” I say, ignoring the drip of sweat falling into the hollow at the base of Jory’s throat. “I told you that I wasn’t available.”

Gus rolls his eyes. “You were playing hard to get. It’s fine. But now that you’ve seen him, I’ll give you a moment to reconsider.”

My gaze slides to Jory’s, and suddenly every cell in my body reminds me that I am, in fact, available.

Very, very available.

A crooked grin. Arms and shoulders that are built, not sculpted, as if he uses them to do competent man things on a daily basis. He looks like the kind of man who changes your oil without being asked and coaches kids’ sports teams on the weekends.

The kind of man who does the nastiest, hottest things to you on Saturday night and then gets up for church on Sunday.

I get it, Gus. I’d reconsider if I didn’t know exactly how this story ends.

Jory scrubs the top of Gus’s head. “Do you have any money left, kid?”

“Yeah,” he says, ducking out from under his dad’s reach. “Why?”

“Go grab a milkshake from inside the barn.”

“I’m not thirsty.”

Jory’s eyes narrow playfully. “Then get thirsty.”

“Ooh,” Gus says, nodding. “I see.” He turns to me as he backs away with a smile stretched across his face. “I’m parched. You two crazy kids behave while I’m gone.”

I watch as he disappears inside the building. 

“You have one heck of a wingman,” I say, laughing once Gus is out of sight. “I don’t know if you’ve trained him to do that or if he’s just naturally that ornery, but I know grown men with far less game than your son.”

“His charm is genetic. He gets it from me. Clearly.”

I try not to smile. “Clearly.”

Jory moves aside, making room for another customer to purchase a jar of jam. My attempt at small talk isn’t my best work because my attention keeps slipping to the man whose presence fiddles with my ovaries.

I watch him out of the corner of my eye as a woman from the next stall turns too quickly, bumping into Jory and sending a spray of lemonade across the front of his shirt.

“I’m so sorry,” she says, horror flashing across her face. “I didn’t see you.”

“It’s not a problem.” He looks down at the splotches on his chest before giving her an easy smile. “I have to wash it anyway.”

Her relief makes the corner of my mouth twitch as I return to my customer.

I wrap up the sale, somehow convincing the nice lady visiting Sugar Creek from out of town to add the final jar of cherry to her order, and then turn to find Jory still there. He moves closer, the air carrying a hint of his cologne—something rich and masculine but with a brightness that evokes curiosity. I have the irrational urge to lean in and inhale him.

Once he stops in front of me, I catch the logo on the front of his shirt.

“The Tennessee Royals?” I ask, pointing at his chest. “I have a friend who plays for them.”

“That’s funny. I play for them, too.” 

My brows pull together in suspicion. Men will lie about the dumbest things to get attention, but it tracks. He’s tall, capable of tossing me over his shoulder and running a few miles, and those legs? Tree trunks. Just like Gray’s. 

“You know Gray Adler?” I ask. 

“Hell, yeah, I know him. He’s a good guy. Great teammate.”

I grin. “He’s kind of grumpy and can be an ass, if we’re being honest. But, yeah, he’s a pretty good guy.” 

Jory laughs. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

“What about you?” I ask, curiosity getting the best of me. “Where are you from?”

“California. The Bay Area, specifically.”

“How did you wind up in Sugar Creek?” I take money from a customer and hand them a peach jam. “Gus said he was new to town like you moved here, but people don’t just move to Sugar Creek for no reason.”

“Long story. The short version of it is that I have Gus for the summer. I usually just bounce around until the season starts, but I needed a home base until he goes back to his mom in August.”

“Makes sense.”

He picks up a jar and inspects the label. “I know a handful of people from Sugar Creek, and they all say great things about it. One of my friends had a house for rent, and I thought this might be a good place to hang out with Gus for a couple of months.”

He takes out a twenty-dollar bill and gives it to me. My fingers brush against his rough palm as I drop the change into his hand. The contact sends a flurry of goose bumps across my skin and for a second, I’m borderline embarrassed. I’m Markie St. James. I don’t get flustered by guys. But I haven’t had physical contact with anyone from the opposite sex in four months, and I’m only human.

Besides, I’m sure Jory gets this all the time.

“I think you’ll like it here,” I say, pulling my hand away from his. “It’s safe. The Sugar Days Festival is next month, and that’s always a blast. And I told Gus that there are always kids his age hanging out at the park.” I grin. “Since, you know, he might want to hang out with some people his own age.”

There you go, Gus. I threw you a bone.

Jory rolls his eyes, grinning. “I know, I know. But I’ve only had him alone for three days since we visited my mom before coming here, and I wanted to spend a little time together, just the two of us. I guess that’s over.” He shakes his head. “You know, there are people out there who pay for meet and greets with me, but somehow, I’m not cool enough for my own kid.”

“I think that’s just how that works.” I laugh. “Try not to take it personally.”

“Don’t take it personally? It wounds me.” He laughs, too. “But, yeah, you’re right. And I knew this would happen. I just thought I might get a week in before he started begging for time apart.” He shifts his weight from one foot to another. “You know, he is going to make all these new friends, and I’ll have a lot of free time on my hands.”

The coy grin on his face is somehow both adorable and sexy.

I get what he’s hinting at, and it’s a much better angle than his original cheesy line—although I didn’t hate that one, either. But on a normal day, I don’t take the bait that easily, and I’m not about to bite now.

“That’s too bad,” I say, just as playfully. “It’s a good thing you know Gray. There are always chores to do on the ranch.”

“I can’t expect Gray to entertain me every day.”

I snicker. “Good luck getting him to entertain you ever. Gray might meet you for a beer or let you hang around for a day or two, but I don’t see Gray entertaining anyone except Astrid.”

“You’re right. You’re absolutely right. So I guess I’d better find someone else to have dinner with on the nights I’m home alone.”

“You should most definitely do that.”

He lifts a brow. I lift mine right back.

A silence settles between us for the first time since we met. It’s comfortable … and expectant, like we’re both standing at the edge of something, waiting to see who jumps first.

“Would you have dinner with me?” he asks.

“No.”

He laughs in surprise as if he really expected me to fold that easily. The challenge in his grin meets the one in mine. This feels strangely less like turning him down and more like the opening round of a competition.

Game on.  

“It’s nothing personal,” I say as a bead of sweat trickles down my back. “You seem like a great guy, but I’m not dating right now.”

“Can I ask why?”

I blow out a hasty breath. “I’m just not. Men have consistently disappointed me over the past … decade, if we’re being honest. Come to think of it, besides my dad and grandpa, I’m not sure a man has ever not disappointed me.”

My heartbeat picks up as a shot of adrenaline fires through my veins. I thought that writing off men would make them less of an issue in my life. But since I vowed not to date anyone, it’s become more of a talking point than anything.

I don’t want to hate men. I want to love them. I want to be a great girlfriend, maybe even an amazing wife someday. And I miss dick so much that I dream about it. But when every relationship ends in failure because of the same problems, there doesn’t seem to be any point in continuing the chaos. 

He studies me for a moment, the playful grin slipping from his expression. “I’m sorry that’s been your experience.”

“Me, too. And it’s not like I ask for much, you know? The bare minimum would be more than I expect at this point.”

“The bare minimum is a failure in my books,” he says. “I’m either all in or not in at all.”

My lips twist.

“That wasn’t an innuendo,” he says, chuckling.

I know it wasn’t, but I also love that he knew exactly what I was thinking.

I glance up and find that the crowd has mostly vanished. A few stragglers are moseying through the market, but for the most part, everyone has gone. I expected as much with today’s temperatures… and I’m not mad about it.

“Look, Jory, I have a lot going on, and I need to focus,” I say, stacking the napkins into a neat pile so I can pack them away.

“Do you have anything you’re working on that I could help with? If you’ll recall, I’m about to have a lot of time on my hands.” 

“Unfortunately, no, you can’t help me with anything,” I say, pulling boxes from beneath the table so I can load the leftover jam into them. “I have to find someone I have great chemistry with who can play pickleball on a level that will win the Sugar Days tournament.” I look up at him. “It’s not as easy as it sounds.”

He holds his hands out. “Um, hello?”

“What?”

“I’m a professional athlete, and unless I’m reading this all wrong, we have excellent chemistry.”

I roll my eyes. “Unless I’m reading this all wrong, the chemistry you’re referring to has nothing to do with pickleball.”

His grin deepens.

“Don’t.” I hold up a finger and shake my head. “That wasn’t an invitation.”

“Come on …”

“Since you’re a professional athlete, then you should know that the chemistry between two people in an athletic situation is special. You can’t force it. You either have it, or you don’t.” My hands go to my hips. “This tournament is important to me, and I have to win.” 

“I could pretty much guarantee that if I’m your partner.”

I stare at him before pulling my gaze away and continuing to pack the boxes. He makes sense, and I hate that. It would be so much easier if I didn’t feel like we might have some chemistry—and maybe even some outside the bedroom. And that’s exactly why he can’t be my partner.

My focus has to be on the game and not on his probably hot shirtless body working out next to me. I’ve seen Gray shirtless. There’s zero doubt that Jory’s body is beyond delicious. Besides, he seems like the kind of man who wants to take control and lead. Normally, I find that sexy, but on the pickleball court, I’m the alpha. Something tells me we’d wind up in a battle between ourselves, and I can’t risk being distracted and losing to Jasper.

“Thanks for the offer,” I say. “But I have a guy trying out on Monday evening, and I have a feeling we’ll be a good match.” 

I hope. Adam Cartwright emailed me last week about possibly joining me in the tournament. I did my due diligence and poked around on the internet. It turns out that he was a standout basketball player a few years ago and played tennis for two years of high school. It’s not the greatest résumé, but I can absolutely work with it. 

“Fine. But when you change your mind later, you’re going to beg.”

I lift my chin, his gaze grabbing mine and holding it tight. “That’s cute.”

“Oh, it’s going to be very cute. I’m looking forward to it.”

“You clearly don’t know me at all,” I say, smiling at him.

“That’s your own fault.” He winks. “I gotta go find my kid. It was nice meeting you, Markie.”

“Tell Gus good try.”

Jory’s chuckle drifts behind him as he walks away, and for some reason, I don’t think this conversation is over.

CHAPTER

THREE

Jory

“What do you even do with peach jam?” Gus asks, sliding the jar across the kitchen island. It skids precariously close to the edge of the counter before spinning in a circle and coming to a stop.

I shut the door behind us and remove my shoes. The air is cold enough to freeze out a polar bear—just how I like it. I told my landlord, one of my best friends, Miles, that I’d pay extra for the electric bill. He laughed me off. Something tells me that he’ll change his tune when the first invoice arrives. 

“You can do a lot of things with peach jam.” I take my wallet out of my pocket and plop it on the counter next to the refrigerator, along with my keys and phone. “Putting it on toast is the first thing that comes to mind.” And the only thing, but Gus doesn’t need to know that. 

“Peaches and toast? That sounds gross.”

I shrug because he’s right. It does sound kind of nasty. 

Gus snorts.

“What?” I ask, bracing myself. That look has smart-ass written all over it. “What’s that little snort all about?”

“This is purely … What's that word? Hypothetical?” He pauses, mulling over his word choice. “Okay. This is purely hypothetical, but I wonder if Markie would’ve said yes to dinner with you if you would’ve splurged and bought two jars.”

I roll my eyes, placing glasses from the sink into the dishwasher. “Keep it up, and you’ll do the dishes tonight. And there’s nothing hypothetical about that.” 

“I mean it. She probably thought you were cheap.” He opens the fridge. “You’re good-looking, rich, and mostly charming despite your cheesy pickup lines—which you really do need to work on,” he says, glancing at me over his shoulder. “And I definitely wasn’t the problem. I’m a gem. She loved me.” 

I laugh, peeling off my shirt. The lemonade from earlier has dried into a sticky mess. “Have kids, they said. It’ll be fun, they said.” 

“Want to know what else would be fun?” He closes the fridge and turns to me. “Having food in the house. Think we could find a grocery store soon?” 

Leaning against the counter, I study my son. He’s me at eleven, right down to the athletic build, crooked grin, and being too smart for his own good. Some days, the resemblance knocks the wind out of me. Other days, I look at him like he’s a puzzle that I’m trying to put together. 

Both are probably true. 

“Your mom will be happy to hear that you’re sick of pizza,” I say, tossing my shirt into the laundry closet. 

“Oh, yeah. Mom called while I was pretending to be thirsty and asked for you to call her when you have time.” 

I noticed a missed call from Deidre when we left the farmers’ market. “I’ll call her this afternoon.” 

“Great.” He gazes out the window. “Hey, so, do you think it’d be okay if I walked down to the park?” 

“Sure. Let me put on a shirt and⁠—”

“Dad.” He holds up a hand. “As a reminder, I’m eleven. I can walk to the park at the end of the street by myself. I do it all the time back at home, and that city is about a million times bigger than here.”

Oh. Right.

I struggle with a lot of decisions when it comes to Gus. I don’t know if it’s okay for him to walk to the park alone, or what his bedtime should look like, or how firm I need to be about picking his clothes up off the floor. Sure, I can ask Deidre because she has all the answers—and I do ask for her input from time to time—but that feels like such a bullshit thing to do. She shouldn’t have to teach me how to be a dad. God knows that I wasn’t there to help her learn how to be a mom. 

When I think about this too long, anxiety begins to blossom in my stomach because these are the easy things. This isn’t the real, day-to-day parenting stuff. I’m not dealing with teachers and doctors and coaches. I’m not making medical decisions or making sure he’s not hanging out with the wrong crowd. But next year, when I retire, those types of things will be my reality, too. 

I hate that I’m just learning how to do this. And every time that I think about it, the gravity of what I’ve lost hits me like a ton of bricks. 

I lost a decade of my son’s life, and I can never get that back. 

“We have all summer together,” Gus says, oblivious to my thoughts. “And it might be good for you to get out on your own a little and make new friends, too. Find some opportunities to sharpen your game.”

That gets a chuckle out of me. 

“So I can go?” he asks. 

I pause, trying to weigh the benefits and potential risks. “Do you have your phone?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” I say, blowing out a breath. I don’t want him walking there alone, but I also know that’s more of a selfish thing than an actual safety thing. And I can’t let my issues affect my kid. “Go ahead. But if I call, I need you to answer or call me right back. And if it starts to get dark, come home.”

He heads for the door, sighing in eleven-year-old dramatics. “You’re worse than Mom.”

“She’s had eleven years with you and kept you alive. I’m only in year two. I have a lot to prove.”

His laughter lifts the corners of my lips. “Love you, Dad.”

“Love you, kid.”

I almost get the words out before he slams the door like he’s afraid that I’ll chase him. 

The house is quiet, almost too quiet, as soon as Gus is gone. I mosey around, picking up a pair of his socks off the living room floor and pulling an empty water bottle from behind a couch cushion. Deidre doesn’t let him get away with this bullshit at her house, and I promised her that I wouldn’t let him turn feral this summer. Unlike last year when I was completely out of my depth. 

My phone rings, breaking through my thoughts, and I swipe it off the counter. “Hey.”

“Hi,” Deidre says, her tone warm but restrained. “How are things going?” 

“I was just thinking about you.” 

“Oh no. Why?”

I grin. “Because I was just wondering if I promised you that I wouldn’t let our son become a savage while I had him, or if I told you that I’d do my best.”

She groans, making me laugh. 

“Just yanked a water bottle from behind a cushion,” I say. “But he might not ever want to see another frozen pizza again, so you’re welcome for that.” 

“I don’t know how to respond, so I won’t try.” She chuckles. “He seemed happy when I talked to him this afternoon. You were at a farmers’ market or something.” 

A smile stretches across my lips as my mind goes back to Markie and Gus. Leave it to my son to attempt to “butter up” the hottest woman there so his dad could swoop in for a date. At least she was a great sport about it. And at least he has excellent taste. 

I nibble my bottom lip, my weight shifting back and forth. Thinking of her sends a spiral of restless energy through my body. I talked to the woman for fifteen minutes, and somehow, she’s already taken up residence in my brain. Our conversation has been lingering in my head since I walked away from her. 

I’ve been around beautiful women before. Beauty catches your attention, but there has to be more to someone than good looks to hold it, or it’s forgettable. It’s easily replaced by the next pretty face.

Markie, though, isn’t only beautiful. She has it, that mysterious quality that has you forgetting to check your phone when you’re together, willing to buy peach jam you’ll never eat, and wondering how you can “accidentally” run into her next. 

I drop the water bottle into the recycling bin. “Yeah, we swung by there and checked it out. Gus is at the park now. It’s at the end of our street, so don’t panic. I could be there in three minutes.”

Deidre laughs. “If I didn’t trust you with our son, he would be here with me.” 

The compliment makes me pause. It carries weight, coming from her. She’s an excellent mom.

“Anyway,” she says, “I’m calling to let you know that Gus’s pediatrician called in a prescription to your local pharmacy for an inhaler. He probably won’t need it, but I forgot to make sure he packed his and found it on his desk this morning.” 

“The pharmacy is in the grocery store, and I’m heading there in a little bit because God forbid, we eat another pizza.” 

“Perfect. And please, please, please don’t forget to work with him on his math. I know it’s not fun, but he got so far behind when he had pneumonia over the winter. If he doesn’t catch up this summer, I’m afraid he’ll just keep falling further behind.” 

I wince. I’m good, even great, at a lot of things, but math isn’t one of them. I cheated my way through high school and barely passed the required classes in college. Numbers and letters should never mix. But sixth-grade math should be easy enough. 

“Yeah, no problem,” I say a lot more confidently than I should. “I talked to Gus about it last night. I told him we’ll settle in here and then work on it a little every day.” 

“Great. You’re the best. Now, I need to go because I can’t find my red lipstick, and I have a date tonight.” 

Grinning, I gaze out the window toward the park. “Who’s the guy?” 

“His name is John. One of my friends is dating his brother, and we’re all going out to listen to a live band. We met briefly at a party a couple of weeks ago. He’s super cute, and we had a great conversation, so I have high hopes.” 

“I hope it goes well for you.” 

“Me, too. You have no idea.”

I laugh at the frustration in her voice because it’s one I know all too well. I make it a point not to date much, if at all, during the season. And as soon as I packed up this year, I was on a plane to pick up Gus instead of heading to Cabo like I used to do. 

“Well, have fun on your date,” I say. “I’ll make sure to grab the inhaler.” 

“Thanks. Talk soon.”

“Bye, Deidre.”

I end the call and set the phone back on the counter, then turn to head to the shower when I catch my reflection in the window. My hair’s a little longer than I prefer and I’m not quite as cut in the midsection as usual, but I can still count my abs. 

All in all? Not too bad. 

I haven’t really worked out since the season ended, justifying it by saying that I need to give my body time to heal—which is true. But it’s been almost a month now of me sitting around and eating like shit. I can start to see the effects of my choices. And if I don’t get on top of it soon, I’ll have a hell of a time getting back in shape before next season. 

“I could still kill it at pickleball, though,” I say, smirking. 

“Since you’re a professional athlete, then you should know that the chemistry between two people in an athletic situation is special. You can’t force it. You either have it, or you don’t.”

I chuckle. “Oh, Markie. Something tells me that a lack of chemistry isn’t the problem.” 

My phone rings again. I glance down and spot Miles’s name on the screen.

“Hey,” I say, resting my hip against the kitchen cabinet. 

“Hey. What’s happening over there?” 

“Just hanging out. Thinking about getting the rest of my shit unpacked and then heading to the grocery store. What about you?” 

“Same shit. Different day.” He laughs. “How’s the house? All good?” 

I glance around the kitchen. “Yeah. So far, everything’s great. Gus appreciates how close we are to the park. He headed down there a few minutes ago.” 

“That’s good. Heard you ran into one of my sisters today.” 

I did? My brows pinch together as I try to make sense of that. I know Miles has two sisters who live in Sugar Creek, but he doesn’t talk about them much. He mentioned that he only keeps this house because it rents so easily that it’s financially ignorant to sell it. He couldn’t even tell me when he was last here. 

“Who is your sister?” I ask. 

“You saw her at the farmers’ market. Her name is Markie.” 

Slowly, my thoughts pull to a stop. “That’s your sister?” 

“One of them.”

“No offense, but I don’t see the family resemblance.” 

“Well, she is my half sister,” he says, missing the joke. “My other half sister is Mira. She lives with her husband, Hartley, out by Gray’s. He’s a good guy.” 

What a small world. I scratch the top of my head. 

“Markie’s a pistol, which I’m sure you figured out since you talked to her for longer than thirty seconds,” he says. 

“She seems …” Like a damn good time. “Fun.” 

Miles snorts. “That’s one way to put it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, trying not to sound too interested. 

“She locked me outside once in my boxers, in February, because I ate her leftovers.”

I laugh.

He doesn’t. “She also borrowed my buddy’s truck one time. Didn’t tell him. Also didn’t answer her phone for like four hours. The police got involved—the whole bit. But, in typical Markie fashion, once it was all said and done, my buddy was somehow apologizing to her. I was apologizing to him. She apologized to no one.”

My laughter grows louder.

“It’s Markie’s world. We all just live in it,” he says with an exasperated sigh.

Lucky you. I clear my throat, wondering just how much more I can prod him along. Miles isn’t one for shooting the shit just to shoot it, and I have no idea how he’d react if he thought I was trying to get information out of him about his sister. But he brought her up. I’m just continuing the conversation. That seems fair—kind, even. 

“What’s up with her and pickleball?” I ask, testing the waters. “I take it there’s a tournament, and she’s very serious about it.”

“Oh yeah.” I can practically hear his eyes rolling. “Her ex was supposed to be her partner. It’s all she’s talked about for a fucking month.”

Her ex, huh? “That sounds problematic.”

“For him. Markie is a fucking menace.”

I take a long drink and let this new information marinate. 

This is why she wants to win. Makes sense—beating an ex is a great motivator. But if she wants to win that badly, she’ll need a great partner. And although I don’t know many people in this town, I’d venture to say I’m the best qualified candidate for the job. 

A slow smile stretches from ear to ear. 

“When you change your mind later, you’re going to beg.”

I was kidding when I said that to her, but I may have been onto something. 

Miles sighs through the line, signaling that he’s done talking about Markie. 

“How’s work been going?” I ask, knowing if there’s one thing that Miles will happily talk about, it’s himself. 

As predicted, he veers off into the world of marketing, giving me ample time to let my mind wander to Markie and pickleball.

CHAPTER

FOUR

Markie

“So, yeah, it should all go pretty quickly,” Gianna says, plucking a cherry tomato from her salad. “We sign papers next week, and then the lake house is ours.”

If it were possible to have hearts as irises, Gianna would be sporting them.

The best thing to come from Mira marrying Hartley Adler is that her new friend group became mine. Gianna, Astrid, and Audrey are kick-ass women who love fiercely, honestly, and completely. They even love Nettie, too, although she’s slower to grow close to new people. You have to pass her FBI-level background check and survive a probationary period before she decides whether she’ll let you into her world. Most people don’t get the invite. 

The lunch rush passed an hour ago, and Piper’s Pizza is fairly quiet. A couple of men in business suits talk shop in the corner, and a lone farmer remains at the circular table in the center of the room that was packed when we first arrived. It gives Lisa, everyone’s favorite server, a moment to breathe.

“I love that property,” I say, biting the end off a slice of sausage pizza. “And it’s in the perfect spot with how it sits back from the road, hidden by all the trees. You could probably just live in a hammock and be happy.” 

“Let’s not get crazy.” She grins. “But the privacy was one of the biggest selling points. Drake grew up in the country and didn’t want to live in town. I wanted to be able to have chickens and maybe a pig if I can get Drake on board.” 

I laugh, imagining Gianna with a pig. It’s not a vision that comes together easily—girly Gianna with a muddy oinker—but ever since she saw my sister’s piglet, Pigasso, she’s talked about it nonstop. At first, I thought she did it just to mess with Drake. But now, I don’t think she’s joking.

“You should see the plans I have for my art studio,” she says. “And there’s a small building that used to be a woodworking shop, I think, where we’re going to set up our podcast. It’s really great.” 

“Are you itching to get back to the podcasts?”

She sighs, sitting back in her seat. “We are. Quitting Canoodle Media and walking away from our podcasts was pretty jarring. While I’m glad that we took some time to ourselves to put together a game plan, it’s time to get back to work.” 

“Speaking of work, the high school called and offered me a job. I guess the calculus teacher resigned and they wanted to know if I wanted the position.” 

“That’s amazing. Congrats.”

I snort. “Thanks, but hold off on the congratulations because I didn’t take it.” 

“Oh. Why?”

“Do you remember high school?” I make a face that earns a giggle from Gianna. “I don’t know what your experience was for those four years, but I hated it. I can’t imagine willingly doing it again. No thanks.”

“Then why did you get a teaching license if you don’t want to teach?”

“Because I was young and wayward, and college seemed a whole hell of a lot better than getting a job.” I take another bite of my food. “The only classes I loved were math, and the only job I could think of was teaching.” 

“Have you ever taught?” 

I pause to take a drink. “I filled in for someone during their maternity leave. And by the end of the first day, I was dumbstruck that the teacher was willing to have her own kid after sitting in a classroom of twenty-five rug rats all day. It’s not for me.” 

“When you say it like that, I totally understand.” She brushes a strand of hair out of her face. “You’d have to really love kids to be surrounded by them every hour of your life. And other people’s kids, to boot. I don’t know if I’ve ever actually liked a kid before.” Her nose wrinkles. “Is that weird?”

A small smile tickles my lips as I think of one kid I like … and then his father. 

“I’m a professional athlete, and unless I’m reading this all wrong, we have excellent chemistry.” 

What a line. I chuckle softly, trying to erase his cheeky grin from my mind. 

“What?” Gianna asks, eyeing me skeptically. “What’s that all about?” 

“You’re imagining things.”

“No, I’m not, and we both know it. What were you—or who were you thinking about?” 

I drop my gaze to my plate and pick at a hunk of cheese that slipped off my pizza. 

My desire to talk about Jory Plath with Gianna is nil. There’s nothing really to talk about, aside from the fact that he’s beyond good-looking and can hold a conversation in public—two things that rarely go together. But if I’m going to talk about it with anyone, Gianna would be my pick. After all, she had an entire podcast about relationships and dating. She gets it. She gets me. 

“We were talking about kids,” I say. “And it reminded me of a kid that I met at the farmers’ market last weekend. And that reminded me of his father.” 

She leans forward, grinning. “Spill.”

“There’s nothing to spill.” I take a bite of pizza as casually as I can to try to drive home my point. “This boy came up to my table talking shit, basically.” I laugh as I remember Gus trying to pawn his dad off on me. “He was telling me how he was new to town and how his dad was smothering him, and he needed someone to date his dad so he could have some alone time.” 

“I think I like this kid.” 

“I liked him, too,” I say, shrugging. “He was funny. Anyway, his dad comes up behind him and …” I grin, feeling a stir in my belly. “I think it’s safe to say that this man is the most attractive man I’ve ever seen with my own eyes. Like holy shit kind of attractive.” 

Gianna falls back in her seat. “Wow.”

You have no idea. 

I’ve been unable to shake Jory from my mind. I keep telling myself that it’s just because he’s so hot and I’m in such a dry spell—that I’m just a girl with unmet needs. It’s science at its most basic level. But the slightly concerning part of it is that I’m not only fantasizing about his shoulders and those freaking lips. I’m remembering the playfulness of his tone and how tender he was with Gus. 

That could be a problem if I let it. 

Good thing I won’t. 

“But it gets wilder,” I say, blowing out a breath. “My brother called to see if I could call the water department today to have the meter read at his rental house because God forbid he call without wanting something.” I roll my eyes. “And guess who his new tenant is.” 

Her eyes grow wide. “No.” 

“Yup. The guy. Jory Plath.” 

“No!” She sits up in her seat. “I know him. He’s Drake’s friend. They lived near each other in Nashville and played basketball sometimes.” Her arms cross over her chest as she sits back again, looking like the cat that ate the canary. “Oh, Markie. He’s hot.” 

My brain short-circuits. “Okay, so you know Jory because he and Drake are friends. My brother knows him from college. They’re like best friends, apparently, which is something I just learned because Miles refuses to be a normal human and talk about his life with me. And Gray knows him because they played on the Royals together. And here we are—except Miles. All in the same small town. What are the odds?”

“If I believed in fate, I’d say it was fate.” 

“It’s a cosmic prank dipped into a vat of temptation to see if I’m dumb enough to take the bait. That’s all it is.”

She smirks. “So, are you taking it?” 

“No.” I grimace. “While I may have thought about him bending me over every possible surface of my house, I’m uninterested in actually following through with that fantasy.” 

My insistence that I’m uninterested might as well have been said to the table because if Gianna heard it, she didn’t listen. Mischief lifts the corners of her lips as her smirk deepens. 

“I know he hit on you,” she says, narrowing her eyes. 

“Yeah. He asked me to dinner.” I should leave it here—drop the dinner invite and move on. But where’s the fun in that? “And he might’ve volunteered to be my partner in the tournament.”

Her eyes shine with excitement. 

“I said no, obviously,” I say, lifting my glass to my lips.

“Why? He’s beautiful, Markie. Do it for me. Think of it like taking one for the team, because I’ve always wondered what that man was like in bed.” 

I choke on my drink, grabbing a napkin and dotting my eyes with it. Gianna watches me with an almost morbid humor. 

“That’s exactly what I imagine,” she says, teasing me. “I know he’s so big that you’d choke on it.” 

“Stop it.” My eyes and throat burn as I try to breathe normally. I point at her. “Don’t say another word.” 

Lisa swings by to check on us. Thankfully, Gianna doesn’t share why I’m nearly dying across from her and makes small talk with our server as I try to get my wits together. Just as I gather myself, the chimes on the door ring, and we all look up. 

“Speaking of dicks,” I say as my sights land on Jasper. 

He scans the room until his gaze meets mine. A small, I’m just a good guy smile touches his lips. He watches me for a long moment before he tucks his chin, heading for a barstool at the front of the building. All the while, a hot, bitter wave of resentment rises and settles beneath my ribs. 

That motherfucker.

I rip my gaze from the back of his head. “Do you know what pisses me off the most?” 

“The options are endless, but I have an inkling,” Gianna says, clearly irritated about Jasper’s appearance, too. 

“It’s the fact that he comes across as this nice, sweet guy. Harmless. Good,” I say, spitting the word. “That’s the worst part. Not that he cheated on me. Not that he thinks he can compete against me in the tournament.” I lean forward until my chest digs into the table’s edge. “It’s that he has the audacity to wear that sweet smile like some kind of saint.” My jaw clenches. “If you’re going to be an asshole, have the balls to be an asshole.”

That’s the toughest part to swallow. I bought into his bullshit. 

I believed him.

Jasper was supposed to be the exception, the one who made me believe that not all men were bad. Instead, he proved me right. And that’s what sucks. 

I wanted to be wrong. 

Gianna glances at him with disdain. “He did you a favor. You’re way too gorgeous to be with him, and if a man isn’t treating you like a queen, he doesn’t deserve you. He can go fuck himself.” 

“He probably would if he could figure out how,” I say. 

Lisa leans close. “For the record, I agree with everything you both said.” She flashes me a half smile before heading toward Jasper to take his order. 

“Thanks,” I say to Gianna. “I’m just glad that he showed me who he really was before I got too invested in him.”

I offer a smile that probably looks, and definitely feels, more like a grimace. Because I had wondered whether Jasper was long-term material, and I had been erring on the side of yes. He was all the wonderful things I’d decided were symptoms of husband material. That I was so wrong is embarrassing, but going any further in that relationship being so incredibly wrong would’ve been humiliating. 

Her lips twist as if she has something to say. But before any words pass them, she seems to change her mind. “What’s your plan? You’re not dating anyone for the rest of your life because Jasper is a douchebag?” 

I’m fairly certain that wasn’t what she was going to say. 

“I don’t know,” I say, straightening my shirt in case he looks this way. I may not care about him, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t want him to wallow in how badly he fumbled me. “I’m not saying I’ll never date again. Never is a long time. But I’m just over it. I’m tired of giving my time and energy to men who’ll wind up treating me like I’m disposable.”

She takes a breath. “Trust me. I get it. I was walking down that same path when Drake changed how I saw the world. That’s all it takes, Markie. One guy can swoop in and make you see that there are good men out there. You just have to find them.” 

“I believed that. But Jasper was supposed to be the one good man. Theory busted.” 

A chill ripples down my spine, and I don’t have to look over my shoulder to see why. I know Jasper’s standing beside me by the way the hair on the back of my neck stands on end … and from the icy glare Gianna shoots that way. 

“Hey, Markie,” Jasper says, his voice as unbothered as ever. 

“That’s a stupid opening,” I say, lifting a brow. 

“It was two words.”

I paste on a smile that’s so intense, so patently weaponized, that he recoils. “And I said I trusted you. Looks like we both say stupid shit.” 

My gaze stays pinned on his face until his Adam’s apple bobs, and he walks away, muttering something under his breath. 

“Okay,” Gianna says. “I get what you mean when you say that he hides behind his boy-next-door facade. That pisses me off, too.” 

I wait a beat for my blood to stop boiling. “I need to destroy him in the pickleball tournament in front of the whole town, and then I can put this to bed.”

“Or you could let a hot rugby player put you to bed and forget about this whole thing.” 

I stare at her.

“What?” She laughs. “I hope that if our roles were reversed, you’d be encouraging me to bang a guy like Jory.” 

Of course, I’d be telling her to do that, just like she is me. And up until a few months ago, I’d have been giving myself the same advice. But something flipped inside me when I discovered Jasper’s infidelity. I don’t just want another guy in my bed. I want the guy. The one who probably doesn’t even exist. 

“I’m laser focused on the tournament. It’s all I can handle right now. We’re a month out, and I still don’t have a partner. But I am meeting a guy named Adam tonight who I think will be great.” 

Before she can reply, our phones buzz with incoming texts. 

“Must be the group chat,” Gianna says, smiling. 

I grab my phone and open the app. 

Audrey: We set a date!! person cartwheeling, medium-light skin tone I’m getting married. Finally.

Astrid: It’s about time.

Mira: Ironic coming from you. 

Astrid: face with rolling eyes

Gianna and I laugh. It’s become a running joke with us that Gray and Astrid are going to be engaged forever even though it’s not been that long. Astrid wanted to wait for Gray to retire and they were settled back in Sugar Creek before she started the wedding process. But now that Gray is officially done with rugby and they’re back in their cabin, we’re all anxious for them to tie the knot. 

Me: Are you going to tell us when, or do you want us to guess?

Audrey: Three weeks from Saturday. 

Gianna: That feels random.

Audrey: Every time we picked a date, it felt like it conflicted with someone’s schedule or the venue wasn’t available. We were sitting in the barn on our property tonight, imagining what it will be like when our house is finished, and we just said screw it. We want to be married. Brooks kept saying that it’s about us and no one else, and I kind of love that. 

“You know,” I say, looking up at Giana. “I think Brooks is a closet romantic.” 

“I agree. He treats Auddie like a princess and the way he stepped up for Mira at her wedding …”

We exchange a soft smile at the memory as our phones buzz in rapid succession. 

Mira: Can I do anything to help?

Audrey: Maybe we can all get together this week for some wine and to hammer out the details?

Astrid: Perfect. Want to meet here? 

Audrey: That would be great. 

Mira: I’ll bring snacks. smiling face

Astrid: See if you can talk Cathy into making cookies.

Mira: Consider it done. 

Lisa returns and hands Gianna the bill. They chatter about Jasper, but I tune them out. There’s no sense in wasting mental energy on a turd, especially when I can be thinking about other things.  

“Unless I’m reading this all wrong, we have excellent chemistry.” 

A grin touches my lips. 

No, Jory, you aren’t reading it wrong. It just doesn’t matter. 

What I said to Gianna stands. Jory could be a great time and help me win the tournament. I don’t doubt that. But watching Mira, Gianna, and Audrey live their lives with exceptional men who treat them like princesses makes me that much more certain that I’m done getting trampled by lesser candidates. 

I’d like to think there’s someone out there for me—a Hartley or Drake of my own. But the universe will have to serve him up to me on a silver platter because I’m done even trying.

CHAPTER

FIVE

Markie

“That was one hell of a firefight,” Adam says, his hands clutching his knees as he struggles to catch his breath. It’s apparent that he exaggerated his current physical prowess. “You weren’t joking when you said you were good.” 

I snatch the ball from the court and place it and my paddle on the bench. 

The evening sky casts a golden glow over the park. Trees sway in the perfect summer breeze, and birds sing their final song of the day. Pop used to call it the dusk chorus. He’d often sneak me a piece of candy, and we’d sit outside on the picnic table and listen to it until sunset, when Lolly made us come inside. 

Those are some of my fondest memories. 

“How’d I do?” Adam asks, crossing the court. “Did I make the cut?” 

I laugh. “Yes. I mean, we have some work to do, but I think we can iron out the wrinkles.” 

“Great.” He grins. “It’ll be much easier to go to work tomorrow saying I made it rather than telling the guys that you thought I was a chump.”

Men and their fragile egos. 

The last hour has been the best hour I’ve spent on the court in weeks. I wouldn’t say that Adam is the best partner I’ve ever had. Not by a long shot. But he’s not exactly a chump, either, and at this point, that has to be good enough. I’ll make up the difference. 

“As I said, we have a lot of work to do,” I say, grabbing a towel from my bag. “We have to get on the same page stylistically, but and I mean this nicely, your cardio is crap. We’ll have two games a day—sometimes three. I need to know you have the endurance to stay with me.” 

“Endurance is my middle name.” 

Oh please. I struggle not to roll my eyes at his innuendo. “Glad to hear it. Let’s just make sure it’s spelled out in capital letters.” 

“You have nothing to worry about.” He tosses his gear into a backpack. “I work late this week, but I get off around five starting Friday. It’ll take me about thirty minutes to get here.” 

“Where are you coming from?” 

He slings his backpack over his shoulder. “I live on the far side of Colfax County. Just past Laveen.” 

I hesitate before taking a drink of water. Colfax County is where Courtney, Jasper’s new girlfriend and pickleball partner, is from. I don’t know much about her because I haven’t bothered to look her up. She wasn’t the one breaking promises to me, and my problem has never been with her. 

But now that an opportunity to inquire about her sits in my lap, I’d be silly not to take it. 

“Do you happen to know Courtney Fitz?” I ask. “She’s from somewhere over there.” 

“Oh yeah. My sisters played volleyball and softball with her. Why do you ask?” 

“She entered the tournament. I’m just trying to see who we’re up against. That’s all.” 

He nods as if that makes perfect sense. “She’s a great athlete. Went to Oak Grove for college and played a sport there, I think. I haven’t seen her in years.” 

I sigh. The sound is a bit harsher than I expect or intend. Adam picks up on it but doesn’t comment. Unfortunately for him, his face speaks for itself. 

“Looks like you’ll be seeing her soon,” I say, forcing a smile. “Welcome to the team. Let’s shoot for Saturday at noon?”

“Sounds great. I’ll see you then.” He heads for the parking lot. “And if I get a break at work tomorrow, I’ll run some wind sprints.” 

“You do that.”

His laughter trails him as I begin to pack my gear. 

A weight has been lifted off my shoulders as I slide my paddle into my bag. I was starting to believe that I’d never find anyone good enough to help me beat Jasper. Adam isn’t the best thing I’ve ever seen on the court, but he’s undoubtedly the best I’ve seen this year. Together, we’ll win. Hands down. 

I turn to grab my bottle when something catches my attention. Oh shit. 

Jory jogs toward me with an effortless, smooth stride. A smile tugs against his lips. A gold chain with a cross on it bounces against his bare chest, and a sprinkling of small, thin tattoos are spread across his skin. 

My breath hitches as I take in his long, lean, professional-athlete body. He’s shirtless, sweaty, and so freaking sexy. 

“Don’t let this go to your head,” he says, stopping at the fence. He rests his thick forearms casually across the top of it, not breathing hard or panting. His cardio, and endurance, are probably elite. “But that guy you were playing with is nowhere near as good as you.” 

I fight a grin. “Story of my life.” 

He laughs, running a hand through his damp hair. “I bet it is. So who was he? Is that your teammate?” 

The hint of mischief in his tone tells me that he saw Adam and me practicing … and he’s not that impressed. 

“Yup,” I say. “It’s me and Adam versus the world.” 

“Chemistry looked a little weak to me.” 

“Thanks for your unsolicited opinion,” I say, shaking my head and grabbing my bottle. “Did Gus suggest that you run shirtless to try to nab a date? I don’t know him that well, but it feels like something he’d suggest.” 

Jory laughs. “No, but you’re right. It’s something he’d do, especially because he thinks I have no game. By the way, his latest theory is that you turned me down because you think I’m cheap. He’s sure that if I had bought two jars of jam, you would’ve gone out with me.” 

“I’m thrilled your son thinks I’m a gold digger.” I laugh, too. “I saw him playing basketball when I got here. He seems to have found friends.” 

“Glad one of us did.” 

I roll my eyes, turning to him at the exact moment a breeze ripples across the court. My senses fill with notes of his cologne and fresh, post-run sweat. The scent lingers in the air, flirting with me and making me wonder what he smells like after sex. 

Focus, Markie. “I’m sure you have no trouble finding friends, Mr. Plath.” 

“Oh,” he says, grinning from ear to ear. “You know my last name. Been digging around, have we?” 

“Or my brother told me. I mean, there’s one obvious answer, but I’ll let you decide what to think.” 

He shifts his weight and the sun’s rays make the perspiration on his shoulders shimmer. 

“I was shocked when Miles told me you were his sister,” Jory says. “We’ve been friends for almost a decade now, and he’s never said your name.” 

“Yeah, that’s not shocking at all.” 

He laughs. “True. Miles isn’t that …”

“Interested in anyone’s life but his own?” I offer, shrugging. 

“I was going to say forthcoming.” 

“You’re nicer than I am.” I chuckle. “I love him. We have a good relationship. But once our father died, we didn’t see him much since he lived with his mother. My sister and I are sort of Miles’s peripheral siblings, if that makes sense. We’re closer than strangers but still on a need-to-know basis, and I think he’d show up to our funerals.”

He presses off the fence and stands tall. He towers over me, his shadow extending onto the court. Everything about him screams testosterone and bad decisions. 

“I always hated being an only child,” he says. “Always wanted a sibling. I hope I can give Gus a brother or sister.” 

Something Gus said last weekend pops into my mind. I’ve thought a few times about him saying he’s only known his dad for a couple of years. No matter how I wrestle with it, I can’t make sense of it. 

“Can I ask you something that’s none of my business?” I ask. 

He shrugs. “Sure. Ask away.”

“I don’t know how he said it,” I say, “but Gus said something along the lines that he’s only known you for a couple of years.” 

Jory watches me, grinning. “That wasn’t a question.” 

I sigh as my cheeks flush, picking up my bag. “I just wondered why. Or maybe I misunderstood him. That’s all.” 

“So, you really just want to know if I’m a deadbeat dad.” He winks as I nibble my bottom lip nervously. “I’m kidding. I know how it sounds.”

“I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry.” 

“No, I’ll explain. It’s a fair question.” He waits for me to come through the gate and then walks beside me toward my car. “I dated his mother, Deidre, off and on in college. We were never anything serious, and we certainly weren’t monogamous.” 

I kick a rock with my toe. “I’ve had a few of those relationships myself.” 

“We stopped seeing each other because she met a guy she really liked and they got serious pretty quickly. She didn’t realize she was pregnant until she was pretty far along, and she just assumed it was his. They got married, and that was that. It wasn’t until Gus had a medical issue a couple of years ago that she realized the truth.” 

Oh wow. In all of the scenarios I came up with, this was not one of them. 

I glance at Jory out of the corner of my eye. His forehead is wrinkled, and he licks his bottom lip. I kind of wish that I hadn’t asked. 

“That’s … something,” I say, grimacing. “I’m not really sure what to say. Gus is okay, right?” 

“Yup. He’s fine. We got through all of that.” He smiles down at me. “It sucks. I missed out on so much, and it took me a long time to make peace with that. But what am I going to do? Be pissed about it forever? I can’t turn back time. And it’s not like Deidre set out to screw me over. I can’t blame her.” 

“That’s incredibly mature of you. I think I’d carry a chip on my shoulder.” 

He chuckles. “I don’t know you that well, but that feels like something you’d do.” 

“Touché.” I unlock my car and toss my bag into the back seat. “Thank you for answering my very impolite question. I can hear my grandma Lolly in my head chastising me for being rude.” 

“It’s fine. I’d rather you ask than assume.”

He leans against my car as if he expects me to stick around and talk to him. And while I should climb in and take off, I don’t reach for the handle. There’s something about being in his presence that I don’t hate. I even kind of like it. That’s not a good thing, but I’d be lying to myself if I said otherwise. 

“Anything else you wanna know?” he asks, crossing his arms over his barrel chest. 

“Well, since you asked,” I say, batting my lashes. He chuckles. “What’s your relationship like with Gus’s mom and her husband? How does that situation play out? I can only imagine there are a hundred emotions involved that could go so many different ways.” 

“We’re good. Her husband passed away five or six years ago. But, yeah, Deidre and I get along just fine. She’s a fantastic mom. I mean, look at Gus. That’s all her doing. I can’t take credit for that.” The smile on his lips softens. “She’s been great at facilitating a relationship between Gus and me. I mean, she has let me have him this summer and last, and I’ve either seen him or had him with me for just about every holiday.” He runs a hand through his hair again. “I really appreciate her in a lot of ways, you know?” 

“That’s nice.”

He sighs. “I just have to figure out how life will look once I retire next year.” He peeks at me out of the corner of his eye. “But that’s a problem for another day.” 

The sun creeps along the edge of the distant treetops, lighting the sky in a cascade of beautiful pinks and purples. It feels like the world has formed a little cocoon around us. 

I stare up at Jory, processing how respectfully he speaks about Deidre. Despite everything that happened, he’s so kind. And maybe it’s a ruse—maybe it’s just another handsome, disarming man using his charm to fleece me. Surely, he’s working an angle. But if that’s true, I don’t want to find out. I want to keep him far enough away that I don’t ever have to know. 

“What about you, Miss Markie St. James?” he asks. “What else is there to know about you?” 

I snort. If he thinks I’m filleting myself for a shirtless hottie that I’ve known for two whole minutes, he’s mistaken.

“I’m just a small-town girl,” I say, shrugging. “There’s not a lot to know about me.” 

His eyes narrow playfully. “Somehow, I don’t believe that.” 

“Suit yourself.” I reach for the door handle and pull it open. “But I need to get going. I have to run by my sister’s house tonight, and I desperately need a shower first.” 

He steps away from my car, giving me plenty of room to maneuver. What a gentleman. 

“Guess you know where to find me if your pickleball boy flakes out on you,” he says, teasing me. 

“Thanks, but I wouldn’t hold my breath.” I drop into the driver’s seat and start the engine. “Tell Gus that I said hi. And tell him that the jam had nothing to do with it.” 

“I will. See ya around.” 

“Bye, Jory.”

I shut the door and leave the park before I can change my mind.

CHAPTER

SIX

Jory

“Look who it is,” Gray says from the porch of the farmhouse. He waves before trotting down the steps toward the driveway. 

Gray Adler is a beast and the fiercest scrum half I’ve ever played with or against. I’m used to seeing him battered and worn down from the season, held together by muscle cream, tape, and the will of a champion. But there’s an air about him this evening that’s different. Lighter, maybe. 

“Hey, Adler,” I say, pulling him into a one-armed hug. “Gray, this is my son, Gus. Gus, this is the legend, Gray Adler.” 

“Legend, my ass.” Gray chuckles. “Nice to meet ya, Gus.” 

Gus smiles. “I’m happy to meet you, too. Nice place you got here.” 

I bite back a laugh. This kid.

“Well, thanks,” Gray says, amused, too. “This is my brother Hartley’s house. I live down there.” He points toward a gravel lane extending up and over a small hill. 

The property is unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. It’s not that far from town, yet it feels like you’re in your own world nestled among the trees. Wildlife sings from every angle—from the fields surrounding the house, to the forest that starts on the edges of the very same fields, and from the sky expanding endlessly above us.

Still, somehow, it’s quiet.

Gus spins in a circle, taking it all in. “I’ve never been to a farm before. What’s in that barn?”

“I think it’s a ranch,” I say.

“Call it whatever the hell you want. Same difference—to me, anyway,” Gray says, smiling. “And I have little to no idea what’s in that barn except for a pig.”

“You’re serious?” Gus asks, facing him. “A real pig?”

“Yup. Named Pigasso.” Gray looks at me. “Don’t ask.” 

“A pig named Pigasso,” Gus says, snorting as we follow Gray into the house.

The steps are sturdy as we trudge up them, passing a goose statue dressed up in a raincoat and boots. Gus and I exchange a look as we cross the doorway. We nearly make it inside before a voice welcomes us from the kitchen.

“Hello, there,” a woman says, wiping her hands on a dish towel. She’s older, probably in her sixties, with a grandmotherly vibe. Her smile is as wide as her hips.

“This is Cathy,” Gray says. “Cathy, this is Jory and Gus.”

“Oh, I remember you. I’ve been to a few Royals games.” She smiles at me. “It’s nice to officially meet you.” She turns to Gus. “You look like a man who likes cookies. Am I right?”

Gus’s shoulders slump in relief. “You couldn’t be righter if you tried. I’m practically starving, to be honest, because this guy”—he jams his thumb over his shoulder in my general direction—“thinks heat-up pizzas can be eaten for a week straight. I haven’t seen food from an actual food group since he picked me up.” 

“Oh, come on,” I say, laughing.

“I have never been more prepared to fix someone’s problem than I am right now.” Cathy points at a stool at the island, then turns to the refrigerator. “Gus, sit. I have fried chicken, meatloaf, and a little bit of Salisbury steak left from last night. Probably have an ear of corn in here, along with some baked beans. I can always make a fresh batch of mashed potatoes if you'd like. What sounds good, kiddo?” 

“Um, all of it,” Gus says. 

I take a step forward. “He’s exaggerating. Please don’t feel obligated⁠—”

“Shush.” Cathy gives me a look like my mother gives me when she’s really saying shut the fuck up, Jory. “No one invited you into this conversation.”

“You’re fighting a losing battle,” Gray says with a slight shrug.

Gus smirks at me from the stool.

“Go on,” Cathy says, shooing us away. “Go do your business somewhere else. Gus and I will find you after his belly is full.”

“I really like it here,” Gus says, grinning at me.

Hell, maybe I should take his advice. He has women eating out of the palm of his hand wherever we go.

“You behave.” I lift a brow. “And remember your manners.”

“We’re gonna walk around and will probably wind up at the cabin,” Gray tells Cathy. “If you call when you’re finished, we can come get him.” 

“I don’t know why you’re still here,” Cathy says, pulling out plates from the fridge. 

Gray shakes his head. “Let’s go.”

I give my son a pointed look before following my friend outside.

A breeze kicks up as soon as we’re on the gravel and the flag hanging off the porch whips in the wind. We walk shoulder to shoulder down the lane in silence.

“Are you going to explain Pigasso?” I ask, curious. 

“Hartley’s wife, Mira, bought it at an auction. This was before they were back together. It was an impulse purchase, and she had nowhere to take it, so she sent it here and then begged for Hart’s forgiveness rather than permission.”

Mira. I kick a rock, smiling. If she’s anything like her sister, that makes total sense.

It’s wild to me how much I’ve learned about Markie without really even trying—too hard, anyway. I’ve been in Sugar Creek for a week and am starting to understand the lore around small towns. Growing up in a metropolitan area and then living in different cities throughout my adult life, I’ve never understood how your neighbors could possibly know your whole business. 

I’m starting to get it. You never truly have any privacy. There’s no escape, no way to become invisible.

Markie is everywhere—the farmers’ market, the park. We waved at each other as she left the grocery store yesterday and I pulled in. I spotted her at the gas station and overheard a table of old men talking about her at Piper’s Pizza today at lunch. I think they were making bets on the pickleball tournament. And now she’s popping up in a conversation with my teammate. 

I’ve known the woman for a week, and unintentionally, I’m collecting pieces of her life.

Not that I mind. 

“How’s retirement treating you?” I ask as we reach the top of the hill. “You look pretty relaxed.”

Gray takes a long, deep breath and blows it out steadily. “It’s fucking great, to be honest.”

“I bet it is.” 

“I knew I needed to walk away,” he says. “It was time. But this little voice in the back of my head kept asking, what if I’m making a mistake?”

“That’s normal, I’d think.”

“Probably. But every morning I wake up here with Astrid beside me and … I’m free, I guess. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t have it all figured out. I’m gonna help Hartley around here and do some ranch shit, but I’ll have to figure out something else to occupy my time.” 

I chuckle, stretching my arms over my head. I’m not even retired, but I understand what he means. This ranch and the clean air and nature surrounding us make me feel free, too. 

“But, yeah, this is it,” Gray says. “This is the life. I’ve never been surer of anything.”

My chest aches as his words sink into my bones. I know what I’m walking away from after next season, but I just haven’t figured out what I’m walking toward.

I’ve toyed with the idea of retiring for the past three years, keeping my eye on the upcoming season when my contract expires. Rugby has taken a hell of a toll on my body, and I’ve absorbed enough damage to be concerned. My mom has practically begged me to stop playing. And if I’m being honest, I’ve accomplished what I set out to accomplish in the beginning.

I had fun, made a shit ton of money, and won a few championships.

But that was all before I had Gus. Back when retiring felt like a ticket to a beach somewhere and a life spent blowing the money I’ve made over my career—probably in a semi-hedonistic fashion.

That’s not what it looks like anymore.

The choices I make matter. Where I live is a significant decision. I don’t want to live in Nevada. I hate the desert. But Gus lives there with his mom, and they’re happy, so the most logical solution is to move closer to them whether I want to or not. Because as much as I hate geckos and cacti, I want to be an everyday dad. I want to experience Friday football games at the high school and lazy Saturday mornings. Sunday dinners. Throwing a ball around in the yard. Taco Tuesdays. I want to be there for his first date, the first time he falls in love, and the first time his heart gets broken.

I just hope I haven’t missed too much of his life to fit into his world like that. I hope it’s not too late for us to fashion that kind of a relationship, one that survives more than a couple of months together, max. And I really hope that I don’t insert myself into their lives and fuck it up. 

You don’t change things that work. That’s Game Planning 101.

“How are you liking Sugar Creek?” Gray asks.

“It’s unlike anywhere I’ve ever lived.” I chuckle softly. “But I like it. Gus seems to be having a good time, too, so that helps.”

“It’s a great place to grow up. I mean, I know he’s not growing up here, but it’s a good place to spend a summer when you’re that age.”

“I can see that,” I say. “This is what I wanted for us. Just a moment in time when we can forge a bond—just the two of us. Last summer felt so rushed and unsettled, and I just wanted us to have a home base this time.” I gaze across the fields. “You know, I’ve lived in Tennessee for a few years now, and this is my home. I really love it here, and I guess I wanted Gus to get a taste of this life, too.” 

Gray nods as we turn up a driveway toward his cabin. “I get that. Once you fall in love with a place, it’s hard to get it out of your blood.” He peers at me out of the corner of his eye. “Where are you thinking about landing once you retire?”

I blow out a breath. “Fuck if I know.”

We make our way to the cabin, and the only sound is the crunching of our shoes against the rocks. Wind sweeps across the fields, carrying a lonely sort of whistle with it. But the home in front of us—small, with a chimney, porch swing, and another goose beside the door—is warm. Welcoming. Like something you’d love coming home to.

I can imagine living in a place like this with Gus. His bike on the front porch and a rugby ball on the swing. The idea causes a wave of warmth to swell in my chest, and I shove it back down because I’m not sure what to do with it. 

“Nice place,” I say, tapping the top of the pirate goose’s head as I follow Gray inside.

“Thanks. Astrid is having her way with it. I’ve been trying to get her to let me add on a little bit, but she’s refusing. It’ll fuck up the charm, she says.” He shrugs. “As long as she’s happy, I’m happy.”

“Spoken like a man who’s as whipped as they come.”

He laughs. “Fuck you.”

I laugh, too, taking a seat across from him at a small kitchen table. “How have you been?”

“Good. Just decompressing and trying to find a new normal. It’s weird not having to count my macros every damn meal.”

“That’s one part of retirement that I haven’t considered.” I lean back in my chair and yawn. “Have you seen Drake lately? I was hoping to run into him while I’m here.”

He stretches his arms overhead and groans. “Yeah. He was here last week. I think Gianna might be staying with Audrey. Something tells me that Drake had to visit his parents or something, but I could be making that up.” He rests his forearms on the table. “Do you know Brooks Dempsey by any chance? Used to be an MMA fighter, if the name is ringing a bell.”

“I don’t think so.”

“He’s marrying Audrey in a few weeks.” He pauses. “Do you know who she is?”

“Nope.”

He sighs. “Astrid has a cool friend group, and somehow, they’ve all wound up here in Sugar Creek. There’s Gianna, who is with Drake, who you already know. And then there’s Audrey, who’s marrying Brooks.” He taps a finger against the table. “The girls have more or less gathered Hartley’s wife, Mira, and her sister, Markie, and added them into their circle.”

I fight a smile. But when you’ve played ball with a guy, you learn to read them like a book. And Gray sees right through my attempt at hiding my amusement.

He lifts a brow, fighting a grin of his own.

“Yeah, I met Markie,” I say, licking my bottom lip. “A couple of times.”

“Really? You met her as in someone introduced you in line at the grocery store, or you met her like you met that girl when we were playing in Detroit?”

I snort. That was a wild night. “Neither, really. But we’ve chatted a couple of times, and I’ve known her brother since college.”

“That guy is an asshole.”

Gray’s not completely wrong. Miles can be a bit self-absorbed, and there are times when I wonder if he can see beyond himself at all. Even Markie seems to agree with the sentiment. 

“I can see how you could come to that conclusion.” I laugh. “But, yeah, I know Markie a little bit.”

“She’s … entertaining.” His lips twist. “I halfway expect Astrid to call me from the police station when they all go out together.”

“I mean, she could put some handcuffs on me, and I wouldn’t complain.”

Gray grins. “I bet you wouldn’t.”

His phone rings, and he excuses himself to answer it, but I don’t mind. My thoughts are considering where I can get some handcuffs … just in case.

CHAPTER

SEVEN

Markie

“Oh, dammit,” I groan, rolling over in bed and grabbing my phone from the nightstand.

It’s been three days since I met Adam and invited him to play in the tournament with me. And each day, I’ve had to force myself not to reach out to him and make sure he’s taking this seriously. But the tightness in my chest tonight is a little too tight to fall asleep. The only thing that might help is knowing that Adam has been doing some cardio on his lunch breaks.

And hopefully, after work.

I wouldn’t mind if he did some sprints before work, too.

My fingers fly over the letters. But before I hit send, I check the time.

“Nine thirty isn’t too late,” I mutter and shoot the message through the interwebs.

Me: Hey, just checking in.

It only takes a minute to get his response.

Adam: Hey. On my way home from work. Overtime is killing me this week.

“Not the info I’m after,” I say, biting my lip and typing out my reply.

Me: That sucks. Have you managed to get any work in for the tournament?

I study the message for a few moments before I fire it off. Is it the kindest message I’ve ever sent? No. But he knew what he was getting into before he agreed to be my teammate. If he’s offended, that’s on him.

Adam: Do you really think I’d agree to be your teammate and then embarrass myself by not keeping up with you? rolling on the floor laughing 

The tension in my shoulders melts away. “Thank God.” 

I flop back against the pillows and breathe a sigh of relief. 

Am I always a little too obsessed with this tournament? Probably. But is it something I can fix this year? No, it’s not.

I squish my eyes shut and try to ward off the tightness in my chest. 

Holding on to this bitterness toward Jasper isn’t healthy. I know that. I don’t love this version of myself, and I can feel my emotions eating away at my soul. Worst of all, it’s preventing me from enjoying the process. Because while I love winning, I almost love what comes before it even more. 

The inside jokes. The early morning practices. Working toward a goal with someone beside me, counting on me just as much as I’m counting on them. 

It’s the sense of community that excites me. The tradition of it all. It’s the one bit of magic that’s still left in life. 

And, unfortunately, that’s all fallen to the wayside this year. 

This year, it’s just about beating Jasper. 

Me: Glad to hear it. See you Saturday.

Adam: Looking forward to it.

I toss my phone on the mattress and close my eyes, drifting off into a sweet slumber where I murder Jasper on the pickleball court.

CHAPTER

EIGHT

Markie

“Are you coming or not?” I ask, driving around a giant pothole in the road.

Nettie sighs on the other end of the phone. “No. I can’t. Ginny Edwards offered me two hundred dollars to alter her wedding dress by six in the morning because they fly to Cancun tomorrow afternoon. And I don’t know about you, but your girl isn’t turning down two hundred bucks.”

Can’t blame her there.

“Tell Auddie that I’m sorry I missed the planning party,” she says. “But I’m willing to do whatever she needs. Give me a job, and I’ll do it … probably with a smile on my face, but I can’t guarantee that.”

I laugh. “Okay. Fine. We’ll miss you, though.”

“You better. And don’t let any of those bitches start calling you their bestie in my absence or I’ll fight ’em.”

“Stop it. You’re my best friend, and no one will ever take that title away.”

“Oh, I’m not worried about it. You can’t replace me.” She laughs, too. “All right. I gotta run to Mom’s and dig through her thread box because I just ran out of white.”

“Good luck. I’ll be out of here in a couple of hours if you want me to come by and hang out.” 

“Nada. If you come over, we’ll end up watching Suits, and I’ll never get this done.”

That’s exactly what would happen. “Okay. That’s fair. Love you.”

“Love you. Bye.”

I end the call, shoving my visor out of the way as I pull beneath the Blackbird Ranch sign.

The ranch is one of the prettiest places in Sugar County. I don’t know how, but it’s magical. The way the light filters through the trees and the grass is an exceptional shade of green—the way the fireflies light up in the evenings is different from anywhere else in the world.

Lolly always says that this part of the state is where God rested. That it’s so perfect that even he took a moment to appreciate his work. Of course, she owns the ranch next door, so she’s probably biased.

I pass the main house and the barn that holds my niece, Pigasso, and then proceed down the driveway until I reach Astrid’s cabin.

“Hey,” I say, poking my head inside after knocking once.

“Hey, you,” Astrid says from the kitchen.

I enter the cozy entryway that’s like a giant hug. With the living room and fireplace on the left and the eat-in kitchen to the right, it reminds me a lot of the house that Mira and I grew up in with Mom and Dad.

Gosh, what I wouldn’t give to have that house now.

The cabin is full of chatter from my friends and the scents of something delicious. I place two bottles of wine on the table, then give Audrey a big hug.

“I’m so glad you could come,” she says, smiling as she pulls away. “Where’s Nettie?”

“She had a last-minute sewing job, or whatever you’d call it. She said to tell you she’s sorry she couldn’t make it and that she’s happy to do whatever we need from her for the wedding.”

Her brows pull together. “I don’t want her to stress about it.”

“Let her stress.” I wink. “It’s good for her blood pressure to spike a little from time to time.”

“Markie, make a plate,” Astrid says. “We have a ton of food thanks to Cathy.”

Mira sighs. “I asked her for cookies, and she made crockpot barbecue chicken sandwiches, potato salad, and coleslaw.” She gazes across the spread on the counter. “And chocolate chip cookies and snickerdoodles, and the rest of the blondies that the guys didn’t eat today.”

“Cathy’s too good to us,” I say, grabbing a plate and loading it up.

“You’re telling me,” Mira says, opening the wine and pouring us each a glass. “And if I tell her she doesn’t have to do all of that, her feelings are hurt. I told her one time—only once—that she didn’t have to do our laundry, and she nearly cried.”

Gianna laughs. “Don’t let her cry. I hate doing laundry. And cooking. And vacuuming. And washing dishes. She can always come to my house.”

We all join in the laughter and get situated around the table. Astrid comes around with small clipboards with pencils and a light-pink piece of paper fastened to the top.

“What’s this?” I ask, scanning the list. 

ribbon Whimsy List: Wedding Edition ribbon 

Basics:

Head count

Colors / theme

Flower choice and source

Bridal party

Pre-Event:

Coordinator - ___________

Bachelorette party

Rehearsal details

Wedding:

Coordinator - ___________

Ring bearer is Trent. He needs a tux.

Otis needs a tie.

Confirm arch details with Gianna.

Music

Pastor

Reception:

Coordinator - ___________

Food and beverages

Cake

Music / DJ

Astrid sits, placing her clipboard beside her plate. “I just thought we could use a little starting point for discussions so we didn’t get too far off track.”

Gianna and I glance at each other, trying not to grin. This is the most Astrid shit ever.

“I love the pink paper,” Audrey says. “And you named it the Whimsy List.”

She, Gianna, and Astrid exchange a smile. Mira and I are clearly confused, but neither of us asks for clarification. It’s okay for the three of them to share something special. And whatever this is, it’s one of those special things.

“Since we’re on a tight schedule,” Astrid says, “I thought it would be easier to assign each one of us a portion of the wedding to manage—with Audrey’s input, of course.”

“This chicken is amazing,” I say, swallowing a bite.

Audrey places her wineglass on the table. Her cheeks are flushed, and her eyes sparkle. I’ve never seen her this happy. 

“I can answer a few of these things now,” she says. “The color is pink. If we need two shades, let’s do two pinks.” She giggles. “Blush and bashful.”

“Nice Steel Magnolias reference,” Gianna says.

“I would love carnations because I think they’re such a throwback, and no one uses them anymore,” Audrey says. “And Brooks is working on his part of the guest list. I’ll go over it when I get home and let you guys know the final count. But it’s not going to be a big deal. My parents, his mom, you guys, some people from church, and some guys from the gym. I’d say fifty, tops.”

Gianna holds up a hand. “Let’s get to the good stuff—meaning, what do you want to do for the bachelorette party, or do you want me to use my creative skills?”

Audrey winces. “I don’t want one.”

“Boo!” Mira says.

“I know, but we don’t have a ton of time, and we all have stuff we’re doing,” she says, looking around the table at each of us. “Gianna’s buying a house. Astrid’s still getting settled here.”

“And should be planning her own wedding,” Gianna says before taking an elbow from Astrid.

“Markie has the pickleball tournament a week after the wedding,” Audrey says. “I don’t need a party. Let’s skip it, okay?”

I sit back in my seat and smile across the table at her. With her blond hair and pink ribbon holding it back from her face, she looks like the angel she is.

“Fine,” Gianna says, growling. “But I want it on the record that I don’t love this.”

“How’s the pickleball going?” Audrey asks me. “The last time we talked, you were still searching for a teammate.”

“Oh, by the way,” Gianna says. “I’m making shirts for the tournament. We need a good slogan for Team Markie, so hit me up if you have any zingers.”

I take another bite before answering Audrey. Gosh, this is so good. But the pause also gives me a second to let my heart stop swelling. I love how serious they take my competitiveness. It can get a little excessive, I know, but it is important to me—especially this year. I wouldn’t blame them if they rolled their eyes when it came up in conversation. But, instead, they’re making shirts.

How’d I get so lucky?

“I found a great guy named Adam,” I say, returning my sandwich to the plate. “We have our first official practice on Saturday.” My stomach tightens. “I do hate that we essentially lost a week because he worked overtime and couldn’t practice all week, but he’s good. I’ll have to carry him a little, but don’t I always?”

“You are a beast,” Mira says. “Jasper won’t know what hit him.”

“Hopefully a pickleball to the nuts.” Gianna’s eyes narrow. “He tried to talk to Drake the other night at Patsy’s while they were both ordering a beer, and Drake blew him off.” She grins wickedly. “I, in turn, blew him later on that night.”

Mira points at her. “As you should.”

“I’m gonna stop blowing him if he doesn’t ask me to marry him soon,” Gianna says, pouting. “I keep thinking with all the marital talk with Audrey and Astrid that he’ll realize, shit, I need to lock Gianna down, too. But that hasn’t happened yet.”

“He’s probably waiting for the right time to surprise you,” I say. “I bet he has a plan and a ring.”

I bite my lip to keep from saying anything else because I don’t just think Drake has a ring. I know he does. He sent me a picture of three rings a month ago and asked me which one I thought Gianna would like. He said not to tell the other girls, so I haven’t, but it’s been hard.

“Since the rehearsal dinner is really the only thing in the pre-event section, let me handle that,” Mira says. “If we don’t include Cathy in this, she’ll be heartbroken.” She looks at Audrey. “I mean, if you’re okay with that, of course.”

After a few back-and-forths and three bottles of wine, Mira and I take on the pre-events, Astrid declares herself the wedding coordinator, and Gianna and Nettie take on the reception.

We clean up the kitchen and then sprawl out in the living room.

“In all seriousness,” Mira says from her spot on the floor, “when do you think you’ll get married, Astrid?”

“Gray and I talked about it last night when I reminded him you all were coming over tonight. And we decided to hold off on making any plans until after Audrey’s wedding.” She looks around the room at us. “We’re still getting settled here and falling into a new routine. And there’s no reason to rush it. Neither of us is going anywhere.”

Her words soften my heart, and the look on her face makes me grin.

Neither of us is going anywhere.

What a nice sentiment.

“There might be a limit to how much of this marriage stuff I can take,” I joke, leaning my head against the couch. “You’re all killing me with the sweetness.”

“We’ll be here for you when you find Mr. Right,” Audrey promises.

I laugh. “Auddie, I hate to break the news to you, but that’s probably not going to happen.”

She frowns. “Of course, it will.”

“You can’t want to be alone forever,” Mira says, lifting a brow.

“And you gotta get some dick at some point,” Gianna says. “Not that you must be married for that. Obviously. But this anti-man campaign you’re running has to end eventually because toys can only get you so far.”

I level my gaze at her. “I concede that point. But here’s the thing. I’m not doing it anymore. I’m not seeing men with rose-colored glasses, and I’m not putting myself in a position to get underwhelmed and feel underappreciated.” Frustration bubbles through my veins. “When I’m in a relationship, I give everything that I have. And I’m tired of getting nothing back but lies and deceit.”

“I know what Jasper did to you,” Audrey says, gently. “But I feel like there’s more to the story.”

Mira watches me from the corner of her eye, trying to read whether I want to talk about this or not. Usually, it’s not a big deal. I’m raring to go when it comes to talking shit about the men who have screwed me over. But there are also times when I don’t want to get into it, and Mira knows that. 

“I dated a guy before Jasper for six months,” I say, settling into the cushions. “And everything out of his mouth was a lie. Everything. Looking back, I don’t think his name was even Hudson. And the guy before that ghosted me completely. I don’t know if he’s alive or dead. Don’t care at this point, either.” I sigh. “Let’s see … There was the guy who tried to steal Mom’s wedding ring out of my jewelry box and one who robbed a convenience store.”

Boy, I sure know how to pick ’em.

Audrey’s big blue eyes fill with concern. “Dang. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

I give her a reassuring smile because of course she didn’t know. 

Out of all the girls, I know Audrey the least. Gianna and I clicked right away because we’re so similar. But in the same way I can identify with Gianna, I can’t with Audrey. She’s more reserved, careful. She might be the most wholesome person I’ve ever known. Sometimes I start to say things in front of her and stop because it feels like I’m tainting her—like I’ll go straight to hell for corrupting her. 

“But you want to get married and have babies,” Mira says, giving me a look like Lolly does when she’s trying to convince me to open up. “Right?”

“In a perfect world, sure,” I say. “But I hate to break it to you, the world we live in isn’t perfect. And I fear that you all got all the good ones in a thousand-mile radius.”

They try to object to my observation, but soon realize I’m right. Or, at least, I might be right. Because when I ask them to name another man they know who is as good as Gray or Drake or Brooks, they can’t.

I excuse myself to get another glass of wine.

My chest is tight as I empty the last bottle of red into my glass. Talking about this with my friends is cathartic, in a way, but it also freaking sucks. Not only am I the downer of the group, but if I’m truly being honest, it hurts.

I don’t want to be alone, but I also don’t want to pay the price tag for love. I’ve done it so many times, going right back to losing my parents as a teenager. There have been times when I’ve considered that maybe I subconsciously pick men who’ll be impossible to love as some expression of self-preservation.

Mira gets it, but I don’t think the others do, and I’m grateful for that. I’m happy they’ve never experienced such a deep loss as losing your mom and dad, and always getting screwed over by the men in their lives. They found their unicorns. I haven’t, and I’m pretty sure I never will.

I sigh and down the whole drink.

Being right all the time sucks.

CHAPTER

NINE

Markie

The ball cracks off Tally’s paddle, sailing toward the center of the court. I race to the net, ready to dink it to the opposite corner, just out of her reach. Anticipating my plan, because I exploit this weakness every time we play, she sprints forward.

My heart pounds as I stretch for the ball. But just before it reaches the net, it drops just enough to catch the top and dies on her side.

“Boom!” I say, sucking in a lungful of air.

“Damn you.” She stops, shoulders falling with a sigh that starts in her toes. “How do you get so lucky?”

I laugh. “There’s no such thing as luck, baby. It’s all skill.”

“And how, exactly, did your skill make the ball hit the net? Do you have some forcefield I don’t know about?”

If so, I wish it’d repel losers that easily.

We touch paddles midcourt and head toward the bench.

Tally Thatcher and I met at a summer camp in seventh grade. She and I had a lot in common and became camp besties right away. We were thrilled to be assigned to the same bunk and spent night after night sharing secrets and talking about our crushes—namely a guy named Jayden from the boys’ camp on the other side of the lake.

One afternoon, instead of going to my arts-and-crafts group, I accompanied her to the pickleball court. She stuck a paddle in my hand and the rest, as they say, is history. We played every day. We broke curfew by trying to get in a few more shots. By the end of camp, we created our own little tournament and decimated every team brave enough to go against us. 

She’s pickleball royalty in her hometown. And, up until four years ago, when they made our tourney co-ed, she was often my partner. 

“This was so much fun,” she says, packing away her things. “I’m so busy at work these days that I hardly get to play, let alone play with someone good.”

I shove my things in my bag. “I play all the time, but yeah, the talent pool is shallow here, too. I had to find a guy from Colfax County to be my partner for the Sugar Days Festival.”

“Is he good?”

“Good enough.” I sling my bag over my shoulder, wiping my brow with the back of my hand, and we head toward the parking lot. “How’s work going?”

The breeze is warm despite the slightly lower temperature this evening. Clouds all but block most of the sun’s rays from scalding our skin. The slight grayish tint to some of them hints at a thunderstorm, but I should be home before bad weather hits.

“Work is so busy,” she says. “Sometimes I look around at my big corner office with my fancy name plate on the door and wonder how, exactly, I became a marketing executive for a pro hockey team.” She laughs. “But here I am, and I love it.”

A smile appears before I realize it.

Tally deserves everything amazing that’s come her way, and God knows she’s worked for it. I love seeing good things happen to good people. It’s the same way I felt when Audrey set her wedding date, and when my sister finally admitted that she loved Hartley.

My friends all seem to be moving into new phases of life, which feels inevitable as we inch toward, and hit, our thirties. It feels like a natural progression to go from being wild and free in your early twenties to wanting something … more. Something stable. Something you can count on. 

Cheers to the ones who find that. Guess I’ll have to drink in their honor.

“It must be so hard to figure out ways to market hot hockey players,” I tease her.

Her laughter grows. “Surprisingly, most of our efforts are geared toward men. Less than forty percent of our fan base are women.”

“And if you’d market more of the hot guy angle, you could probably surpass fifty.”

She opens her back door as I pop my trunk. “True. But getting the league to approve a calendar with half-naked hockey players is a stretch.”

“Might be worth a try. Don’t they like money?” I ask, slinging my gear into the car. “Women spend big when they’re passionate about things. Just a thought.”

“Oh, I’ve had that thought. Trust me.” She reaches in and turns on her ignition. “I’d hug you, but we’re both sweaty as heck.”

I smile at her. “I get it. Now, when is your surgery again? Gallbladder, right?”

“Yeah. It’s … I can’t remember the date, but it's in about a month. I have it on my calendar at work.”

“I’ll talk to you before then. But, if not, I’ll be praying for it to go well. And don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything, okay?”

“I’ll be fine.”

I tilt my head to the side and stare at her. She’s one of the most capable women I know … and one of the most hardheaded.

“Text me when you get back to the city,” I say.

“Will do. And today was fun, Markie. We need to do this again … after my quads recover. I forgot how much you make me work for it out here.”

“Anytime you’re up for it, I’m game.”

We exchange a wave, then get into our cars and pull out of the parking lot. Tally goes left, and I go right, but I don’t get to the end of the block before my phone rings, and my brother’s name flashes across the screen.

I contemplate sending Miles to voicemail. If there were a snowball in hell’s chance that he was calling to chat, I’d be more inclined to answer it. But it’s Miles. That’s not what’s happening.

Before I can answer, the call stops. But before I breathe a sigh of relief, he calls again.

“Dammit,” I say, blowing out a breath. I answer the call with the same excitement that I’d use to teach a classroom of first graders during flu season. “Hey, Miles.”

“I’ve called you three times this evening.”

He tosses it out as an accusation. I wait for a follow-up, thinking maybe he’d ask if I was busy or okay. 

It’s like I forgot who I was talking to for a second.

“Your point?” I ask my brother.

“You didn’t answer.”

“And they say that I’m the smart one of the family,” I say, sarcastically. “What can I do for you?”

He pauses. “Why do you say it like that?”

I stop at the end of the block to let another car through the intersection. “Because you only call when you need something, Miles. So, let’s forgo the pleasantries and just tell me what you want. I’m hot and tired, and I don’t have the energy to pretend you want to hear about my day.”

“Wow. Okay,” he groans but doesn’t bother arguing with me. “I’m boarding a plane as we speak, so I need to make this fast. Do you still have the binder that Mrs. Newsby gave you when she moved out of my rental?”

“Yeah. It’s in my trunk. Why?”

“Jory just called, and the water heater has been acting up, but he can’t get into the mechanical room because it’s locked. What are the odds that the key is still in that binder?”

I roll my eyes, ignoring the flutter low in my belly. “The odds are excellent if the key was in there in the first place. Mrs. Newsby was almost anal in her organization, and I only took out the things you asked me to and left them at the house for Jory. I left everything else alone in case you wanted it back.”

“Do you think you could run the key to him?” He mutters something away from the phone. “Or I can have him come by your house and pick it up, if that works better? I just need to get him that key so he can check out the water heater, and I can get a repair guy to go over there if I need to.”

I pull into Miller’s Market and park.

Do I mind seeing Jory tonight? No. Do I want him coming to my house? Also, no. Besides, I’m just a couple of blocks away from his house. 

But none of that takes away my frustration at Miles.

“Yeah, I can swing it by,” I say, sighing. “But maybe try calling me once in a while without asking me for something.”

“Oh, come on. I do.”

I snort. “No, you don’t. I understand that it’s just who you are, but that doesn’t mean you can’t change.”

“So you’ll do it?” He huffs a breath as if I’m the most taxing person he’s spoken with today.

“Yeah, I’ll do it. I’m at Miller’s, so I’m practically there anyway.”

“Great. Thanks. I gotta go. This is a four-hour flight so if you run into any problems, I’ll be unreachable for a while.”

Like you’d be any help anyway. “Be careful.”

“Will do. Thanks, Markie.”

“Bye,” I say, ending the call with as much enthusiasm as it began.

Instead of pulling back onto the road, I sit in my car and gaze across the field next to Miller’s. The evening is so beautiful. It’s even prettier from the air-conditioned cab of my car. A smile touches my lips as I think about my mom and how she hated being hot. She’d open the kitchen windows if the oven was on, even if it was the middle of February. Dad would come in, take one look around, and say, “Girls, be careful. Mom’s hot.”

A pang of loneliness smacks my chest. The impact tightens my throat and burns the bridge of my nose. I don’t think about them often. I try not to. Because with every life milestone I hit and every small moment they miss, it’s like losing them all over again.

If they were here, maybe Miles and I would have a different relationship. We’d have something tying us together besides a shared last name. 

If they were here, I could call Mom and complain about him like a sister irritated with her brother. She’d give me some piece of great advice and put things in perspective for me.

If they were here, I wouldn’t feel so alone when things get quiet. There wouldn’t be such a heavy pressure to have all the answers. Because even if I messed up, there’d be two people living across town who love me anyway. 

I wipe my eyes with the backs of my hands and pull myself together.

“Don’t be a crybaby,” I mumble. “There’s nothing cute about being a crybaby.”

I flip the visor down and look at my reflection.

My eyes are a bit puffy and slightly red from swiping at them a moment ago, but my skin is nice and flushed from playing with Tally. And my hair is a little wild and sweaty, but it’s nothing that a quick brush can’t fix.

At least my shorts make my ass look great, and I wore a supportive sports bra tonight.

I fix my hair and add a touch of lip gloss before leaving the parking lot. Because if I have to run this errand, I might as well look great doing it.

I might not be in a place to accept Jory’s flirtation, but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy it.

CHAPTER

TEN

Jory

“Don’t look at me like that,” Gus says from across the table. His brows are pulled together, his face redder than usual. We’ve been at this table working on the same problem for thirty minutes, and we’re no closer to solving it than we were when we sat down. “I hate this.” 

I get ya, kid. Math pisses me off, too.

“I’m not looking at you like anything,” I say, loosening my grip on the pencil in my hand. “You’re just mad.” 

“Yeah, you are. You’re looking at me like something you said should’ve sunk into my brain by now. But nothing you’re saying is what my teacher said last year. The bells aren’t going off, if you follow me.” 

I bite back a sigh. I don’t know where to go from here. Hell, I didn’t know where to start. But I told Deidre I’d do this, and I honestly thought I could. In my head, we’d sit down, pull out the packets his mother sent for him to do, and bond while working on fractions. 

That was delusional. No one warned me that math could quite possibly be a relationship ender. 

I take a long breath, filling my senses with the smell of garlic and spices. I’m not much of a cook, and dinner might barely be edible, but until we busted out the math packet, tonight had been great. We fried some hamburger together and mixed it with jarred sauce. Popped open some garlic bread from the freezer section of Miller’s and shoved it into the oven. Boiled some pasta, too. We did it all with music playing in the background and our laughter playing in the forefront. 

Then I brought out the math homework. What a way to ruin the night. 

“Let’s start over again and use different numbers,” I say, standing. I need to put some distance between us—for both our sakes. “You sit here and work on it while I check on our pasta.” 

“We’ve started over three times,” Gus says, tossing his pencil in front of him. “It’s not the numbers that are the problem.” He leans forward, staring me in the eyeballs. “The problem is that I don’t understand math, and if we’re being honest, I don’t think you do, either.” 

My arms cross over my chest. “I passed sixth-grade math, so I know a little something.” 

“I’d like to call Gran and see your report card.” 

“Are you calling me a fraud?” I ask, lifting a brow. Typically, his cheekiness is fun, but there’s cockiness to it that prickles me the wrong way. 

“Not outright. But your math skills haven’t been proven beyond a reasonable doubt.”

“My math skills aren’t on trial here.” I give him a strained smile and head toward the stove. Don’t fight with a kid. Let it go. “There are a couple of different ways to attack that problem. Pick one and go for it.” 

He groans loudly, as if I’m not picking up on the preteen dramatics. 

“Simplify eighteen twenty-fourths,” I say, straining the pasta. “Are both numbers divisible by two?” 

“I have no idea.” 

“Gus.” I pour the pasta into the sauce on the stove and then turn off the burner. We’ve been over this. So. Many. Times. “Come on, man.” 

“Dad.” He mocks before sighing. “This makes no sense. Who cares if you can simplify it? It’s the same thing. I think.” His forehead hits the table in frustration. “I hate this.” 

I check on the garlic bread in the oven and then make my way back to the table. Gus hasn’t moved. He definitely hasn’t attempted the problem again. 

My spirits sink as I imagine doing this every night all summer. I’d rather sit in the saunas with the forwards at the facility. It’s sad to say, but listening to them moan about their bruises and rip farts while sitting in a small room sounds more fun than fighting with Gus over fractions. 

God, help me. I don’t know how Deidre does this for days on end. 

I take a deep breath, ready to start again, because we have to at least get one page done before we quit. But before I can speak, the doorbell rings through the house. 

Gus wastes no time springing to his feet. “I’ll get it.” 

My eyes close as I plead with the pain flirting with my eyes to go away. A migraine isn’t going to help anything. 

“You’re my guardian angel,” Gus says, the words causing my eyes to fling open again. 

Who’s he talking to? I sit up straight as footsteps grow closer. “Gus?” 

“Hey, Dad,” he says, mischief in his tone. “Look who’s here.”

Rounding the corner beside my son is Markie, and I’m pretty sure my jaw smashes against the table. 

She pauses in the doorway with a smug smile painted on her lips. A pair of tight gray shorts hug her thick thighs, while a Tennessee Arrows tank top showcases her tits. Her hair is messy like she just crawled out of bed, and I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anything sexier in my fucking life. 

“Hey,” she says, grinning. 

“Hey.” I hope it doesn’t sound as tight as I feel. My hand goes between my legs to adjust myself under the table. “What’s going on?” 

She drops a key onto the table. “Miles asked me to bring this to you. It’s for the mechanical room.” 

Mechanical room? Oh, right. “Thanks. I didn’t realize you had it.” 

“Yeah, well, consider me my brother’s unpaid and underappreciated rental manager. The former tenant left everything in a very tidy binder. So if you need anything else, I probably have it,” she says, her gaze dropping to my lips for a split second. 

I smirk. “Then I should totally take your number.” 

Gus’s hands clasp together at his chest, and he looks toward the ceiling. “Thank you for listening, God.” 

Markie and I laugh as I stand. 

“Gus … enough,” I say, motioning toward the papers. “Sit down and get back to work.” 

He plops down into his chair. “I don’t understand. You can tell me to sit and to get to work, but I can’t work if I don’t know how.” 

“Yes, you do,” I say, my jaw growing tight. “Start with two. Start with nine, if you want. Just start somewhere and if that doesn’t work, go to the next number.” 

“But how do I know what number to start with? Or is this a wild goose chase?” 

I narrow my gaze. “Pick a number, Gus.” 

“That’s not how this works.” 

“Whoa,” Markie says, laughing. “You,” she says, pointing at me, “aren’t helping.” 

Gus beams at her. “Thanks, buddy.” 

“And you,” she says, shaking her head. “You aren’t trying.” 

“How do you know?” Gus asks, lifting a brow. 

“Because I’ve seen you in action. You’re a smart kid.” She leans over his shoulder. “Let me see the problem.” 

I throw up my hands as the oven timer goes off. “You don’t know what you’re getting into.” 

“Simplify eighteen twenty-fourths,” Markie says as I take the bread out of the oven. “You can do this.” She flips the paper upside down. “Forget the fraction for a second. Draw me a cheese pizza instead.” 

I glance at her over my shoulder, but she’s focused on my son. The sight of them together pulls at my chest. It’s such an ordinary moment, one that families have all over the world in the evening … and that’s exactly why it’s so extraordinary. 

Rugby has been my entire life, and I hadn’t given a ton of thought to what I wanted for myself after I retired. Then Gus came into my life. But I’m still getting used to that—still trying to wrap my head around what my world looks like in another year. I haven’t even gotten around to imagining him at the table with a woman while dinner’s being served. 

It’s a mindfuck for sure. 

“Have you had dinner?” I ask. 

“What?” She looks up, her doe eyes wide. “Me? No. I’ve been playing pickleball.”

“Hungry?”

Gus bumps her with his shoulder. “Please, say yes. Don’t leave me here alone with him and fractions.” 

A laugh topples from her lips. “I don’t want to intrude.” 

“Grab a seat, and I’ll fix you a plate,” I say. “I’ll even make dessert if you can figure out how to get him to understand this shit.” 

Her cheeks flush as her amusement softens. “Okay, I guess. If you’re sure.” 

“I’m sure,” Gus says. “And of course, he’s sure. You’re hot.” 

“Gus!” I say, giving him a look to behave. 

Markie doesn’t make eye contact with me as she sits beside my kid.

I make three plates and pour three glasses of water as they get to work behind me. I take my time getting it all to the table because there’s no sense in rushing things. 

“Let’s look at your pizza,” she says, moving the paper so they can both see it. 

“I added pepperoni,” Gus says, grinning. 

She returns his smile. “What we’re trying to do is to find other fractions that mean the same thing. Do you understand that?” 

“Kind of.”

She draws lines through the circle. “I just cut this pizza into four equal slices. If your dad eats two of them, he ate two-fourths of the pizza, right? Because two of the four are gone.”

“Okay,” Gus says, watching her color them in. 

“But look at this. Once we color them in, we realize that it’s the same thing as half of the pizza, right?” 

“Yup.”

“So, two-fourths is the same thing as one-half. They mean the same thing, just in different ways. We say that one-half is simpler because we’d have to cut the pizza fewer times.” 

Gus sits up in his seat. “That makes sense.” 

Thank God.

I deliver the food and drinks to the table, then take my seat as Markie continues her lesson. The tension that filled the room when I was trying to teach him is now filled with laughter. Instead of pretending to be too dense to understand, Gus now seems determined to impress.

I can’t help but smile. .

“Boom!” Gus says, lifting his chin. “Three-fourths. Eighteen twenty-fourths simplifies to three-fourths.” 

“See?” Markie asks, patting him on the shoulder. “You can do this. Now, let’s eat before this gets cold.” She turns to me. “This looks pretty great, Jory.” 

I study her, wondering what else there is to know about this fascinating woman. Instead of looking away, she holds my attention. For a moment, she’s not here to deliver a key or to help with math. She’s here as a woman having dinner with my son and me. 

Finally, I look away and focus on my food. “Thanks. So, are you a math whiz or something? You just jumped right in and got him to understand something that we’d gone over a million times.”

She shrugs, placing a napkin on her lap. “Not exactly. But I am pretty good at it. I tutor kids, mostly during the school year.” 

“So you work at the farmers’ market, and you tutor kids?” Gus asks. “Are you a teacher, too?”

“No.” She laughs, shaking her head. “I have filled in a few times at the school here in Sugar Creek, but teaching’s not my thing. It turns out that I’m pretty good at one-on-one situations, but when twenty little gremlins outnumber me, it’s overstimulation city for me.” 

I hold my breath as I take my first bite of pasta. If I’d known she was coming, I would’ve picked something else—probably takeout that I could’ve faked as my own. But when the sauce hits my tongue, I nearly sigh in relief. It’s good.

“What else do you do?” Gus asks. 

I start to tell him to mind his business but stop short of saying it. I’m curious about her, too. And if I don’t have to be the one to ask, even better. 

Markie glances at me. “Well, I help manage the farmers’ market. That keeps me busy from spring through fall. It really pares down in the winter to about a day a week. Then I tutor throughout the school year and sometimes substitute teach if the school is in a bind. I also work at the library part-time once school starts because the high school kids who work in the summer go back to class, leaving them shorthanded.” She pauses to take a sip of water. “I also do some bookkeeping for John Travers, the local accountant. I do it from home, starting in October through May, usually. I just help get him through the tax season.” 

“Wow.” I nod appreciatively. “That’s a lot of balls to have in the air.” 

“It is,” she says, preparing a bite of pasta. “But I think if I had to do the same thing every day, I’d get burned out so dang fast. And this way, I get to tinker with all the things I love and still pay my mortgage.” She lifts the fork to her lips. “My parents died so young. It’s never been appealing to me to waste my life in an office with people I probably don’t even like. I prefer to be in the community, talking to people and enjoying life instead.”

Shrugging, she takes a bite. 

My heart sinks at her tone. It’s not objectively sad, but there are enough notes in it to be obvious. I can’t imagine losing both of my parents—losing my father at eighteen was hard enough. But having no one to call with news, nowhere to go for holidays, and no one to call to ask about the random trip I barely remember when I was four? That kills me. And that’s what she deals with every day. 

“I didn’t know your parents were dead,” Gus says, his voice somber. “My first dad died when I was a little kid. It sucks.” 

She smiles at him. “Thank you, Gus. It does suck, and I’m sorry you lost your first dad, too.” 

His fork clatters against the side of his plate. His eyes are wide, filled with concern. “Do you have more family, though?” 

“Yes. I have a Lolly, my grandma. And a sister and a brother. I have a brother-in-law now, too, and hopefully nieces and nephews in the not-too-distant future.”

“That’s good.” He nods as if he’s reassuring himself. “I was going to volunteer to be your stepson, but⁠—”

“Gus.” My warning is met with laughter from him and Markie. “Behave. Please.” 

I’ll never get her over here again if you keep it up. 

We finish our meal, chatting easily about all things from rugby to pumpkins. Gus explained what he loves about living in the desert, and she told us about the upcoming Sugar Festival. Gus decided it was an event he couldn’t possibly miss. 

I listen to their banter, feeling a strange sense of contentment. I’ve never had a woman over for dinner when Gus is around. It’s not even something I’ve considered. But this is so easy, so organic, as if I’m getting a glimpse of what life could look like. 

It makes me wonder how much Gus must miss his “first dad” and having dinner around the table with him and Deidre. To be honest, I’ve never given that much thought either. Should I ask Gus about him and what he misses? Is it good for him to talk about it? 

As I clean up dinner, Markie and Gus return to the math packet. By the time the dishwasher is loaded and the trash has been taken to the garage, they’re finished. 

“Can I please play a video game now?” Gus asks. “I mean, I did the math packet.” The corner of his lip turns to the ceiling. “And you two probably want some alone time.” 

Markie laughs, shaking her head. “You’re a little shit.” 

“Go on,” I say, barely getting the words out before he’s racing to the living room. 

His absence is felt immediately as the air in the room grows warmer. Markie tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and gazes up at me with a coy smile. 

Holy fuck, she’s beautiful. 

“I should get going,” Markie says, her voice softer. “Thanks for dinner.” 

“Feel free to stop by anytime. We eat three times a day plus snacks.” 

She laughs.

“Come on,” I say, gently placing my hand in the small of her back. “I’ll walk you out.” 

She ever-so-slightly leans into my touch. My fingers flex against her shirt, dying to slip beneath the fabric and touch her skin. 

I lead her to the door and wait for her to exit first, then I step out into the darkness behind her. 

The air is warm with a gentle breeze rippling through the trees in the yard. A thousand stars sparkle in the sky. Hints of her perfume drift in the air, the soft notes dancing through my senses as I commit them to memory. 

Being with her feels strangely intimate. And instead of recoiling at the idea of being on that level with a woman, my instinct is to embrace it. To hold it. To hold her. There’s still so much about her that I don’t know, but I fear if I go digging, she’ll pull away.

“Thanks for bringing the key,” I say as we reach her car. 

Instead of opening the door, she faces me, and her brown eyes search mine.

I stand in front of her with my arms at my sides, letting her know that I’m not going anywhere. She can see whatever she wants, ask me whatever questions are in that pretty little head. I think it’s the only way I’ll get to show her that I’m not here to hurt her like the other men in her life. 

“I was on the path to having a shitty evening, so thanks for inviting me to stay,” she says. “I’m kind of surprised that I did, to be honest, but I’m glad I made that decision.” 

“Trust me, I got the key and avoided having to teach my kid fractions. I got the better end of the deal.” 

Her grin nearly steals my breath. It’s genuine and, maybe for the first time, unguarded. My heart races as my gaze sinks into hers. 

Silence settles in the space between us, a stillness that feels pregnant with anticipation. It’s not awkward or tense, but it’s dangerous all the same. 

I shift my weight as my gaze drops to her mouth—to those plump pink lips that I can imagine wrapped around my cock. Her breath hitches, her tongue swiping across her pout. When I lift my attention to her face, the look in her eyes nearly undoes me. 

If I were a betting man, I’d bet that she’s feeling the same thing as me. 

“You better stop that,” I say, forcing a chuckle that’s filled with the sexual frustration bubbling inside me. 

“Stop what?” she asks as if she doesn’t know what she’s doing to me. 

“You know what.”

She grins playfully. “You’re right. My apologies.” She opens the door to her car. “I’ll see ya around.” 

“I’ll see ya around,” I reply as she pauses to look at me. “Dinner is usually around seven …”

She laughs as she gets into the driver’s seat. “Good night, Jory.” 

“Night, Markie.”

I step back as she pulls away from the curb and watch until she’s out of sight. 

My shoulders sink as I blow out a breath, attempting to settle the energy rioting in my body. This woman throws me for a loop. Every time I see her, she adds another layer to the mix. She’s not just beautiful or interesting. She’s smart. Hardworking. Kind. 

Is she really this exciting, or has it been too long since I’ve gotten laid?

“Probably both,” I say, turning around and heading inside.

CHAPTER

ELEVEN

Markie

“It’s a beautiful day,” I sing, turning onto Park Road. 

My fingertips tap against the steering wheel to the beat of the song playing on the radio. The sun is bright, nearly blinding me, but I don’t care. I flip my visor down with gusto and a smile. 

I’ve waited for this day for weeks—really, since the end of the championship match last year. 

Nothing gets me as hyped as the Sugar Days tournament. It’s a tradition that I remember my mother getting so excited about when I was a child. The festival felt like magic, like a few days of fair food and Skee-Ball and staying up past my bedtime. And now, every year when the carnival begins to filter into town, I feel the excitement in the air. For a few days, everything feels the way it’s supposed to be. 

Almost like my mother’s smiling down on me. 

I chuckle. She’d definitely have something to say about my competitive streak. 

As expected, a few people are already on the courts. I pull up next to a red car and put it in park. I have a few minutes before Adam arrives, so I take out my phone. 

Me: What are you doing today?

Nettie’s reply comes immediately. 

Nettie: I just woke up. It felt good to sleep in. sleeping face What about you?

Me: Practicing with Adam in a few. Wanna hang out tonight? I miss you.

Nettie: YES. I was going to call you later after I woke up and had coffee. I have nothing going on all day, and it’s divine. What are you thinking? Night in with a movie or night out with a martini?

Me: Martini. Patsy’s around nine?

Nettie: I’ll see you then. kiss mark

Me: xoxoxoxo

I look up … and right into the eyes of Jasper. He’s staring through the windshield at me as if he’s not surprised to see me, but the fake smile he flashes my way before he turns to the court tells me everything I need to know. 

You’ve got to be kidding me. 

My body tenses as he gets situated across from a pretty blonde about my height. She drops the ball and hits it across the court into the opposite service box with genuine skill, showing she’s done this a million times. Like they’ve done this a million times.

Jasper and Courtney rally, effortlessly volleying the ball back across the net. Courtney handles the change in pace that Jasper throws at her—that I fucking helped him perfect, the son of a bitch—and seems to be more of a pickler than a banger. Since Jasper’s preference is to bang, this could be a problem for their opponents. 

Fuck. It’s not a death knell by any means, but it does mean that I have to bring my A game. It’ll take it to beat them. 

I blow out a breath when my phone buzzes, thankful for a reason to look away from my adversaries. Adam’s name is on the screen. 

“Hey,” I say, pressing the speakerphone button. “Get your butt down here. We have an audience, and I want to show off. Get into our opponent’s head.” I smile menacingly. “Give them something to think about.” 

There’s a pause just long enough to make my heart skip a beat. 

“About that …” Adam sighs. “I don’t know how to say this, and I’ve tried practicing it a million times over the past twenty-four hours.” 

I sit taller, blood pooling in my eardrums. “Unless it’s a new strategy that you want to try, I don’t care to hear it.” 

“Markie, I’m sorry.”

Sorry? What? No.

My stomach drops, twisting into the tightest knot that I’ve ever experienced. 

“I realize what an opportunity it is to play with you,” he says. “Trust me when I know what I’m about to say is crazy.” 

“Then don’t say it.” 

He chuckles nervously. “I wish I didn’t have to.” He takes a breath. “My girlfriend asked me to go with her to meet her family in Washington, and I agreed. This was last month. I guess I just got excited by the chance to play with you and didn’t check the date. But it’s literally the same weekend, and she’s already purchased the tickets and made arrangements.” 

I drop my phone to my lap and stare straight ahead. 

This can’t be happening. 

I try to keep my features blank as Jasper glances my way again. He and Courtney gather their things, laughing with each other as they exit the court and head for a white SUV across the lot. 

“Adam,” I say, plastering on a smile, “please tell me you’re joking. Please tell me that this is some sick joke and that you’re pulling up as we speak.”

“I wish I was. And if I wasn’t really serious about this girl, I’d figure out a way around it. Unfortunately, I love her and want to ask her to marry me. This is the perfect time to ask her father for her hand in marriage.” 

Damn you, Adam. “There’s no way you can go the next weekend? Or the one before?” I cringe. “It has to be that weekend?”

“Yes. I’m sorry. I’m going to take so much crap for this at work because I’ve been bragging about getting to play with you. But there’s really nothing I can do at this point, Markie. I’m sorry.” 

I watch the SUV exit the park, then rest my forehead against the steering wheel. 

Pain behind my right eye blossoms, and I struggle to breathe deeply. An elephant could be sitting on my chest, and I’d be none the wiser. The optimism I’ve had this week crashes around me, leaving me sitting in a puddle of dusty dreams. 

I want one thing. Just one damn thing. And now I’m back to square one. 

“Are you still there?” he asks. 

“Yup. Still here.” Lifting my head, I stare sadly at the other teams on the court. “I guess that’s all there is to say.”

“I guess so. I’m sorry, Markie.” 

“Have fun on your trip,” I say with absolutely no indication that I do, in fact, wish him a good time. 

He groans. “Good luck. I hope you find someone to replace me, and I hope you kick ass again this year.” 

As if that’s fucking possible now, dipshit. 

“Thanks. Goodbye, Adam.”

“Goodbye.”

I hit the End button, and once I’m sure the call has been disconnected, I groan.  

“There’s really nothing I can do at this point, Markie. I’m sorry.”

“Fuck you, Adam,” I say, smashing my palm against the center console. Every emotion flows through me like a flooded river. I don’t know which to try to catch and latch on to. Which emotion will help me navigate this … this tragedy?

I burned another week trying to accommodate him, and he didn’t even have the decency to let me know what was going on until this morning. There’s no way he just found out about this. As a matter of fact, he said he’d been practicing what to tell me and worrying about what the guys at work were going to say.

Yeah. He’s known about this for a couple of days, at least. 

I press my fingertips to my eyes in a futile attempt to relieve some of the pressure building behind them. 

I was kind enough to give him a week to prepare for practice, and he couldn’t give me a day’s notice? 

Why is this so freaking typical?

It’s so typical, in fact, that I should’ve predicted it. 

Exhaling, I give myself a couple of seconds to be pissed. Then I force myself to move on.

This can’t be the way this storyline ends. I can’t let Adam be the reason Jasper wins the tournament. 

But there’s no one else to ask. I’ve auditioned every male with a semi-athletic ability from Sugar County and half from Colfax County, and none of them will be anything more than a liability. And I can’t even ask Tally since they’ve made it a co-ed event. 

My chest begins to ache, and the unwelcome sensation of hot tears begins to fill my eyes. Out of all the years, why does this have to happen now?

I sniffle, shaking the thoughts out of my head. Delving into “poor me” energy isn’t going to solve this problem. 

“No,” I say, breathing as deep as I can. “I’m not giving up this easily. I’m not walking away from this and handing the victory to Jasper, then watching the headlines that he and his mistress dethroned me.” 

The thought makes me want to rage. 

I stare straight ahead, shuffling through every possible option until I land on one.

That one.

My stomach tightens as I realize what I’m up against. 

I knew Jory and I had chemistry, and technically speaking, he could be a great teammate. But I also suspected that he was too gorgeous, too charming—too everything to be of any use to me. Because a distracted teammate is a crappy teammate, and I’d for sure be distracted by him. 

Little did I know then that Jory is even better looking, kinder, and more charming than I could fathom. 

But he’s the only person in this half of Tennessee who could guarantee me a victory. And at this point, with only three weeks to go, beggars can’t be choosers. 

“When you change your mind later, you’re going to beg.”

A shiver snakes its way down my spine. 

It’s either ask him or lose. 

My jaw clenches as I throw my car in reverse. 

And I don’t lose.

CHAPTER

TWELVE

Markie

“Here goes nothing,” I mutter moments before my knuckles rap against a familiar door. 

My pulse stutters as I wait for someone to answer. 

I can’t believe I’m standing on Jory’s porch, preparing to ask him to help me win the tournament. After all the crap I talked, after telling him that I didn’t need him and wouldn’t need him … I need him. That’s humbling. 

Music plays on the other side of the wood, loud enough that I wonder if they even heard my knock. So, I rap against the door again, louder this time, and hold my breath. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, footsteps come closer and the door swings open. 

This is such a bad idea. 

Jory leans against the doorframe with a smile as wide as the entry, as if he already knows why I’m here. 

He's bare-chested, wearing only a pair of blue basketball shorts. His jaw is peppered with a day’s worth of stubble. I might’ve just woken him up, because his hair is a mess, unruly in a way that makes me want to run my fingers through it. 

Focus, Markie.

“Hey,” I say, clearing my throat. 

“You missed breakfast, and it’s not lunch yet, but if you hold on, I’ll make you something for brunch,” he says, with a grin so divine that it could bring the holiest nun to her knees. 

My head spins, recalling just how many times I thought about that moment last night—the one beside my car when things almost got away from me. Truth be told, I would’ve let it. Hell, I would’ve met him halfway. Admitting that now, while I’m here for the purpose of asking him to play with me—no pun intended—is overwhelming. 

A barrage of red flags is waving in the wind. 

“Get in here,” he says playfully, stepping to the side. 

I enter the house, looking around for his son. He’s a rascal, but his comic relief might be able to take away some of the sting of the endeavor. “Where’s Gus?” 

“He’s fishing with a kid he met at the park. Josh Jordan. He lives behind Miller’s Market. I talked to his mom, and she promised to keep an eye on them.” 

“I know her. She’s a nice lady.” I smirk. “She’s single, too. Just sharing in case Gus comes home playing matchmaker again.” 

Jory laughs, his abs rippling. I consider asking him to put a shirt on. But who on this earth would do something like that? Not this girl. 

“Thanks for the warning,” he says, entering the kitchen. “But something tells me he’s a discriminating little matchmaker.” He pours himself a cup of coffee. “Want a drink? An omelet? I’m here to please.” 

“I hope that’s true.” 

He looks at me over his muscled shoulder with a carefully lifted brow. 

“Didn’t mean it like that,” I say, pointing at him as my cheeks heat. Get on with it, Markie. “But I did come over to ask you something.” 

He retrieves a water bottle from the fridge and tosses it to me. I’m not sure if this is a reflection of our chemistry, or if my mind is running a compatibility test for the court, but he smiles when I catch it easily. 

“You just looked a little flushed,” he says before biting his bottom lip. “Thought a drink might help you cool down.” 

“Asshole.”

He chuckles. “All right. Ask away. What question do you have for me?” 

I follow him into the living room and choose a chair across the coffee table from him. My palms are clammy as I set the bottle on a coaster. 

I’m stuck in this messy place of wanting to relive the feeling of his palm nestled against the small of my back from last night and wanting to ask him to help me win. He watches me expectantly, waiting for me to pop the question. Although I know I have to do it, a part of me doesn’t want to, because, once I do, the dynamic between us will be forever changed, and I quite like it the way it is right now.

“Adam called me this morning …” I say, taking a long, deep breath. 

He smiles before sipping his coffee. “Oh, yeah? How’s your protégé doing?”

I narrow my eyes, amusing him. 

“I take it there’s trouble in pickleball paradise,” he says, lying back against the couch cushions. His abs are distracting, and the way he casually grips the top of the couch behind him, flexing his biceps, is frustrating. 

He knows what he’s doing, and it’s wholly unfair.

“You could say that.” I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “To cut to the chase, Adam bailed on me.” 

Jory’s eyes widen. It’s clear he’s as surprised by this as I was, but he says nothing as the air in the room shifts. 

“I’ve burned another week, have no partner, and I had to watch Jasper and his new girlfriend practicing while I waited on Adam. Let’s just say that if they wind up winning, I’ll burn the pickleball courts down myself.” 

“Then it’s a good thing that you look great in orange.”  

I try not to smile but fail miserably. He grins, sitting upright and setting his mug onto a coaster.

“You’re telling me this because …” he says, resting his elbows on his knees. 

“You know why I’m telling you this.” 

He winks at me. “You’re right. I do.” 

“So …”

“So, what?”

I groan. “Come on, Jory. Will you do it?” 

“You haven’t asked me to do anything,” he says, his smirk growing deeper. “Besides, I think I remember predicting that this would happen and telling you that you’d have to beg.” 

A cramp builds between my shoulder blades, and my head feels too heavy on my neck. Fucking men. They're the bane of my existence. 

“Let’s start here,” he says, his eyes searching mine. “Why is this so important to you?” 

I don’t want to get into this—it’s actually the last thing I want to do—but I have no cards to play, not an ounce of leverage to work with. He’s in the proverbial driver’s seat, and we both know it. 

“Fine,” I say, sighing. “This is important to me because it’s the only thing that’s ever really been mine. I win every year. And this year, my ex-boyfriend, who I taught how to play pickleball to start with, entered the tournament with his new girlfriend with whom, may I add, he cheated on me with.” 

Jory’s jaw twitches. “I see your point. Jasper? That’s his name?” 

I nod. Hearing it come from Jory’s mouth is so weird. It’s awkward as hell. Jory seems to think so, too, because a look of disgust briefly crosses his features. 

“Are you still in love with him?” he asks. 

The question comes without missing a beat. His gaze is steady as he watches me, as if the idea that I might not answer has never entered his mind. 

“What’s that have to do with anything?” I ask. 

He shrugs. “Is that a yes?” 

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I was never in love with him. I could’ve been, if things had gone well, but they didn’t.”

“It must’ve bothered you to some degree if you’re this determined to beat him.” 

“Of course, it bothers me,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Wouldn’t you be bothered if you were cheated on? And they try to take the one thing that’s yours—the one thing you’re good at? The one thing that lets you relive, for just a few days, a time in your life before everything got all fucked up?” 

A lump settles in my throat. I’ve never verbalized this to anyone, and I’m not entirely sure if I’ve ever even admitted that to myself. Realizing the truth, that this competition during a festival that my parents, specifically my mother, loved so much makes me feel connected to them again. It brings back the nostalgia. It brings back those precious memories. 

Beating Jasper isn’t just about maintaining my winning streak, and it’s not only about punishing him for challenging me … and cheating on me. It’s really about holding on to something I love and refusing to let it be taken away from me. 

God knows you don’t always get the choice. 

He shrugs again. “Maybe it would bother me. But if someone has it in them to cheat on you, then it’s better if they do it sooner than later. Saves time that way.” 

“Well, while I appreciate you sharing your logic with me, I’m not here for a therapy session,” I say, refocusing. “I’m over him. I’m just here because I need someone to go to war beside me in three weeks so I can put Jasper in his place and close this part of my life.” 

“Oh, I’ll go to war beside you any day.” He grins mischievously. “But you haven’t exactly asked me yet.” 

I stare at him as his smirk settles in for the long haul. 

This bastard. A slow smile slips across my face. He really thinks I’m going to beg. 

“You see,” I say, leaning forward so that my cleavage is on full display. Two can play this game. “On the court, I’m in charge. You probably need to know that from the start.” 

His gaze drops to my chest. 

“Understood?” I ask, feeling the power shift slightly in my favor. 

“Understood.” His eyes lift, meeting mine with a heat so potent that I gulp. Guess the power didn’t shift after all. “But we aren’t on the courts right now.” 

“What’s your point?”

“My point is that I offered to be your partner—a few times, to be exact—and you turned me down. Now, here you are, sitting in front of me, expecting me to agree to it without you ever asking.” 

I roll my eyes again. “What do you want from me, Jory? Do you want me to get on my knees in front of you and beg?” 

“If you get on your knees, begging isn’t what you’ll be doing.” 

His gaze pins me to my seat, daring me to move. His green irises shimmer in the light and are filled with an unspoken challenge. I’m not often speechless, but I have no comeback on the tip of my tongue. 

Holy fuck.

A part of me, the part that hasn’t had sex in over four months, wants to drop to the floor and make him prove it. My core clenches at the thought of having his dick in my hands, then in my mouth, and then shoved deep inside me as I come all over it. 

But the other part of me, the one still barely in control, puts a halt to it. 

I’m not here to complicate my life even more. I’m here for one thing. I need to get it and leave. 

“While I’d love to make you put your dick where my mouth is, so to speak, that’s not why I’m here,” I say with as much confidence as I can muster. “I came here to see if you’d play pickleball with me. If that’s a no, then fine.” 

I start to stand but am stopped with a carefully lifted brow. 

“You know I’ll do it,” he says. “I would’ve done it even if I didn’t get the pleasure of teaching your ex a lesson.” 

I grin. “He really needs to be taught a lesson. If you smashed him in the face with a ball three or four times, it might not be enough.” 

Jory chuckles. “So what am I getting out of this, anyway?” 

“I don’t know. What do you want?” 

I know exactly what crosses his mind. Men only smirk like that when they’re imagining one thing. 

Finally, he sighs. “I want you to tutor Gus. Every hour of practice is an hour spent sitting with him and working through his math packet. That puts you in complete control of your time and investment.” 

I would’ve done that for free. “Deal.” 

“I need to take a cold shower,” he says, adjusting himself. I make a point not to look at his groin. “Then we could meet up at the park and get a game or two in.” 

This is music to my ears. 

I exhale a sigh of relief, feeling the throb in the back of my neck ease. If all goes right, this might end up being a better fit than Adam, anyway. 

“I’m trusting you,” I warn, getting to my feet. “Please don’t bail on me.” 

He stands, towering over me, yet his gaze holds mine tenderly. Despite the softness, there’s a ferocity in his green eyes that makes me feel safe. That makes me believe whatever he’s about to say. 

“You have my word,” he says, smiling. “Now get out of here and meet me at the park in an hour.” 

“You got it.”

I toss him a wink as I head for the door.

CHAPTER

THIRTEEN

Jory

“What are we doing, boss?” I ask, swinging open the gate to the pickleball area.

Markie faces me, a grin on her lips and a hand on her hip. “I hope you’re not being facetious.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” I plop my water, keys, and phone on the bench next to her bag. “I texted Gus that I’d be here for a while, so I’m at your disposal.” 

“Great. I’ve already warmed up. So, you should go ahead and stretch out so that you don’t pull a muscle.” 

I don’t know whether to laugh at her or shut up and do what she says. Surely, she knows that I understand the benefits of stretching before a workout.

“Just to be clear,” I say. “You do know that I’m a professional athlete, right? Like this is my literal job.” 

She smirks. “I told you, rugby boy. You’re in my office now.”

“Actually, I believe the part of the court that you’re standing in is called the kitchen.” I laugh at the look of surprise on her face. “But sure, I’ll call it whatever you want.” 

She drags her eyes from mine and turns away from me, picking up her phone. I did a quick warm-up before I left the house, so I’m ready to rock and roll. But God forbid she thinks I’m not taking this seriously, so I do a few stretches and calisthenics for her edification. 

Besides, it gives me a couple of minutes to have an unobstructed view of her ass.

Our back-and-forth earlier at my house was unexpected. Sure, we’ve had a connection since the moment I met her. But I truly didn’t think our interactions would reach the level they did today. She was honest with me, told me about Jasper, and answered my questions even though I was a little concerned it might be too personal for her. Yet she trusted me. 

And that cleavage. Fuck me.

Yet it did, and it’s all I can think about. 

“All right,” I say, bouncing on the balls of my feet. “Let’s go.” 

She puts her phone down and grabs two paddles. “I brought you one of these in case you don’t travel with one in your suitcase.” 

“I knew I forgot something.” 

She rolls her eyes, moving to the far side of the court. “You obviously know a little about pickleball, or at least the terminology.” She positions herself near the baseline. “But, so we’re on the same page, from the net to that line, known as the non-volley zone line, is known as the kitchen. You can’t hit the ball out of the air while standing inside that area.” 

“Got it.”

“This,” she says, motioning to one half of the court, “is the right service area and this one is the left.” She gestures to the opposite side. “When you serve, you have to hit it diagonally across the net in the opponent’s correct service area.” 

I already know all of this. I used to play in a pickleball league in Connecticut, but I’m not about to say that and steal her glory. After her fuckhead ex-teammate pulled the plug on her, the last thing she needs is a know-it-all in her face. 

This isn’t my world. She’s the pro here. I’m just a guest. 

“When you serve, the paddle must swing in an upward arc like this,” she says, demonstrating the move. “Well, there are two ways to serve, but let’s cross that river when we get there.” 

“Good thing we have paddles,” I say, holding mine in the air. 

She glares at me. 

“Oh, come on. That was funny,” I say, laughing. 

She shakes her head. “Let’s rally for a few minutes so I can see what I’m working with here.” 

We get into position, and she sends the ball over the net. I’m not sure what level we’re supposed to be playing at, so I tap it back. She returns it a bit harder, so I drive a shot deep toward the sideline. She reaches for it and sends a screaming forehand down the line.   

The speed of the shot catches me off guard, and I hesitate a moment too long. It whizzes by me, bouncing off the ground inches away from the baseline. 

She beams. “Not bad. But we need to work on your court awareness.”  

“My court awareness? Please,” I say, giving her a look. “I thought we were rallying so you could see my skills, not that we were trying to score a point. I could’ve gotten a point in on you on my first return.”  

“You wish.”

I know better than to laugh because that would really piss her off. But for fuck’s sake, this woman is adorable. I’ve never seen someone take something like pickleball so seriously. 

“Your biggest flaw is that you don’t think,” she says. “You react. Maybe that works in rugby, but it doesn’t work in pickleball.” 

“I beg to differ,” I say, meeting her at the net. “The only reason you scored just now is because I didn’t react. I hesitated.” 

She drops her shoulders. “Jory, I get that you’re a pro athlete and you think you can walk onto the court and know what you’re doing. And I appreciate that. I love the confidence. But I need you to listen to me. Let me help you.” 

“Do you know what you can’t rely on in rugby?” I ask, letting my wrists dangle across the net. “Playing your own game. It’s a team sport for a reason. You have to trust your teammate and give them space to do what they do best, or you don’t have a team. You have a bunch of guys running around trying to outdo each other.”

She walks backward without responding. “Let’s take it from the top.” 

I drop serve the ball, sending it careening her way with about half of my power. She drives the return, forcing me to respond faster than I anticipate. Instead of trying to match her pace, I feather a soft third-shot drop into the kitchen. Markie races forward, getting her paddle beneath the ball at the last minute, grunting as she sends it behind me on my left. 

Fuck.

I chase it down, hitting a crossbody shot that surprises even me. She’s waiting for it, dropping a perfect dink into the opposite corner and winning the rally. 

“Nice one,” I say, jogging toward her. 

She watches me closely. “You’ve played before.” It’s an accusation more than a statement. “Be honest.”

“Yeah, I’ve played. I never said that I hadn’t.” I pick up the ball. “Some of the guys had a very unprofessional pickleball league for a couple of summers. Why? Do my skills impress you?” 

“What is it with men always assuming their skills impress?” 

I toss her the ball. “Because most men have delusions of grandeur.” 

“Yourself included?” she asks, lifting a brow. 

“It would be pretty egotistical to assume I’m impressive. I’m more than happy to give you a demonstration and let you be the judge.” 

She pivots on her heel, hiding a grin, and walks back to the baseline. 

“This time let’s just keep the ball in play,” she says. “No showboating. We’re working on consistency, not speed.” 

“You got it.”

We spend the next half an hour rallying until one of us loses the ball. Then we start again. Over and over, we trade shots with the aim of keeping it in bounds. She pauses the game every now and then, giving me a pointer or a not-so-subtle suggestion on paddle control or shot selection. I have to say, her commentary is spot-on. 

It’s impressive. She’s impressive. 

“Markie,” I say when we break for a drink of water. “I mean it when I say this: you’re the best fucking pickleball player that I’ve ever played with. Damn.” 

She tries to act like my compliment doesn’t affect her, but the way her eyes light up tells a different story. 

“You’re pretty good yourself,” she says, sitting on the bench. “I expected more aggression, less precision. You surprised me.” 

I take a seat beside her, resting my elbows on my knees. Sweat drips down my face, and my shirt is soaked. Markie’s face is bright pink, her hair matted to her head, and I’m not sure that I’ve ever seen a more attractive woman. 

“What?” she asks, noticing me looking at her. I can’t tell if she’s blushing or if the color is simply from the heat. 

“Nothing.”

She takes a towel from her bag and runs it over her face. “I’m sure I look gross right now.”

“Actually, I was thinking how pretty you look.” 

“Oh, please.” She tosses the towel onto her bag. “You don’t have to be charming. You’ve already got the job.” 

I chuckle, watching her redo her ponytail. “I’m not trying to charm you. I’m just being honest.” 

“Jory, there is nothing pretty about me right now. It’s okay. It’s fine.” 

I don’t want to fight with her about this, nor do I want to push in places that I shouldn’t. But the way she says it, the way she presses back against my compliments, makes me think she truly doesn’t believe me. That someone, some asshole she’s encountered before who had a delusion of grandeur, made her think that a little sweat is a bad thing. 

“Do you know what I see?” I ask. 

Markie doesn’t answer me.

“I see a woman who loves her game,” I say. “You’re passionate. You’re great at what you do. You might take it a little too seriously, and you might not trust your partner enough …”

She peeks at me out of the corner of her eye as the corner of her mouth lifts. 

“There’s nothing wrong with that. As a matter of fact, that, Miss St. James, is fucking sexy,” I say quietly. 

She turns her head, her eyes searching mine. There’s something in them, a glimmer that I haven’t seen before, and the sight of it wallops me in the chest. 

It’s as if she’s come alive. Like a match has been relit. And watching that flicker, the flame growing hotter, is wild. 

“Thank you,” she says, her voice just above a whisper. “No one has ever really said that to me.” 

“If there’s one thing that I’ve learned about you, it’s that you surround yourself with some pretty stupid men.” 

She laughs, her smile never leaving her face. 

“How do these fools fumble a woman like you?” I ask, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. 

Her breath holds in her chest as my knuckles drag against her cheek. Her skin is so soft, so warm, that it knocks me off-balance. 

I’m used to contact. It’s my job. And I’ve never quite understood it when people act like they feel electricity or a jolt of energy when they touch another person. But now? I get it. 

She leans against my hand, and my thumb traces her jaw. Warmth spreads through my chest in a gentle wave, flooding every empty space in my body. 

My brain tells me not to do this, that she’s not the kind of woman who wants to fuck around for a few weeks and then walk away like it’s nothing. There’s also a niggle that walking away from her at the end of summer might not be as easy as I think it would be. But when I withdraw my hand from her skin, I immediately want to put it back. 

“Sorry,” I say, forcing a swallow. “You had a hair …”

“Well, aren’t you a gentleman?” she says with a grin. 

“I try.”

“Do you?”

I shrug. “Sometimes.”

She gets to her feet and picks up her paddle. “Well, I don’t want to see a gentleman on the court. I want you to be smart. Aggressive. Alert.” She looks at me over her shoulder. “Got it?” 

Just like that, the boss lady is back. 

“I got it,” I say. 

“Good. Now let’s go practice our core shot consistency. Deep serves are something good to master. I love to target the opponent’s backhand and keep them pinned deep.” 

She turns, facing me, just as her words seem to register. 

I smirk. “Don’t worry. I’m great at pinning them deep.” 

She smacks the ball at me, and I hit it back, laughing the whole time. 

This is going to be fun.

CHAPTER

FOURTEEN

Markie

“Why does it feel like I’ve not seen you in a month?” I ask, sliding into a booth across the table from Nettie with a lychee martini in hand. 

Patsy’s, the only place open in Sugar Creek on a Friday night after seven o’clock, is hopping. A group of people hangs out by the television broadcasting a baseball game, and another is huddled around the old jukebox that hasn’t worked in ten years. A few tables and the dance floor are still empty, but that will all change in the next couple of hours. 

“Because it has been a week. I can’t think of the last time we went a whole week without seeing each other.” 

I frown. “Getting old and having responsibilities suck.” 

Nettie takes a drink of her martini, her perfectly manicured nails showcased against the glass. 

“What color is that?” I ask. “You never do blue.” 

“I know. But I found this one in my stash and took it to the salon with me. It’s an old winter edition from Iyala Polishes. I think it’s called Blue My Budget or something.” She sets the glass down. “They used to have such cute names and packaging, but the brand has really taken a turn for the worse over the last couple of years.” 

“I read somewhere that they got rid of their head color designer or something like that.”

She laughs. “How in the world do you know that?” 

“Exposé Magazine online. I think.” 

Nettie brushes her long, dark hair off her shoulder. 

My best friend is downright beautiful. And despite receiving more compliments about her looks than any person I know, she doesn’t have a clue. Her skin looks like it’s never seen the sun, and her blue eyes sparkle, framed by her perfect brows and silky hair.  

“Did you get the dress finished for Ginny?” I ask, sipping my drink. I’ve never met a martini that I didn’t like, but the lychee ones are my favorite. I had my first one in Nashville at a swanky bar with Gianna and was obsessed. The only way I could get Patsy to carry the syrup was to buy the first bottle myself. When it sold out in the first week, she realized that I was onto something. 

“I did, and it turned out great. She was happy, my bank account was happy, and the only one unhappy was my mother because I used all her thread. But, hey, that’s what moms are for, right?” 

I laugh.

She sighs. “So, I have a bit of drama that I’ve been wanting to tell you about.” 

“Gimme.”

“Remember the girl Kristy that I work with?” she asks. “Well, she’s been dating this guy named Tyler and their relationship is rocky, to put it mildly. It’s gross. I’ve told her a hundred times to dump his ass, and she finally took my advice.” 

I take another sip, certain this isn’t where this ends. “Continue.”

“She was telling me that it’s over, and I told her to block him on everything because he’s trash. And I stand by that.” She lifts a brow. “She pulls him up on Social while I was standing beside her. I wasn’t looking, but I also wasn’t not looking, and Tyler? Yeah. I went out with him last week. He told me that his name was Jeremiah.” 

“No way.” My jaw dusts the tabletop. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious. And, of course, they’re back together.” 

I roll my eyes. 

“And now I don’t know what to do,” Nettie says. “Obviously, I called him and told him to fuck all the way off. But do I tell Kristy? Girl code says yes. I know that. But we aren’t really friends to start with, and I’ve been telling her to dump this dude for months. I don’t want her to think I was doing it to, I don’t know, get a chance with him myself.” She sighs, pausing to down half of her martini. “No matter what I say, she’s going to stay with him. Another girl told her basically a version of this story a few weeks ago, and she blamed it on the girl.” 

Yikes. “This is messy. I don’t think there’s a clear answer here.” 

“Yeah. I don’t want to be the problem. I wasn’t going to see him again, even before I found out he’s a man of many aliases, and he’s definitely not worth the drama.” 

“Maybe you can just wait. She doesn’t know you saw his picture, right? So, just wait until he acts up again, and she’s ranting about him. Then ask for a picture.” I shrug. “She’ll be mad at him, anyway, so it’ll feel less like you’re trying to ruin her happiness and more like you’re on her side.” I cringe. “I don’t know. Is that manipulative?” 

“Hell if I know.” She runs her fingertip along the rim of her glass. “Enough about me. Tell me about you.” Her grin is debaucherous. “How did practice go with rugby boy?” 

I laugh at the name she coined for Jory, a name that I’ve accidentally admitted to my vernacular and let slip once in front of him. 

The thought of him entering my mind is accompanied by a very, very specific ball of fire in my core. It apparently has taken up residence there, ready to reheat as soon as his name or a memory sparks to life. It’s unfortunate—and inconvenient. 

“That good, huh?” she asks, giggling. 

In my head, I’ve been trying to justify my reaction to him. I’ve been working hard to figure out a way to contain the butterflies in my stomach when he’s around. The only way I think that can happen is if he doesn’t look at me, breathe on me, laugh around me—and definitely not touch me. 

I can still feel his hand on my face from this afternoon. 

“Let’s just start with the fact that I hate him,” I say, giggling, too. 

“Sure looks like it.” 

I lean forward and sigh. “He has no business being so …”

I’m not sure whether to start with the fact that he’s maddeningly gorgeous, or charming, or decent. Or how I’ve tried to find a flaw in him and have come up empty-handed. Or how I forget how much I hate men when he’s in the room and how the protective shield I feel like I carry through life feels less necessary around him. 

It’s dangerous, to be sure. And I’m positive that the more time I spend with him, the sooner I’ll find his fatal flaw. I don’t want to find it. But I don’t want to think he’s perfect, either. 

It would be so much better if I hadn’t ever met the man. Life was better when I hated them all. 

“How long has it been since you had sex?” Nettie asks, grinning. 

“Almost five months.”

“Then it’s no wonder you’re all hormonal about this guy.” 

Yeah. She’s right. “Thanks, Net.” 

“Of course. That’s why you keep me around. For my irrefutable insight into your relationships.” She takes me in, giving me a moment to respond. But when I don’t, she correctly reads that I don’t want to talk about this anymore. “So, on to the wedding. Have you and Mira figured out the rehearsal stuff yet?” 

“No. We’re meeting with Cathy at Mira’s tomorrow after church. Audrey promised to have a head count and that she’d confirm whether they’re getting married in the church or in the barn on their property.” 

Her eyes light up. “Oh, that would be fun. Can you imagine the barn with string lights and flowers? It would be beautiful.” 

“I know. I’m hoping they go that route. I get why you’d want to get married in a church, but a barn on the property where they’re building their home together would just be special.” 

“Agreed.”

I finish my martini and then hold up my glass. “I’m going to grab another one.”

“Okay. I’ll wait for you to get back, then I’ll go pee. I don’t want us to lose our table.” 

“Want me to get you another drink?” 

She winces. “No. This is my second one, and I want to pace myself. Thanks, though.” 

I nod her way as I climb out of the booth. 

The bar has gotten busier since I arrived. A few people are on the dance floor, dancing to the music playing overhead, and the line to order drinks has doubled. I make small talk with Lora, a woman who moved here about a year ago and works at the bank. She had her eyes on Hartley until my sister came back to town. 

Finally, it’s my turn. I hold up my glass and Patsy gives me a thumbs-up from the other end of the bar. The other two bartenders keep busy passing out beers and shots for what appears to be a bachelor party beside me. 

“Thanks,” I say, taking the fresh martini from Patsy. As I turn to go back to my seat, a hand cups my elbow from behind. I look over my shoulder, expecting it to be Nettie changing her mind about getting a third beverage. But that’s not who I find. 

A shiver snakes along my spine as the hair on the back of my neck stands on edge. 

“Why are you touching me?” I nearly spit, yanking my arm out of Jasper’s clutches. 

“I want to talk to you.” 

“I don’t give a shit.” 

“Well, I do.”

His forward movement instinctively makes me step back until my back is flat against the clammy brick wall. My drink sloshes around the glass, hitting the floor. 

Jasper’s eyes are glassy, and from experience, I know that he’s at least five beers deep. His breath reeks of alcohol as he leans in. I recoil, pulling away to put as much distance between us as I can. 

“You need to move,” I say, glaring at him. “Now.” 

“Not until I talk to you first.” His eyes have a hard time focusing. “Why do you have to be such a bitch, huh?” 

My jaw pulses. “It just comes out when someone cheats on me.”

“Oh, not that again.” 

“Jasper, I mean it. Fuck off.”

“You’ve made everyone hate me,” he says, narrowing his eyes. “Hartley won’t let me near the ranch. Gray won’t talk to me. I’ve lost almost all my friends because you went around cryin’ to them about me. That’s not fair, Mark.” 

I roll my eyes. “I’ve never said a word about you to Hartley or Gray, although I’m sure they know what happened. However they’ve chosen to react to that is their business. Now,” I say, sidestepping him, “never speak to me again.” 

He grabs my elbow again. This time, his fingers bite into my skin. “You’re still hung up on me, aren’t you?” 

When I look over my shoulder at him, he’s grinning. He’s grinning like someone who’s far too pleased with himself. Like someone who just got away with something. 

I should walk away. Instead, I pivot toward him again because fuck that.  

“No, Jasper, I’m not still hung up on you,” I say as if I’m speaking to a toddler. “To be hung up on you, there would have to be some quality about you that I like. That I miss. That I need in my life.” I return his smug grin. “And, sadly for you, you do not possess any single one of those qualities.” 

His gaze lifts just over my head, hardening as the seconds pass by. 

“Now remove your fucking hand from my arm,” I say, lifting a brow. 

As he slips his hand away from my elbow, an arm slides around my middle, pulling me back into what feels like a wall … a wall that smells like Jory. 

Oh shit. I look up, my stomach dropping, as I peer into his eyes. 

He winks at me but doesn’t let me go. I don’t exactly pull away, either. 

“Who’s this?” Jory asks, drawing me closer to him. 

I rest my head against his chest, wishing I could close my eyes and enjoy the softness of his shirt against the hardness of his chest. But the scene playing out in front of me is far too good to end prematurely.  

Jory knows who Jasper is, and the kiss of protection embedded in his words is like adding a splash of gas on that fire I haven’t been able to extinguish. 

Jasper looks at me, narrowing his gaze. He’s pissed. “New boyfriend?” 

“I take it you’re the ex,” Jory says, humor in his voice. “Well, ex-boyfriend, meet the new boyfriend.” 

What? My eyes widen, and I grip Jory’s forearm at my waist. 

“Introduce us, babe,” Jory says.

Oh my gosh. I take a breath, not sure whether I want to laugh or cry. 

“Jory, this is Jasper,” I say, trying to wrap my brain around the absolute ridiculousness of this moment. “Jasper, this is Jory Plath.” 

“Noted,” Jory says. This time, there’s no humor anywhere to be found. “You ready to go, Markie?”

“Yes,” I say. “Let’s get out of here.”  

Jory turns, his arm still tight around me, so that I’m facing away from Jasper. Still, I hear his voice. 

“If you ever touch her again, I’ll break every fucking finger on both hands,” Jory says, his voice ice cold. “Understand?” 

Oh good God.

My gaze connects with Nettie’s from across the room, finding her with her mouth agape and entirely too invested in what just occurred. 

“Too much?” Jory asks, finally letting me go. 

The break in contact is like a breeze clearing my mind. The chaos is gone. All that’s left is the stark realization that Jory not only declared to Jasper that we’re dating, but that he threatened him not to touch me again. 

That might be illegal, and it sure as hell isn’t the polite Jory I know. But holy fuck, it’s hot. 

I take his hand in mine. “Come.” 

“Here? Now?” He snickers. “I mean, if you say so.” 

I glare at him as I set what’s left of my martini on a table and lead him to the ladies’ room. Thankfully, for the first time in forever, it’s empty. Once we’re inside and the door is locked behind me, I turn to him. 

The room is smaller than I remember. Or maybe it just looks that way with Jory taking up space. Either way, he’s within arm’s reach, and I know exactly how it feels to be wrapped up in those arms. 

I take a step back, putting as much distance between us as I can. 

“What the hell was that?” I ask, laughing. “I mean, seriously, Jory. What just happened?” 

“Look, I walked in with Gray. He saw you first, and I followed his line of sight,” he says, searching my eyes. “And all I could see was that asshole’s hand on your arm and the way he was looking at you, and I just thought I’d, you know, see what was up.” 

I fight a grin. “You introduced yourself as my boyfriend.” 

It’s an accusation as much as it’s a fact. But it’s a charge that Jory doesn’t seem to mind. 

“That pissed him off, didn’t it?” He doesn’t fight his grin. “Fuck that guy, Markie. You can do so much better.” 

“I’ll concede that point. But what am I supposed to do now that he thinks we’re dating?” 

“He’s drunk. He won’t remember.”

I laugh. He clearly doesn’t understand how small towns work. “Oh, he’ll remember.”

“Then say he’s a liar.” His shoulders, wrapped in a black cotton T-shirt that matches the hat sitting backward on his head, lift in a shrug. “It’s not like that’s too hard to believe.” 

“And have everyone think that I lost a boyfriend to a pretty blonde from Colfax County, then couldn’t find a partner, then got one and lost it—and then I got a new hot boyfriend and then … not?” I snort. “I don’t think so, rugby boy.” 

He takes a step toward me, his eyes twinkling. “So, what are you saying, pickleball girl?” 

“Pickleball girl, huh?”

Jory stops inches from me. His chest nearly touches mine. If I coughed, our bodies would touch, and I’d melt into a pool of lust at his feet. 

“You can’t answer my question with one of your own,” he says, his voice deepening. 

I tilt my chin. “I’m saying you’re going to have to fake date me. You caused this mess. You’re going to have to help get me out of it.” 

“Oh, darn.” His smile is filthy. “Does this fake-dating scenario have any built-in benefits?” 

Someone knocks on the door, yelling at us to hurry up. But neither Jory nor I break eye contact with the other. 

The air between us swirls, growing thicker and hotter with each passing second. I should say something witty, then open the door, effectively ending this stunt that I’ll probably regret in the morning. 

But I don’t.

Instead, I place my hands on his chest, pressing my fingers into the fabric of his shirt. His pupils widen as his gaze locks on mine. All I can think about is dropping to my knees and making him follow through with his threat from earlier. 

“It was very chivalrous of you to come save me tonight,” I say, smiling up at him. “But it was also very, very hot.” 

His forehead wrinkles. “Save you? I wasn’t saving you, Markie.”

“Then what were you doing?” 

“I promised to go to war with you. And I keep my promises.” 

Mother.

Fucker.

I lick my bottom lip, desperate for physical contact. I can’t help that it’s effectively breaking my own rule about not sleeping with men who won’t give a shit the next day. After what he did tonight with Jasper, and the swoony shit flying out of his mouth right now, I’m waving the white flag of surrender. What’s a rule without an exception?

“What’s happening here?” he asks, the words feathering across my lips. 

I stand on my tiptoes, running my hands up to his shoulders. “I’m hoping,” I say, staring at his mouth. “That I’m about two seconds from getting kissed.” 

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “Fuck, Markie.” 

“We can do that, too,” I say, laughing softly. 

His eyes squeeze together as if this conversation is pushing his restraint to the brink. 

When he looks back down at me, I can see the heat in his eyes that’s burning in my belly. 

“No, we can’t,” he whispers, leaning back and away from me. The pained look on his face does nothing for me. “I can’t believe I’m saying this.” 

I drop my hands. “Excuse me?” 

My head spins at the abrupt one-eighty. No, we can’t? We can’t what?

Is he kidding me right now? 

After that … thing … with Jasper? After the insinuation about sucking his cock earlier today? After asking about benefits to this arrangement? 

We can’t?

Oh, hell no.

“I want to,” he says, his eyes wild. “Trust me. I want nothing more right now than to have you in every way you’ll let me. But we can’t.” 

“Why the hell not?” 

He groans, looking at the ceiling. “Because, Markie, think about it. Think about our interactions and the reason you came to my house today. It wasn’t to fuck me. It wasn’t to date me. It was to help you win a tournament that means the world to you.” He swallows again. “And if I know anything about shit, it’s sports. And once you start mixing this”—he motions between us—“with the game, the game changes. And never for the good.”

I huff a breath because he’s not entirely wrong. That still doesn’t mean I want to hear it. 

“Besides,” he says, his gaze growing softer. “You deserve better than this. What kind of man would I be if I had sex with you, in a public bathroom, after you’ve been drinking?” 

“I don’t know. The satisfied kind?” 

He chuckles. “I have no doubt.” He sighs, licking his lips. “I let this go too far tonight and I’m sorry. It’s so easy to get carried away when I’m around you because, I mean, just look at you.” His smile softens. “But I would be a total asshole to do this. I can’t let a moment potentially ruin what I’ve promised you—and that’s to beat Jasper.” 

Fucker. “Then start wearing a damn shirt and lose the backward hat.” 

“What?” he asks, his chuckle turning into a laugh. The vibrations of his laugh toy with my senses. Even when I’m frustrated with the man, he still turns me on.

So, so unfortunate.

My cheeks heat as I process that I’ve just given him an opening and he turned me down. That’s never happened before, and I’m not quite sure what to do about it. 

Objectively, what he’s saying is true, and I respect him for that. He just proves over and over that he’s a great guy. But it’s still a hit to my ego. It still stings. 

“Well, you’ve made your decision,” I say, trying to remember who I am. Trying to harness that energy. “I’m pretty sure that I know what I can and cannot handle, and I certainly don’t need you deciding that for me—regardless of your intentions.” 

“Markie …” He groans. 

“No. It’s fine. Enjoy the rest of your night.” I put my hand on the handle as another round of pounding and shouting comes from the other side of the door. “But you should’ve stopped to think about how sexual frustration might affect my game.” I grin menacingly, twisting the handle. “One of us will be taking lots of balls to the face, and it clearly won’t be me.”

The sound of Patsy’s patrons living it up swallows his voice as I open the door and make a beeline for the sidewalk. Nettie watches me storm through the bar and exits shortly after. 

Jory might be right. Having sex might ruin everything. 

But I lowered my guard, and he rejected me. 

Because he cared more about me than sleeping with me? 

I balk at that realization as I head toward my house. 

“Hey, aren’t we driving?” Nettie shouts from behind me. “I’m in heels.”

“Then take them off,” I say over my shoulder. “I need the fresh air, and you’ve been drinking. It’s just three blocks. We’ll get our cars tomorrow.”

She mutters something that I can’t make out, which is probably for the best. 

I growl into the night as I try to sort my jumbled thoughts.

Jory wants me. He won’t take advantage of me. But I have no doubt that he’ll still show up tomorrow.  

A smile twists against my lips. 

What kind of man are you, Jory Plath? 

And what am I going to do with you?

CHAPTER

FIFTEEN

Markie

“I’m so glad to see you this morning,” Pastor Reed says, shaking my hand as I enter the sanctuary. 

“Good morning to you.” I smile and hurry along to make room for Mrs. Trumbull. The church is a flutter of activity. Members of the congregation hang out, catching up on the week’s activities while they wait for Violet Crowder to begin playing the piano. Everyone in Sugar Creek knows that when those first notes are played, you better be finding a seat or you’ll get a side-eye from the pastor. 

“Hey, honey,” Lolly says, coming at me with outstretched arms. “How’s my girl?” 

“Hey, Lolly.” I kiss her cheek as she pulls me into a hug. “You look pretty today.” 

“In this old thing?” She scoffs. “Thank you, sweet girl. Now, you remember that there’s no Sunday dinner today because I’m going with my girlfriends to a little winery over by Knoxville.” 

I smile at her. Lolly’s social life is fuller than mine. She and her group of friends are always on the go—visiting wineries, gambling at casinos, and baking pies for the elderly, as Lolly calls them, at the nursing home. Mira and I pointed out once that the nursing home residents were her age. 

We never made that mistake again. 

“I remember,” I say. “Have so much fun. And bring me back a bottle of wine, please.” 

She leans forward, whispering in my ear. “I’ll bring you two. And, although Jesus turned water into wine, let’s not talk about that too much in church, okay?” 

I laugh. “Fair.”

“I’ll say goodbye after the service,” she says, patting me on the arm. “I need to go visit with Jessie Mae. I heard she fell out in her garden on Thursday, and I want to check on her before we sit.” 

“Go. I’ll see you later.” 

I say hello to a few people as I make my way to my seat. My head throbs from the wine that Nettie and I consumed before finally falling asleep last night. I couldn’t make sense of what happened at Patsy’s, and Nettie was virtually no help considering that her advice was to show up at Jory’s house with nothing on but a raincoat and check his restraint again. So I drowned it all with a bottle of red and passed out.

Not the healthiest decision that I’ve ever made, but you can’t win them all. 

“Hey,” I say, grabbing an open seat next to Astrid and Gray in the row in front of Gianna, Audrey, and Brooks. “How are you guys⁠—”

“Markie, there you are.” I turn, irritated at the interruption, and find George Mathers peering down at me. He’s in the same blue shirt and black tie that he’s worn every single Sunday since at least 2000. “I was hoping to run into you this morning. We were getting prepped for the pickleball draft, and I noticed that you didn’t list a partner.” 

“My bad.”

“You have one, don’t you? I mean, I figured it was just an oversight on your part.”

“Yes,” I say, trying to keep my head steady so a wave of vomit doesn’t roll in. “I must’ve forgotten. I’ll email his name to you when I get out of here.” 

He smiles. “Very good.” He waddles off toward the back of the church, adjusting his tie as he goes. 

I begin to finish my sentence to my friends but am cut short again by the chirping of my phone … and those around me. 

“Ladies,” Brooks says as if he’s shocked. “This is the house of the Lord. The least you can do is put your phones on silent mode.” 

Gianna leans forward, her voice hushed. “I’ve seen the texts you send from the house of the Lord. Shut it.” 

A round of giggles erupts from my friends as I silence my texts and open the group chat. 

Nettie: Anyone wanna go to brunch?

Audrey: We’re all at church. Wanna come?

Nettie: grimacing face

Mira: We’re coming. Running late. 

Gianna: Better hurry. Violet just started playing “Amazing Grace.” 

Mira: woman running

The notes of the hymn fill the air, lulling me into a sense of peace. I’ve always loved this one, as it was Pop’s favorite. And something about the melody pulls me out of the slightly perturbed mood that I woke up with. I almost crawled back into bed and said screw it, but church is like the gym. Getting there is sometimes like pulling teeth, but once it’s over, I’ve never regretted going. 

“Good morning,” Pastor Reed says as the hymn ends. The light shining behind him is a colorful array, thanks to the beautiful stained glass windows on either side of the building. “It’s wonderful to see so many smiling faces this morning. I hope you’re ready to dig into the Word because I woke up today bursting with excitement to share this message. Can I get an amen?” 

“Amen,” we all say, some of us more enthusiastically than others. 

“Amen,” he repeats, walking around the pulpit. “Let’s start this Sunday morning by taking up the offering. And while we do that,” he says, motioning for the teenage boys who pass the plate down each row to get started, “let me take a second to go over a bit of church news with you all. Starting with the next potluck date.” 

I pick up my phone. 

Me: Are you here, Mira?

Mira: Just sat down in the back. Every seat up there is taken. 

Me: Can you put some money in the offering plate for me? I have no cash.

Mira: Yup.

Me: I’ll pay you back. Thank you. red heart

I smile at the boy who hands me the plate, pretending to drop money into it. Then I pass it to Astrid. I don’t know why we can’t modernize this practice. Remembering to bring cash on Sunday mornings is a struggle I seldom win. 

My phone vibrates against my leg, so I pick it up. 

Gianna: EXCUSE ME, MARKIE ST. JAMES.

Me: ??

Gianna: I just got a text from Bobbi, our real estate agent. She was in Piper’s this morning for breakfast and was told that you and Jory Plath were seen coming out of the bathroom at Patsy’s last night. CARE TO EXPLAIN?

Gianna: That’s not a question. EXPLAIN.

Oh no. Oh no, no, no. 

I didn’t think about this. How did I never think about this? A line of women last night watched Jory and me leave. Of course, the town is going to talk. That’s what small towns do. 

My stomach gurgles as a small burst of adrenaline fires through my system, upsetting the already unstable contents of my stomach. 

Mira: Okay, we had to stop at the gas station on the way here because I drove the truck last and refuse to gas it up. Anyway, Lora said she heard the two of you were dating. Apparently, something happened between you, Jasper, and Jory last night? I was going to ask you about it after church. 

Audrey: person cartwheeling, medium-light skin tone

Gianna: It would be wrong for us to all get up and leave right now, right?

I grimace, typing my response. 

Me: Yeah, probably. But I’m suddenly nauseous, so I think I’m going to go. 

Gianna: If you get up, I’m following you. neutral face

Astrid elbows me in the side, but I don’t look at her. Mostly because I don’t know what to say. 

This just got seriously out of control. 

Me: Look, it’s complicated. 

Gianna: Let me uncomplicate it for you. hot pepper

Astrid: She knows how to have sex, Gianna. face with rolling eyes

I stifle a giggle, grimacing as my brain feels like a knife sliced through my skull. 

Me: Can we talk about this later?

Gianna: I don’t know why we can’t talk about it right now.

Me: Look around.

Gianna: Done. I see Brooks. That tells me this conversation is not the first semi-inappropriate text exchange that’s ever happened from these pews. 

Audrey: hot face True.

Me: It’s a long story. We don’t have time to go over it all.

Gianna: I HAVE TIME. I don’t understand half of what the pastor says to begin with.

I roll my eyes, swiping out of the text thread when my phone vibrates again. This time, there’s a new text from an unknown number.

My foot taps the floor. Astrid places her hand on my thigh to still it. She gives it a gentle pat once I stop moving, then returns her hand to her lap. 

I stare at the text on the screen, wondering how he got my number—by nine in the morning, at that. 

Unknown: Can we talk?

Me: Depends on who this is.

I already know who it is, but I’ve made wrong assumptions before. Like last night. 

Unknown: It’s Jory.

I drag in a lungful of air and blow it out slowly, saving his name in my phone.

I don’t want to talk to him. I mean, I’ll have to talk to him at some point. I’ll probably even want to talk to him eventually. But not when my head feels like nails are being driven into it, and not when I haven’t had coffee, and definitely not when I haven’t been able to wrap my head around how I feel about last night. About … us. I mean, there isn’t an “us,” per se, but his words keep rolling through my mind.

“You deserve better than this. What kind of man would I be if I had sex with you, in a public bathroom, after you’ve been drinking? I let this go too far tonight, and I’m sorry. It’s so easy to get carried away when I’m around you because, I mean, just look at you. But I would be a total asshole to do this.”

So, yeah, there isn’t an us, exactly, but those words don’t match that conclusion.

Gianna staring holes into my back doesn’t help, either.  

“This morning, we’re opening our Bibles to Proverbs, chapter fourteen, verse twenty-nine. It reads, ‘Whoever is patient has great understanding, but one who is quick-tempered displays folly.’ Let’s read that one more time.” 

I stare at the pastor. You’ve got to be kidding me. 

I swipe back to the group chat. 

Astrid: See, Gianna? God’s talking to you. Have some patience. 

Gianna: You’re hilarious.

I go back to Jory’s text and stare at it before typing out a response. 

Me: I can’t really talk right now. I’m in church. 

Jory: Okay. But can we talk later? I don’t really know how things ended last night, and I want to be sure we’re still good. 

I roll my eyes at his words but smile anyway. 

Of course, he wants to make sure we’re still good. That’s half my problem with this guy. He’s almost too damn good. 

If I didn’t know that there’s a bad boy somewhere inside that delicious body—and I’m never wrong— then I might blow him off. But the way he handled Jasper last night gives me hope. I might be down, but I’m not out. 

Me: I have to go to my sister’s this afternoon and do some wedding planning for Audrey. Kinda busy.

Jory: I’ve never planned a wedding, but it can’t possibly take the fifteen hours left in the day, can it?

Me: You’d be surprised at how long I can make things last. Of course, you’ll never find out for yourself. But that’s on you.

Jory: neutral face

I smile at the screen as we fall back into our normal rhythm. Thank God. 

My fingers fly against the keys as I realize that, unless he’s left the house today, he probably doesn’t know that the town is talking about us. 

Me: Apparently, we’re the talk of the town.

Jory: Already?

Me: My sister heard at the gas station about the little introduction, for a lack of a better word, between you and Jasper. And Gianna heard that we’re dating. So, that’s fun.

Jory: Holy shit.

Me: I warned you that word travels fast in a small town. 

Jory: You weren’t kidding. Wow.

Jory: What did you say?

I bite my lip to keep from giggling as I respond.

Me: That we dated for about five minutes and then realized that we weren’t on the same page sexually. 

Jory: Stop it.

Me: rolling on the floor laughing

Jory: You aren’t funny. I’ve imagined about a thousand different ways that last night could’ve ended, and at this point, I prefer any of them to what actually happened. 

“So, wisdom, you see, is found in that crack,” Pastor Reed says, catching my attention. I look up to see him watching me. “It’s nestled down in the space between feeling an emotion and acting on it.” 

Oof. He holds my gaze and then looks away. I have to wonder if the pastor has already heard the gossip, too, because this message feels very pointed. 

“That’s what God is telling us here,” he says. “Reacting too quickly in situations can lead to foolish choices. We have to pause and reflect—master our human impulses. Our Father knows we’re humans and that we struggle with these things. That’s why He gives us a roadmap to wisdom. It’s our job to follow the map.” 

I ignore my phone as it vibrates and let my thoughts wander. 

There’s truth to what Pastor Reed’s saying. Last night, I reacted too quickly, and it was probably foolish. I could have waited a beat before I fired back, letting my ego do the talking. 

But my conversation with Jory in the ladies’ room was unlike any that I’ve ever had before. It wasn’t necessarily that I asked for something and didn’t get it. I’ve not gotten what I wanted many times in my life. And if he would’ve just flat out turned me down, I could’ve responded with something snarky and moved on. By the time he made it to the dance floor, I would’ve been in another man’s arms. 

That’s not what happened, though. 

He turned me down because that’s what was best for me. Because he’s listened to what I’ve said. He’s paid attention to the little things. He did what most men can never do, and that’s override their testosterone and their own sense of ego and do what feels good in the moment—especially when it’s practically undressing in front of them. 

It was my ego that was the problem. 

I take a deep breath and let that realization rattle around my head. 

Jory just might be a damn good man. 

Me: Mira just texted me and has somewhere to go with Hartley around six thirty. So I’ll be free around then. 

It’s a little lie, in the house of the lord, for that matter, but hopefully he’ll give me a pass on this one. 

Jory: Dinner’s at seven. Come by for dinner and math (a single dad’s version of dinner and a movie). You owe me an hour of tutoring, anyway. winking face

Me: You turned down my best tutoring skills last night. 

Jory: Don’t remind me. I’m sorry.

Me: See you at seven then?

Jory: Sounds like a plan to me. 

Smiling and ignoring the warmth settling in my chest, I swipe back to the group chat and find a list of missed messages. But a new one comes in before I can even scroll to find the start of it. 

Gianna: I’m watching you. eyes Who are you texting?

Me: Mind your own business.

Gianna: As your friend, your business is my business … especially when it’s juicy. 

Audrey: She might need some privacy, Gianna. 

Gianna: So?

Astrid: rolling on the floor laughing

Astrid and I make eye contact and laugh softly.

The warmth I felt earlier spreads through my body, replacing the stress and frustration I felt when I arrived at church. These girls are what I needed this morning as much as I needed the message. They love me, support me, and are the only people outside of Lolly who never fail me. 

But something prickles at the back of my brain, planting a seed that maybe Jory could be added to that list. 

I shake my head, remembering the reality of this situation. He’s only in town for a couple of months. Then he and Gus will go back to their homes, and I may never see them again. That sucks, as Gus would say. A lot. But it also makes the idea of crossing a few lines and making a few exceptions with Jory a little easier. 

Really, it’s nothing more than a summer fling. And flings I can do. I may have started the summer looking for something more than that, but this one might be too good to pass up. 

It’ll be my last venture into flingdom … if I can convince rugby boy to give it a try. And, after all, according to Sugar Creek, we are fake dating.

A smirk settles against my lips. This is going to be fun.

Because I can convince him. There’s no doubt about that.

CHAPTER

SIXTEEN

Jory

“What does until it looks right mean?” I ask, peering into the skillet and wondering what the hell I did wrong. 

Breakfast for dinner was supposed to be easy. Gus wanted my mom’s famous biscuits and gravy, and I figured it couldn’t be hard. And it’ll hopefully look fancy enough to impress Markie. 

Markie.

A tug that I’m growing very familiar with pulls across my chest. This woman keeps me on my toes.

It took everything in me, and the fact that I had a kid sleeping in the other room so I couldn’t just leave, not to go to her house last night. It ate me up inside that she might not have understood where I was coming from when I told her that we had to put the brakes on things before they got out of hand. Or even if she did understand it, maybe I overstepped. 

“I’m pretty sure that I know what I can and cannot handle, and I certainly don’t need you deciding that for me—regardless of your intentions.”

Markie is the strongest, fiercest woman that I’ve ever met, and her strength and intelligence are two of the things that I enjoy the most about her. She doesn’t back down from anything. She goes after what she wants … and she’s smart enough, and capable enough, to make those decisions for herself. 

Mom sighs. “Until it looks right means keep stirring until it gets thick. Until it looks like gravy.” 

“This mess is gonna wind up being gravy?” I make a face. “You’re sure?” 

“I’m sure if you followed the recipe I texted you. I’m less sure if you didn’t.” 

I roll my eyes. 

“Are you stirring? I don’t hear stirring,” she says like she’s fed up with me. 

That makes me smile. “Yes, Mother. I’m stirring. Here. Listen.” I put the phone next to the skillet and stir for a few seconds before bringing it back to my ear. As I do that, the liquid magically changes … and turns into gravy. “Hey! Look at that. It’s thickening.” 

“Shocking, I know.”

Chuckling, I turn the heat way down. “You know, I used to think that Gus got his smart-assness from me. But I think maybe we both got it from you.” 

“Don’t you say such a thing about my sweet grandbaby,” she says, feigning shock.  

“He’s eleven, you know? I get reminded of that all the time.” 

“Oh, I know. It’s not one of my favorite things to think about, but yes, I know he’s eleven. Twelve, soon.” She sighs. “I miss you boys so much.” 

My heart sinks.

I hate that I’ve been so far away from her for most of my adult life. We talk a lot, and I visit her every offseason and during the holidays, but it never seems enough. I’ve volunteered to rent her a place in whatever city I’m working in, but she says she likes her life with her friends in California. What’s a man to do? I don’t know. Live with the guilt, I guess. 

“I miss you, too, Mama.” 

“Are you good with the gravy? Need anything else?” 

I survey the kitchen, finding the biscuits on the counter and a plate of bacon beside it because Gus looked at me like I was out of my mind when I told him that bacon doesn’t go with biscuits and gravy. “That’s what Gram does,” he’d said. I also did a few scrambled eggs in case Markie doesn’t like gravy. She’ll have options. 

“Is dinner ready yet?” Gus asks from the table. His head is propped up on his hand while he pretends to do his math packet. 

“Almost.” The gravy is perfect, so I shut off the heat. “I think we’re good, Mom. Thanks for your help.” 

“Of course. Love you, baby boy.” 

I grin. “Love you, Mama.” 

“Love you, Gram!” Gus shouts from the table.

“Aw, you tell that boy that I love him more than the moon and stars,” she says. “Bye, Jory.” 

“Goodbye.”

I end the call and turn to set the phone beside the sink when a knock rings through the house. 

“I’ll get it!” Gus shouts, jumping up from the table, all too happy to abandon the packet that he was supposed to start on half an hour ago. I figured it was good for him to attempt it alone. And if he managed to get some of it done before Markie got here, that would give her and me more time together alone. 

I pull in a breath at the thought of being alone with her again. Let’s pray it goes differently this time. 

My eyes are glued to the doorway, but their voices reach me before they do. 

Markie follows Gus into the kitchen, and I swear her presence sucks the oxygen out of the room. 

Holy shit.

Markie didn’t come to play.

Or … maybe she did.

A smirk settles against my lips. 

The bombshell is temptation wrapped in a sundress. The green dress hugs her curves, and her hair is pulled back, save for a few strands that fall around her face. The delicate slope of her shoulders is on full display, and I have an irrational urge to brush my thumb along her collarbone. And the coy grin on her face tells me none of this was an accident. 

She pauses at the table before moseying my way. Her thick lashes flutter with mischief. “Hey, you.” 

“Hey to you,” I say, rooted in place. My gaze is trained on her as she moves like a vision, inching closer.

My breath hitches in my throat as she drags a fingertip over my abs as she passes me. Goose bumps spread across my skin like wildfire, and I can’t do anything to stop it. 

“It smells amazing in here. What did you make?” she asks, moving to the stovetop. 

“Biscuits and gravy,” Gus says. “If it sucks, that’s on him because he used my grandma’s recipe, and hers is killer.” 

Markie laughs. “Good to know. Grandma recipes are always the best.” She looks at Gus over her shoulder. “You should taste my Lolly’s fried chicken. It’s the best in the universe.” 

“I love fried chicken,” Gus says. 

“I made a few other things in case you aren’t a fan of gravy,” I say, hoping it doesn’t sound like I’m trying too hard. “There’s bacon and eggs, too.” 

“He’s trying to impress you,” Gus whispers loud enough for me to hear. 

I start to deny it, but chuckle instead. “Yeah, I mean, I guess it’s obvious.” 

Gus scrambles by me, grabbing a plate and loading it with food. I think about telling him to only take what he’s going to eat—that he can always come back for seconds—but just as I open my mouth to tell him, Markie leaves the stove and comes toward me. 

She smells like vanilla and sunshine, and her tanned skin looks like it’s been kissed by the sun. She’s a dream and nightmare all rolled into one. There’s something about that combination that I fucking love. 

“Have you starved him today?” she asks, glancing at the piles of food on Gus’s plate. 

“You’d think.”

“I’m a growing boy,” he says with a piece of biscuit hanging out of his mouth as he walks to the table. 

I turn my back to Gus and peer down at Markie. “Point taken.” 

“Whatever do you mean?” she asks, grinning. 

“You’re trying to torture me.” 

“Am I?” She lifts a brow, biting her lip. “I probably just misunderstood the situation. It seems I’m bad about that. My apologies.” 

I growl as she brushes her ass against me while turning toward the stove. 

“Is it any good, Gus?” she asks as if she wasn’t just screwing with my head. 

“It’s great. Make sure you get some bacon. Dad thinks it doesn’t go together, but he’s wrong.” 

She grins at me. “He’s been wrong about a few things lately.” 

I stare at her, making her giggle. 

She heads for the table while I pour us all a glass of juice and make my plate. Gus and Markie chatter about his math and the friends he’s made at the park. She seems to know most of them. And their parents. And their grandparents.

But that all comes to an abrupt halt once I sit down. 

Gus takes his fork and taps it on his glass. His Cheshire cat-style grin puts me on edge. 

“Gus …” I warn as my blood pressure rises. I know this look. He’s about to be a shithead. 

“Now that the family is all here,” he says, smirking. 

Markie lifts a brow my way. I shrug helplessly. We’re at the mercy of an eleven-year-old. 

“I’d like to discuss a rumor that I heard at the park,” he says, sitting back in his seat like the CEO of a boardroom. “Well, maybe it’s a rumor. That’s to be determined.” 

“You know, rumors are usually lies,” Markie says, placing her chin in her hand. “You should take that into consideration before repeating them.” 

“Good point.” He looks at her. “But I’m repeating this one.” He looks at me. “I heard through the grapevine that the two of you are dating.”

Markie sets her fork on the table. 

I look at the ceiling. 

Gus steeples his fingers together like a madman whose plan just came together. 

I blow out a breath and steal a look at Markie. She half shrugs as if she doesn’t know how to handle this. Well, that makes two of us. 

“So …” he prompts. “Is there any truth to this or is the rumor mill working overtime?” He points a finger at Markie. “You know, rumors might usually be lies. But I’ve heard that where there’s smoke, there’s fire.” 

“Gus,” I say, trying to stay even-keeled. “First of all, it’s none of your business.” 

He scoffs. “Um, yeah, it is.”

“And second,” I say, ignoring him, “what you’re doing right now is rude. You and I could’ve talked about this alone, but you chose to do it when Markie was here. There was no reason to make her uncomfortable for your entertainment.” 

He looks me dead in the eyes. “That’s not what I was trying to do, Dad.”

“Sometimes you have to think about the effect your behavior has on others before you act,” I say without flinching. The irony of my own behavior last night is not lost on me. “Think before you speak.”

Markie holds up a hand. “Let’s … back up a second.” She looks at Gus and sighs. “What your dad is saying is absolutely right, but I believe that you weren’t being mean. You’re just curious. And I’m glad that you asked instead of worrying about it or wondering why we didn’t say anything. You should always ask if you have questions.” 

“So it’s true?” His eyes light up. “You’re really dating?” 

“Gus—”

“Kind of,” Markie says.

We are? I try not to look shocked by this revelation.

“It’s complicated,” she tells him, rolling her eyes. “I live here. You and your dad don’t. And since you’re both going back to your homes in a couple of months, it doesn’t really make any sense to be too serious. Do you know what I mean?”

Gus frowns.

Markie looks at me, searching my face. “But we like each other. And since I’m tutoring you and your dad is playing pickleball with me, I think it’s safe to say that we’ll be seeing a lot of each other until you guys pack up and go home.” 

Safe.

I nod slowly as the truth hits me like a ton of bricks. 

In my head, this was all about pickleball. That was her goal, and everything else was the means to that end. But I clearly missed the entire plot. 

Last night in the bathroom wasn’t about pickleball, and it wasn’t about sex. It was about trust. Because that’s her thing—trust. Everything with Markie comes back to that one single word.  

Men disappoint her, so she trusts herself. She throws herself into pickleball because she trusts her abilities, and the tournament is proof she’s right to do so. She clings to things she can control because she knows just how quickly everything can disappear. She relies on herself. 

But last night, she dropped her guard and let me in. She reached for me in her own way. It was an act of trust from a woman who doesn’t trust anyone from the male species, and I missed it. I was so focused on keeping my promise to help her win that I failed to see what she was really trying to tell me. 

That maybe she’s learning to trust me. That maybe the tournament really isn’t the point. Maybe it has nothing to do with Jasper. 

Markie doesn’t need protection. She just needs to feel safe. 

A knock on the door comes before I can react, and Gus is on his feet before I can say no. Once he’s out of earshot, I lean forward toward Markie. 

“What was that all about?” I ask, reaching for her hand. Our fingers entwine as she smiles at me. 

“What was what all about?” 

“What you told Gus. That we’re kind of dating and we like each other,” I say. 

She shrugs. “Well, I couldn’t be sure. You did shoot me down last night, so I really had to play around with the words.” 

I chuckle.

“I’m just trying to save your ass,” she says, laughing, too. “You’ll eventually be sorry you did that⁠—”

“Markie …”

“And when that happens”—she leans forward—“you’re going to beg. It’s going to be very cute and I’m looking forward to it.” 

The lines I gave her at the farmers’ market on the first day we met echo through my brain. 

“Fine. But when you change your mind later, you’re going to beg.”

She lifted her chin. “That’s cute.”

“Oh, it’s going to be very cute. I’m looking forward to it.”

Before I can respond, Gus comes barreling into the room. “Dad. We gotta talk.” 

“What’s up?” I ask, pulling my hand away from Markie. I try to clear my mind of our conversation and focus on what my son is saying. 

“Josh and his mom are going out to his uncle’s house tonight to go catfishing. You gotta do that in the dark,” he said. “But he also said that they’ll be back around midnight, and they asked if I can go.” 

“His mom is going?” So … you’ll be safe and having fun, and Markie and I will be alone? I can work with that.

He nods. “Yes. She said she texted you about it, but you didn’t answer. And she said she’ll have her phone the whole time, and you can always text her. Oh! And that they’re stopping for burgers so I don’t need to worry about dinner.” 

I grab my phone from the kitchen, and sure enough, there’s a text from her explaining everything. I fire back a text, thanking her for inviting Gus, and telling her that he’s excited … and not to rush home on my account. 

“Okay,” I say after I hit Send. “You can go. Take your phone and have fun.” 

“Yes! Thanks, Dad.” He heads for the door. “You’re the best,” he calls out over his shoulder just before the door slams. 

I sit back in my chair, giving the energy in the room a second to settle. And when it does, it’s like a thick, hot blanket wrapped around Markie and me. 

“So,” she says, grinning. “I guess there’s no math tonight.”

“Guess not.”

“Since we don’t have a chaperone, I’m not sure if I should stay. I mean, I’d hate to make you uncomfortable.” 

I grin right back at her. “That might be a good idea.” I pause as she tries to make sense of that. “I mean, I’m not sure I have the self-restraint to turn you down twice.” 

Her eyes shine. “That’s really good to know.” 

“Then you should really not look at me like that.” 

“Like what?”

“Like you want to get me into trouble.” 

She smiles. “Maybe I do.” 

I glance around the room—at the dirty kitchen, Gus’s math homework, and the clutter around what actually looks like a home. And now? The beautiful woman sitting across from me.

Three years ago—hell, one year ago, I wouldn’t have been able to fathom that this picture would include me. And if someone would’ve told me that out of all the accomplishments in my life—money, championships, fame—that this would seem like a moment when I felt my life coming together, I’d have laughed in their face. 

But it’s true. This is the first time I’ve felt like maybe I’m finding that “something more” that my mom has often talked about.

“One day, you’ll find it—that missing part of your life that you never knew existed. It’ll change the way you wake up in the morning and the color of the sky at dusk. Your life will be filled with something more beautiful and special than you could ever dream, and that’s what I want for you. It’s all I’ve ever wanted for you.”

The idea feels like a hurricane inside my brain, threatening to bring a ton of problems with it once it lands. That scares the fuck out of me. But imagining three months from now, when Gus goes home and I return to Nashville without either of them, also feels unnatural. Terrifying, even. 

Like maybe this is the something more.

I take a breath and recenter myself. 

The owner of the Royals, the rugby legend Renn Brewer’s voice comes back to me. “Control what you can control, Plath. You can’t win the whole match in one play.”

“Are you done eating?” I ask. 

She nods, her eyes searching mine. 

“Let’s go talk.”

She stands, placing her small palm in mine, and lets me lead her into the living room.

CHAPTER

SEVENTEEN

Markie

“So, you wanna talk, huh?” I ask Jory as he sits on the couch.

He takes both of my hands in his, pulling me in front of him. His eyes sparkle, telling me that talking isn’t at all what he wants to do. But he’s too much of a gentleman to do that. 

I smirk. Don’t worry, big guy. I’ll break you of that before the night is over.

“Markie …”

He takes a breath as if he’s practiced this speech a hundred times and is gathering the courage to go for it. But before he can speak, my phone rings on the kitchen table. I have about as much interest in answering it as he has in talking to me at the moment, but he delayed my gratification last night. I’m nothing if not petty. 

“Hold that thought,” I say, pulling my hands away. “I need to get that.” His eyes widen as I pivot toward the kitchen. “I’m waiting on a call from Mira, and she needs my input, or I’ll hold everything up. It’s hard being the one that everyone counts on for direction.” 

I think. I’d have to ask Astrid if that’s true. 

“Hey,” I say brightly after answering the call.  

“Why do you sound so happy to talk to me?”

“Work with me,” I whisper before turning back to the living room. Jory’s sitting on the couch right where I left him. “Did you get with Audrey on our questions?” 

Mira sighs. “I don’t want to know.” 

I laugh. “You’re right. Gianna would think this is entirely more entertaining than you.”

“Oh, Markie.” She snorts. “I’m just going to say what I need to say. You can listen and respond however you want, and I’ll just assume you’ll call me after you get home and fill in the details if your answers don’t make sense.”

“That’s a great idea. I’m so glad you thought of it.” 

She bursts out laughing. I hear Hartley in the background, asking what she’s laughing at. That makes me laugh again. 

Jory’s brows pull together. I wink at him. 

“What did Auddie say?” I ask. 

When I met Mira after church to go over our part of the wedding, we came up with a list of unanswered questions for the bride and groom. Neither of them would answer their phones, probably following through on the whispered promises Brooks made to Audrey while we were waiting to exit the church, which we happened to overhear. So, we abandoned our efforts, and I went home, waiting on six thirty to roll around. 

Because no matter how much I wanted to just come to Jory’s, desperation never looks good, and I got a little too close to that fire last night. 

“You want to do this now?” Mira asks, surprised. 

The anticipation is killing Jory. Relax. It’s only going to get so much worse.

I grin. “Of course, I have time. I’ve been waiting on your call.” I quickly look at Jory, remembering that I told him I’d be with Mira until six thirty. “You got back to me much faster than I expected since I only left your house a while ago.”

His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t say a word.

“Oh, boy,” my sister says, blowing out a breath. “Okay, then. The final head count for the wedding is thirty-two. Everyone has RSVP’d, so we’re set on that. But, because it’s such a small wedding, they’ve decided not to have bridesmaids and groomsmen because we’re essentially half of the guest list. So, that makes things simpler.” 

“I love that idea.” 

“I bet you do. I could say anything right now, and you’d love that idea.” 

“That might be a little exaggerated, but go on.” 

As she rambles on about their choice to get married in the barn and not in the church, and when the florist is coming to decorate and a bunch of details that don’t really involve me, I set my sights back on the man in front of me. 

Leaning back against the cushions, his knees spread apart, I mosey my way to him. The closer I get, the more his chest rises and falls. His eyes turn a deeper shade of green. His jaw muscles flex. 

The man is a fucking dream. 

I pick up the edge of my dress and straddle his thigh before letting the hem fall again. A slow smile stretches across his lips. That, in turn, makes me smile. Because if he thinks it’s going to be this easy, he’s mistaken. 

“The only hiccup,” Mira says, “is that Violet Crowder can’t play the piano if they’re having the wedding in the barn. The ground is too uneven out there, and she’s afraid she’ll fall.” 

I frown—both at her words and at the fact that Jory hasn’t tried to touch me. “Shit. Audrey really wanted the ‘Bridal Chorus’ played live for some reason. I don’t know what we do now. Is this even in our area or Astrid’s? She’s the wedding planner.” 

“Ours. I told her we’d take care of it. But now we need to find someone else to play the piano.” 

“Okay, well, we’ll find someone else who can play the piano. Let me call the school tomorrow …” 

Jory points at himself. “I play the piano,” he says quietly.

I raise a brow, certain he’s screwing with me. 

“I do. I mean, just saying,” he says. 

“Mira, hang on.” I hold the phone at my hip. “You play the piano? For real?” 

“Yup.”

My eyes roll. “Of course you do.” 

He chuckles.

“Would you like to play the wedding march thing for Audrey’s wedding next weekend?” I ask. “It’s in a barn just outside of town. Thirty people, give or take, will be there. She just wants it played live as a tribute to her grandmother, and we can’t find anyone who can play.” 

“Do you have a keyboard?” he asks. “Preferably a full-size one.”

“Um, yes,” I say, trying to remember exactly what Cathy mentioned that she could get her hands on. “We do, and I think it’s a full-size one, but I can check.”  

He nods, shrugging. “Sure. If it helps, and the bride doesn’t mind a random guy playing at her wedding, I can do it.” 

I bring the phone back to my ear. “Pianist secured. What else do we need?” 

Jory reaches out slowly, his palms gripping my waist. Our gazes meet, and when they do, I can nearly hear the crackle of energy in the air. 

Instantly, I’m soaked. Whether it’s from imagining him playing the piano, the look in his eyes, or the way his hands caress my hips before they run down the sides of my legs, I’m ready to end this call and refocus on him. 

“I’ll tell you what I need,” he whispers, his eyes locked on mine. He toys with the edge of my dress, silently asking permission to lift it. When I smirk, his fingertips dip beneath the fabric.

Jory’s Adam’s apple bobs as his skin brushes mine. I try to play it cool and pretend that I’m not affected by his touch, that I’m not dying for him to move his hands higher. But the shiver that dances along my spine as he slides his palms up the front of my thighs gives me away. 

He lifts a brow, pleased with himself. 

I have no idea what Mira says, but I answer her anyway. “That’s too bad. It was offered only yesterday, but it was turned down.” 

The corner of Jory’s mouth tips toward the ceiling. 

“That makes no sense, Markie,” Mira says. 

“It does. Trust me,” I say, sucking in a harried breath as his hands roll over my hips and onto my bare ass. 

His eyes widen. “Are you for real right now?” 

“Sometimes it’s good to know what you could’ve had,” I say into the phone, confusing the hell out of my sister, and backing away from Jory. “There are times when you just have to react and not hesitate.”

He makes no effort to hide his erection as he adjusts it with his hand. It’s also obvious by the way he’s looking at me that he knows I’m using his words from practice against him. 

“I can’t do this with you,” Mira says. “But I hope it was helpful in doing whatever debaucherous thing you’re up to right now.” 

My gaze falls to Jory’s crotch and the proof of his attraction to me. Gianna will be happy to hear that her prediction was correct. It’ll definitely choke a girl. 

“That sounds great,” I say. “Call me tomorrow. But not early.” 

She laughs. “Understood. Bye, Markie.” 

“Bye.”

I’ve never ended a call so fast in my life. 

“That’s never happened to me before,” he says, falling back into the cushions again. 

I toss my phone on the chair by the window. “What’s that?” 

“I’ve never had someone have a conversation with me but not to me.” He grins. “You’re a woman of many skills.” 

“The likes of which you’ll never know because you’re too … nice.” 

He sits up quickly, reaching for me. Unfortunately for him, I’m prepared. I step back, out of reach, before he can grab me. 

“Stop it,” he says, his jaw twitching. “I’m sorry.” 

“Yeah, well, me too.” 

He runs his tongue across his bottom lip. “You’re the one who told my child that we were dating.” 

“I said we were kind of dating,” I say, appreciating the way the front of my dress chose this moment to droop. The lacy edge of my bra emphasizes the curve of my breasts, and the fact is not lost on Jory. “But I came over here to tutor your child, and he’s gone, so I should probably go, too.” 

“Fine. But I have one question before you go.” 

“Let’s hear it.”

A smug grin plays on his lips. “Did you really show up here tonight with no panties?” 

My blood floods with heat and it licks my veins as it flows through my body. Wetness coats my thighs as he undresses me with his eyes. The way he looks at me, like he wants to devour me, is my catnip. 

“Maybe I never wear them,” I say, wearing a smug grin of my own. 

“Maybe you did it to taunt me.” 

“Maybe.” I shrug. “Maybe not.” 

He folds his hands together between his knees, working them back and forth until the knuckles crack. His eyes never leave mine as he chooses his next move. Because the next move is his. What he decides to do makes all the difference. 

“You said earlier that I’d be sorry today for turning you down last night,” he says, his voice low. “And you were wrong. I was sorry I did it as soon as you walked out.” He unfolds his body and stands, blowing out a breath as if he’s trying to slow himself down. “Just like you didn’t need me to save you from Jasper last night, you sure as hell didn’t need me making decisions for you either—regardless of my intentions. So, for that, I’m sorry, too.” 

His words, and the sincere way he says them, make me feel wonderfully off-balance. It’s quite possibly the first apology that I’ve ever received from a man, and I believe he meant it. And it’s for sure the first time I’ve ever felt heard and understood, specifically without having to put a PowerPoint together to drive home why how I feel matters. 

Wow.

I didn’t quite know what to expect when I arrived here tonight. I imagined there would be an apology, and I figured things would be fine before I left. What I didn’t anticipate, but should’ve, was for him to be so genuine, so honest, and so … right. 

Jory Plath is a wonder, and being in his orbit makes it hard to breathe. But listening to his maturity, his care—it steals any breath I could manage to take. And the only place I want to be is wrapped up in his arms again … the first place in a very, very long time where I felt like if the world fell apart, it wouldn’t all fall on me. 

“I think, in retrospect, that I was trying too hard to prove that I wasn’t like the guys you know,” he says. “I didn’t want you to think that I wanted anything from you, and I wanted you to know how much I respect you. How seriously I’m taking things that I know are important to you, like winning the tournament.” 

My throat tightens at his sweet words and the honesty embedded in every one of them. I believe him. And for me to believe anything that comes out of a man’s mouth is wild in and of itself. 

But if anything else is true besides knowing that Jory means what he says, it’s that Jory means what he says. And he’s not about to touch me if I don’t make it absolutely clear that I want him to.

It’s a damn good thing that I speak that language. And it’s also a damn good thing that I’m okay with having a fling with this man. He might be a unicorn among men, but he’s a temporary unicorn—a fake boyfriend who will pay off in more ways than one. And I’ll take that, thank you very much.

My patience, or stubbornness, maybe, has paid off.

“Here’s the thing,” I say, as my teeth catch my lower lip. His gaze falls to my mouth—right where I want it … for the time being. “I know that you respect me and that you’re taking the tournament seriously, and I appreciate that. But I’d really, really like for you to want other things from me, too.” 

His gaze lifts to mine. 

I grin. “But if coming over here with no panties on doesn’t explain what it is that I’m after, then—ah!” 

My shriek pierces the air as he lunges forward. He wraps me up in one arm and slings me over his shoulder like I’m a feather. My blood should be racing to my head at this angle. Instead, with my ass up in the air, my body defies gravity and pools blood in my groin. My dress is pinched to his shoulder beneath my belly and gathered by gravity halfway to my shoulders on the backside. 

My clit throbs.

His palm comes down on the globe of my ass cheek as he hauls me into the bedroom.

CHAPTER

EIGHTEEN

Markie

“Okay,” I tease as I land on the soft blue bedding. “That’s one way to tell me you get what I’m saying.”

“Babe, it’s never been that I don’t understand what you’re saying.” He peels his shirt off and tosses it on the floor. “I think I understand you all too well.”

Watching him undress is elite foreplay. The man is built like a god. Sure, I’ve seen him shirtless and in shorts a few times, but seeing it all come together in front of me like this—like a real-life version of the fictional man who’s ravished me in my dreams for the past almost five months—is wild.

Every piece of him is perfection. Wide shoulders. Barrel chest. Arms strong enough to pick me up and toss me around like I weigh nothing. His thighs are tree trunks, with a tattoo extending onto his right hip. And, as he steps out of his shorts and stands straight up, I feast my eyes on the pièce de résistance.

That cock.

I prop myself up on my elbows to better appreciate the gift I’m being bestowed, like the universe is apologizing for letting me down throughout my life. Because none of those … boys—I can’t even call them men now—can even compare.

“Warn a girl,” I say, struggling to find words for quite possibly the first time in my life.

He smirks, grabbing the base and stroking. A bead of precum glistens on the head, and I could be convinced without much trouble to cover it with my mouth and suck it clean.

“Warn a girl?” His smirk deepens. “Sorry. I learned my lesson last night,” he says, pumping up his shaft again. “Ask, and you shall receive.”

My body hums with anticipation, with too much restless energy to sit still. The way he looks at me, like I’m an oasis in the middle of a desert, doesn’t help at all. But what does help—what shakes me out of the haze enough to get my wits about me—is his words.

Ask and you shall receive.

“I hope you mean that,” I say, grinning.

His hand slows. “Why do I feel like I might regret saying that?”

“Because someone,” I say, pulling my dress slowly up my legs, “sent me home last night with more sexual frustration than I could stand.”

His eyes are glued to the edge of the fabric, and they grow dark when the movement stops at the tops of my thighs. His reaction is heady—nearly intoxicating. The obvious desire Jory has for me repairs any of my ego he might’ve cracked last night.

“So, rugby boy, here’s what we’re going to do,” I say, each word crisp. I pause until his gaze lands on mine. “You’re going to beg.”

He blinks. “What?”

“Beg.” I shrug as if it’s a given. “Get on your knees and beg for me.”

My breath stalls in my chest as the heat in his gaze threatens to burn me down. I can feel my body pulsing with each inhale and shaking as the air leaves my lungs.

I’m not sure what his reaction will be, and I’m not even entirely sure what result I’m after. Do I want him to actually beg? Do I want him on his knees? The hell if I know. I’m playing a game, most certainly with fire, but being burned might be worth it.

Slowly, methodically, he stalks toward the bed. His fingertips are the first to touch the comforter. Then it’s his knees. With his eyes glued to mine, he crawls up my body, hovering over me without contact, until his face is inches away.

With each breath, my chest brushes against his. His thick cock swipes against my leg. The intensity in his gaze is almost lethal, threatening to melt me on the spot. But instead of looking away or squirming, I give as good as I get.

“It appears that you can’t follow instructions, Mr. Plath,” I tease.

His chuckle is low and gravelly, the vibrations felt against my lips. Each ripple sends a shot of need straight to my core. My thighs are coated with desire, and I’m this close to reaching between them to alleviate some of the building pressure.

I gasp softly as Jory lowers his lips until they’re almost touching mine.

“Please,” he whispers, the words fluttering across my mouth.

It’s one word—a single syllable in the English language—but it might as well be a spark landing in dry tinder. Heat explodes inside me, racing from the spot where his breath touches my skin all the way to my toes.

I lift my chin, desperate for contact, but he only allows our lips to brush in the lightest, faintest way before pulling back.

“Hey,” I yelp, fighting irritation and frustration.

He grins mischievously, moving down my body until he’s at my feet. A hand grabs each ankle. I start to ask him what he’s doing, but all I manage is a gasp as he separates my legs in one quick motion.

“Oh!” I shriek as he pulls me toward him. My back skims smoothly across the comforter until he’s kneeling between my thighs and peering down at me like I’m a snack he’s about to devour.

“Please let me fuck you.” Gone is the tender whisper of before. Now every word is edged in temptation. “I’m on my knees and begging for your permission to lick …” His fingers press deeper into my skin. “Taste.” His palms travel closer to the apex. “And fuck you senseless.” 

I suck in a breath as a startled, disbelieving laugh escapes me. My brain lacks the capacity to process the sensory overload. His touch, his gaze—his fucking words. It’s too much to absorb.

“This is no laughing matter,” he says, grinning.

I bite my lip, trying to stop my giggles. “No, it’s not.”

“Let me know if you need help keeping that mouth occupied.”

My smile turns into a smirk as I pull my dress up to my waist, putting my pussy on full display. “I was thinking that it was your mouth that needs something to do.” I toss him a wink before dragging the fabric up my body, exposing all of me, and then tossing it onto the floor.

“How are you real?” he asks, clearly in a state of shock. His gaze travels over me. “For fuck’s sake, Markie. How are you fucking real?”

I let my knees fall to the side as I pull the lace under my nipples, letting my tits set on the top of it.

“You haven’t exactly said yes,” he says, teasing me. “And if you’re not going to, you need to get some clothes on and get off my bed. Or you can also lie there and let me look at you while I jack off.”

I laugh. “You’re talking an awful lot for a man whose face is supposed to be buried between my thighs.”

He hops off the bed and drags me closer to the edge. I hold my breath, suspended in a state of anticipation and lust, as he positions himself precisely where I instructed. Seeing him framed between my thighs is a picture I try to sear into my brain, and I get about four seconds to accomplish this before his tongue slides through me.

My body trembles. “Oh fuck.”

It’s delicious. The friction against my clit. The sound of him eating me like I’m his last meal. The pressure of his fingers parting my flesh and hitting the sweet spot against the front wall of my pussy. It’s all amazing. 

I reach for him, threading my fingers into his silky hair.

“Like that,” I breathe, grinding myself against his face. “Oh my gosh, Jory.”

My words are broken, splintered by the earliest waves of an orgasm. I close my eyes, digging the back of my head against the comforter as my back arches in pleasure.

“Harder,” I say, gritting my teeth as his fingers fuck me within an inch of my life.

It’s so deliriously good. And so worth the five-month wait to be ravaged like this.

Each thrust of his fingers gets me closer. Every nudge of his nose against my swollen bud brings me higher. And when he chuckles against my flesh before sucking my clit? I unravel.

I scream as I come, arching off the bed like I’ve been possessed. He holds me open, refusing to let me stop until every last drop of my orgasm has been extracted from me.

“I can’t,” I yell, fighting the desire to keep going and the need to stop.

I shake so hard I’m nearly convulsing and no longer own the faculties to make it stop. Tears cloud my vision from the intensity of the climax. No part of me is in my control.

Slowly, he brings me back to earth. And when I land, I’m a heap in the center of the bed.

“I was wrong before,” I whisper, my eyes still closed.

“About what?”

“This,” I say, laughing softly. “This is what should come with a warning.”

He squeezes my calf. “I’ll remember that for next time.”

There’s humor in his voice, and I sense him standing and moving across the room.

Water runs somewhere in the distance. I wiggle my toes, then dare to move my legs. I fill my lungs, open my eyes, and then sit up just in time to see Jory coming into the room from the en suite with a condom in his hand.

Instead of putting it on and getting busy, he surprises me by climbing next to me in bed. He lies on his side facing me and studies me like he’s seeing me for the first time.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he says, brushing a strand of hair off my forehead.

The tenderness of his voice wraps around my heart—a place it has no business, but it’s too late to keep it out. “Thanks.” I look up into his eyes and smile at him without an agenda. “You’re pretty damn gorgeous yourself.”

He chuckles. “Thanks.”

I reach up and play with the unruly hair at the nape of his neck. “I learned something new about myself tonight.”

He hums, running a fingertip down my arm.

“I didn’t know …” I stop myself and restart. “Well, to be honest, I’m not sure that I’ve ever yelled during a sexual encounter before. Not that I can remember. But I didn’t know I was that girl.”

“A screamer?” he teases. “You’re definitely loud. That’s something we’ll have to take into consideration next time in case Gus is home.”

His gaze finds mine as we grapple with the phrase next time. I hold my breath, waiting on a wave of panic to hit, but it doesn’t. If anything, it’s relief that settles over me.

“Next time, huh?” I ask, grinning at him.

“I mean, I hope. You didn’t sound disappointed, but if I’m wrong …” His smile stretches from ear to ear, mirroring mine. “If I’m wrong, tell me.”

“You know I would.” I laugh, laying my palm against the back of his head. “But you also know that I’m not. Not even a little bit.”

He dips his head toward mine, capturing my mouth with his. I moan against his lips as he guides me back on the bed.

His hand slips under my jaw, fingers curling behind my ear. I tilt my head back, arching toward him, giving in to the kiss that I’ve been craving since the first day I saw him at the farmers’ market. Even then, before I really knew him and had written him off, I wanted to know what it was like to be touched like this. Kissed like this. Adored like this.

Because that’s what this really is. Jory isn’t just going through the motions so he can come. He isn’t trying to get me off so he can move on with his day. He’s taking his time, putting me first, and showing me that I’m worth the effort. Worth the patience. Worth savoring.

Jory Plath is in the business of adoring me tonight. Even more surprising is that I’m in the business of letting him.

He pulls away, his eyes sparkling.

“You’re a hell of a kisser, Plath,” I say, giggling.

He winks. “There’s more where that came from.”

He sits upright, the condom in his hand. I look at it, and then I look back up at him.

My heart pounds as I sit up, wondering if the idea rolling around my head is okay or foolish. It’s what I want. I’m not even sure why, but I do. And I’m afraid to think about it too much because that’s a great way for me to get in my own head.

That’s never good.

Besides, I’ve trusted the process tonight, and it hasn’t let me down.

“Hey,” I say, swallowing. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“After I found out Jasper cheated on me, I went to the doctor to make sure, you know, that everything was okay.” I take a deep breath. “And it was, and I haven’t been with anyone since, and I never miss a birth control pill.”

Jory stills. “Well, I can assure you that I’m tested for everything under the sun routinely for work. And I haven’t been with anyone since the first of the year when the season started.”

Holy shit. He’s gone without sex longer than I have.

Slowly, I reach for the condom. He holds it in the air until I snatch it from his hand. With the crack of the foil wrapper, a grin settles against Jory’s lips.

“So, maybe we don’t need to use this?” I ask, holding it between my thumb and forefinger. “Of course, if you want to, I totally get it.”

He laughs, capturing my mouth with his. “Shut up.”

I giggle, falling to the mattress as he climbs on top of me.

“You are seriously going to be the death of me,” he says.

“I’d like to come once more before you pass away.”

He shakes his head. “As you wish.” He nudges my legs apart with his knee.

I open for him as the desire for round two builds in a furious fashion.

The head of his cock pushes at my opening, parting my soaked flesh. I shiver as he stares into my eyes and presses deeper. The girth of his dick feels like it’s splitting me in two … and it’s divine.

“Oh,” I moan, gripping his thick shoulders. “That feels so, so good.”

“You’re telling me.”

He hisses as he sinks into my body, the sound erotic and almost feral. The rawness in it strips away any remaining hesitation in me. He isn’t hiding his attraction or playing it cool or unaffected. He’s letting me see what I do to him, letting that knowledge empower me.

He’s giving me the power and control that I cling to.

The realization breaks through an already crumbling wall, and at least for this moment in time, I give myself to him because I trust him.

My fingertips drag down his chest as a sheen of sweat coats his skin. I feel the ridges of his obliques under my palms while I explore him with my touch.

He pauses once he’s as far inside me as he’s going to get, letting me adjust to his size. I’m gloriously full and stretched to within an inch of my life.

“I’m good,” I say, hiccuping a breath as he slides out. “Move.”

He pounds into me—long, delicious strokes, his hands caging me in against the mattress. Watching him enjoy me and struggle with his restraint is an aphrodisiac all its own. He pulls out, almost until the head breaks free, before sinking himself inside my pussy until he hits the back.

“You feel unreal,” he says through clenched teeth. “I knew it would be good, but damn, Markie. This is crazy.”

I lift my hips. The angle is perfect, and he hits my favorite spot immediately.

“It’s like fucking magic,” I say, panting. “Harder.”

“Yeah?”

“Please,” I say, pressing a kiss against his shoulder. “I’m not going to last too long, so fuck me, Jory. Don’t hold back.”

“Fucking hell,” he mutters. But he gives me exactly what I wanted.

I brace myself against his chest as he drives into me. Gasping, I squeeze my eyes closed. The line between pleasure and pain is razor thin, and somewhere in that gray area is where I find bliss. 

“Markie …” He growls. “You’re so fucking tight that I’m gonna come.”

His words are the dynamite that sets off the explosion in my core.

“Me, too,” I say, my nails digging into his flesh.

“Fuck!”

The sound of our bodies connecting fills the room, our voices joining it as we find our climaxes.

His hips jerk and his body shakes while I clench, gripping his cock. This time, I force my eyes open to watch Jory come apart.

It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before.

Sexy. Hot. Beautiful.

He collapses on me, dragging in a breath. I wind a foot over the back of his leg as his forehead rests on mine. I can feel his heartbeat racing against my chest as he lowers himself to give me another kiss. Then he lies beside me with a long, satisfied sigh.

I need a bathroom, but I can’t resist something first.

I turn my face to his. “I told you.”

He hums, his eyes closed.

“I told you that you could be a satisfied man if you wanted to be,” I say, teasing him about what I told him at Patsy’s. “I’m glad you gave it a try.”

He chuckles, pressing another kiss against my lips. “How about a bath?” His eyes open, and he’s looking right into mine. “How does that sound?”

If I’m being honest with him, it sounds like a hundred things all at once. Some of them are sexy, others more sensual, most are relaxing. But the thing it sounds most like is a choice I’m willing to make, regardless of how dangerous it might be.

“I love the sound of that,” I say.

He picks me up again, this time gently in his arms, and kisses me all the way to the bath.

CHAPTER

NINETEEN

Markie

“You lived up to the hype,” Jory says, chuckling beside me.

I pop a piece of popcorn into my mouth and nestle into the pillows. “First of all, I believe you.”

His chuckle turns into a full laugh, his bare chest shaking against my side.

“Second, you’re too much of a gentleman to say otherwise.” I rest the side of my head against his bicep. “So, thank you, but complimenting me was really your only option.”

“Not true.”

“So true.”

He sighs, but there’s humor laced in with his faux exasperation.

The television in Jory’s bedroom is on a sports channel recapping the day’s sporting news. He handed me the remote after we got out of the bath, and he went to pop us a bowl of popcorn. I went through the channel guide until I landed on this show. It was mellow and something that interests us both. Besides, keeping him in a competitive mindset can’t hurt.

Jory’s phone buzzes on the nightstand. He grabs it, studies the screen, types out a response, then tosses it on the bed beside him.

“That was Josh’s mom,” he says, sliding his arm behind me and pulling me into him. “They’re going to head back in about an hour.”

“I should go then, huh?”

Despite saying the words, I snuggle closer against him. I’m fully aware that it’s goofy to be doing this—because he’s only my fake boyfriend for a couple of weeks. Before I know it, he’ll be back in Nashville or wherever he lives. Hell, I don’t even really know where he actually resides. And once he’s gone, I’ll be here, doing what I do, back at square one.

It’s the last part that makes me not pull away, because I know what that looks like; I have lived experience. But this? This is new.

It’s being held and not just touched. There’s warmth from his body, but also … inside mine. Nothing about this feels performative or like I’m asking too much of him, and I’ve not considered—not even for a second—that he doesn’t want me here.

The only sad part? I’m sorry that it’s taken my whole life to know what this feels like.

Jory takes a long, deep breath as his fingertips brush up and down my back. “I mean, if you want to go, then that’s cool, but you don’t have to.”

If being curled up next to him didn’t feel this amazing, I’d pull away so he couldn’t feel my heart racing.

“I just thought it might be confusing for Gus for me to still be here,” I say, trying to find the right way to express what I’m thinking without making it sound like I want to leave.

“Did you forget how we met?” He laughs softly. I grin against his chest. “Besides, Deidre has had men over before, so it’s not a new concept for him. And you’re certainly not a random woman who he’d be confused to find in the kitchen in the morning.”

“So you’re saying that you want me to stay the night?”

He leans back until I look up and see his decadent smirk. “If you think I’m done with you tonight, then you’re completely misreading this situation.”

“I guess there’s a first time for everything.” I sit up and straddle him, blocking his view of anything other than me. “Tell me something about you that I don’t already know.”

His hands find my breasts, his fingers toying with my nipples. “What do you want to know?”

“I don’t know.” I shrug. “Where do you live normally? I mean, I know you play for the Royals in Nashville. I assume you live there during the rugby season. But is that where you live all the time? I don’t know how that works.”

“Yeah, I have an apartment in Nashville year-round. I’m not there all the time after the season ends in May or June until I have to report to the facilities in January. I go visit my mom and travel around. Sometimes I’ll hire a trainer in another city for a month or two and stay there. But, yes, I’ve been based in Nashville since I signed with the Royals.”

He traces the slope of my shoulder, watching his fingers as they move along my bare skin. His cock hardens beneath my pussy, growing longer and thicker. Feeling him react to me is powerful and watching him not give a shit that I know that is dizzying. Because men usually try to keep the upper hand—they want to tell you and remind you that you’re lucky you’re with them.

But with Jory? It’s the opposite. His actions—his words—show me that he believes he’s lucky to be with me.

And I want to hold on to this feeling for a little longer.

“That’s a decision I have to make,” he says, his voice soft.

I run my fingers through the back of his hair.

His gaze lifts to my face, his eyes shining with honesty. “I’m not sure what’s going to happen after I retire next year.”

I smile to reassure him because it’s obvious he’s been wrestling with this decision.

“Tennessee has been my home for several years,” he says. “I love it here. But Gus is in Nevada with Deidre, and I’ve already lost so many years with him …”

The weight of his words hangs in the air between us, and he searches my face as if I hold the answer.

“But I don’t want to live in Nevada,” he says as if I’m going to judge him negatively by his admission. “And I feel like the biggest asshole and the worst dad ever when I say that.”

“Hey.” I stop him with a look. “You are not an asshole, and you are an amazing dad. That kid loves you to death. And the way you look at him reminds me of the way my dad looked at me, and I’ll tell you a little secret: I was his favorite person in the world. So there’s that.”

Jory chuckles, cupping my face in his hands and kissing me. “Thank you for saying that.”

“It’s the truth.”

“What would you do if you were me?” he asks.

I run my hands down his pecs. “In some respects, it’s a no-brainer. I’d go to Nevada. I mean, Gus mentioned that he lost his ‘first dad,’ so he’s aware of what he’s missing. And like you said, you’ve missed so much of his life already, and you have the chance to fix that. It’s kind of perfect. Besides,” I say, gliding my hands over his shoulders, “he’s eleven. He’ll be eighteen in seven years, and then he’ll be off causing havoc.”

Jory grins.

“Seven years will be over before you know it,” I say, shrugging.

“That’s true, and he’ll be twelve before I retire. So that’s six years.” His chest rises and falls, and his features grow somber. “What if I’m really bad at it?”

“Bad at what?”

He swallows. “At being a dad. I’m sort of a glorified babysitter at this point, tapping in for the fun times of his life. Holidays, birthdays, vacations. What if I can’t handle the day-to-day stuff? Or what if I get there and fuck up what’s working? Deidre is a great mom, and she has her rules and her systems. I don’t even know if it’s right to insert myself in their lives like that.”

It takes me a minute to wrap my mind around what he’s saying. Because whatever I thought he was going to say, this wasn’t it.

He’s so selfless—the opposite of self-absorbed. Jory’s sole focus is on what’s best for Gus, and the way he considers Deidre is so honorable. What’s best for their routine? What long-term impact will his presence make in their lives?

None of it is about him, and that’s such a rare attribute to have these days. I’m actually stunned.

I study Jory, giving myself a moment to consider how to respond. These are big questions with a lot of consequences. This matters. I can’t just pop off with something witty and then ride his cock.

He truly cares about what I have to say.  

“I’m probably not the person you should be asking for advice,” I say. “My life is a patchwork of decisions, and I’m not sure any of them are all that solid.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I mean, I have a mortgage. That’s about the adultiest thing in my life.”

He grins.

“I don’t want a nine-to-five,” I say, repeating what I’ve told him before. “I don’t have a retirement plan. My health insurance plan barely fits the description of what insurance is supposed to be. If I get into a car accident or something, I’ll be bankrupt.”

Jory wraps his arms around me, weaving his fingers together at the small of my back.

“So, yeah. I don’t know if I’m the best person to offer advice,” I say. “I mean, my mission for the past two months was to find a partner to beat my ex-boyfriend in a pickleball tournament.”

I’ve never felt goofy about how I approach the game … until now.

I still want to win, and the idea of watching Jasper’s face as I crush him hangs on my mental vision board in a sterling silver frame. But it suddenly feels less important than before. Like I’m seeing it with someone else’s eyes.

He kisses my shoulder. “You are the Pickleball Princess.”

“You’re damn right I am.”

Our hands find each other, and our fingers lace together between us. My palms look so small in his giant, calloused ones.

I consider his questions, the ones I skirted around, and wonder how he could ever think he couldn’t handle being a dad every day. That he might mess up Gus’s routine with Deidre. And worse—why would he even consider that it wouldn’t be right to insert himself into their lives?

“Can I ask you something?” I ask.

He brings our joined hands to his mouth and presses his lips against them.

“What does Deidre say about you moving there? Have you asked her?” I ask.

“I mean, I haven’t directly asked her about it. She knows I’m retiring and that I want to be in Gus’s life—and she encourages that. Obviously.” He blows out a hasty breath. “But it’s not her decision to make. It’s my life, and I’m a big boy.”

I can’t resist. I push my weight onto his lap, circling my pussy against his cock. “That you are.” I smile at him. “To answer your question, I think you’d be an amazing everyday dad, and I think that if you don’t give it a try just because you think you’d mess it up, that you’re stealing more time from Gus. The kid adores you and deserves every minute you can give him. He’d be better for it. And so would you.”

“And you say you can’t give good advice.”

“Lucky for you, I have one more nugget of wisdom. Wanna hear it? I think you’re gonna love it.”

“Give it to me.”

“I think,” I say as my core begins to clench. “That you should come down my throat.”

His head hits the headboard. “Fucking hell, Markie.”

I giggle. “I told a friend that I’d report back about whether you were big enough to choke me or not. And, while my precursory investigation leans heavily toward a yes, I sadly haven’t done the research to confirm or deny it.”

“If you think I’m telling you not to suck my cock, you’re nuts.”

I lift onto my knees, cupping his face in my hands and tilting his head back. “Kiss me now because the next time your lips find mine, they’ll taste like your cum.”

A small gasp escapes my throat as he crashes his mouth against mine. He parts my lips with his tongue, and it meets mine in a wild tangle of lust.

My nails drag across his scalp, as his dig into my ass. My nipples bead so tightly that when he takes one between his teeth, I almost unravel.

I push him back gently. It takes every bit of self-control that I have to stop him from ravaging me, but I promised him a good time, and I’ll deliver.

His eyes are wide as I climb off his lap and pull the blankets back. His dick is erect—all ridges and veins, and ready to explode. I reach for his balls with one hand and wrap my fingers around the base of his shaft with the other.

He hisses as I grip him, flexing himself against my palm.

I lock my gaze with his and slowly lower my head to the tip.

“Motherfucker,” he groans as I lick a bead of precum off the head. His thighs tense, his body trembling from the contact.

My thighs are coated with my desire for him, and I ache for his touch. As if he knows this, he reaches down, tilting my backside so he can reach between my legs.

I moan against him as a finger slides between my folds. Having a part of him in my mouth and in my pussy at the same time is the best of both worlds.

The tip of his cock slips between my lips to the sound of his groan. I suck him in, stroking him from root to tip, rocking my hips against his hand as he finger fucks me.

“I love how wet you get,” he says, gathering my hair and pulling it back with his free hand. He tosses it over the far side of my shoulder. “I want to see my dick going down your throat.”

I pick up the pace, taking him in as far as I can. My spit drips down his length as my mouth begins to water. Our gazes connect again, and the need I see in his eyes—how much he wants me—makes me whimper.

“Take me deeper,” he says, adding another finger to my pussy. “You said you wanted to choke on it.”

Fuck.

My eyes cloud as I take him farther down my throat, almost to the point of gagging. He tenses beneath me. His eyes darken as he rubs my clit.

“That’s it.” He flexes into my mouth. “You can take a little more. I know you can.”

My hum isn’t a confirmation or a denial of my ability, but I try anyway. Watching his face as he grows closer to his climax, feeling his cock swell in my hand, and the sensation of his fingers playing me like a fucking instrument are a little too much. I’m on the verge of falling apart.

I squeeze my eyes shut, unable to process all the stimuli, and take him as deep as I can.

“There you go,” he says, hissing. “Get ready to swallow, babe.”

His words are the final nail in my coffin, and my body explodes around his hand.

He groans, the sound filling the room as every muscle in his body tightens. I start to shriek from the intensity of my own orgasm but am stopped by a shot of cum to the back of my throat.

The saltiness coats my tongue and the walls of my mouth as he sprays his load into me.

By the time he’s finished, and my body stops shaking, I’m beat. Deliriously, deliciously exhausted.

“Come here,” he says, pulling me onto his chest. He brushes my hair off my face and presses a kiss to the top of my head. “You’re pretty incredible, Markie. Do you know that?”

I try to smile, but that takes more effort than I can manage.

He holds me, with both arms wrapped around me, for the longest time. I lie still, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, contemplating how I’m memorizing this feeling more than I cataloged anything else that happened between us.

I’m not sure what to make of that or why it’s happening, but I’m pretty sure that if I think about it too much, it’ll scare the shit out of me.

So I don’t.  

I simply ride the endorphin high, wrapped in the sweetest, sexiest man I’ve ever known.

CHAPTER

TWENTY

Jory

“Hey, man,” I say, pulling Drake into a hug. “It’s good to see you.”

“Yeah, you, too. How have you been?”

“Not too damn bad.”

We sit across from each other at a table in the corner of Piper’s Pizza. By all accounts, it’s the best food in Sugar Creek. It’s also the only establishment besides Patsy’s, and that’s a bar. So I’m not quite sure how well that bodes for Piper’s.

“What’s going on with you?” I ask, accepting a menu from our server. We order drinks, and I wait for her to walk away before continuing. “How’s life been treating you?”

“I can’t complain. Gianna and I just closed on our house, so that’s exciting.”

I’ve known Drake for several years, and he’s always been a pretty chill guy. But there’s something different about him today. The worry lines on his face are gone, and the way he carries himself isn’t like the man who was always stressed as fuck about work, ratings, and listener counts.

He’s … happy.

“Here are your drinks,” Lisa says, placing them on the table. “Do you guys know what you want or do you need some time?”

“I’ll have a small, loaded pizza,” Drake says, not bothering to look at the menu.

Lisa laughs. “I could’ve guessed that.” She scribbles on her notepad. “What about you?”

I haven’t had time to look, but pizza is pizza. “Small pepperoni will work.”

“You’re Markie St. James’s new man, aren’t you?” Lisa asks, grinning.

Wow. I laugh. “How did you know that?”

“Let’s just say that there aren’t many men who look like you coming through town.” She winks, walking backward toward the counter. “I’ll get these in. Let me know if you need anything else in the meantime.”

I shake my head, turning back to Drake. “Is there some kind of town-wide text thread or something? Because these people know everything as soon as it happens.”

Drake chuckles. “You haven’t seen the half of it. I grew up in what I thought was a small town, but this is its own world.”

“Do you like it here?”

He folds his hands on the table and grins. “Yeah. Gianna’s happy here. This is where she wants to be, with her friends and her pig.”

“She has a pig?”

“Yeah, but she doesn’t know it yet.” He shrugs as if even he can’t believe the words coming from his mouth. “Mira got a pig.”

“Pigasso? Or something like that?”

“Yup. And Gianna has wanted one ever since. So I arranged for one to be delivered to the new house in a few weeks. A couple of Hartley’s guys are going to build a pen because, while I’m lots of things, a farmer I am not.” He laughs. “But this whole thing is a surprise, so don’t mention it to Markie because these women tell each other everything—and I mean everything.” He narrows his eyes. “Speaking of Markie, what’s going on there?”

I stretch my legs out to the side, trying to figure out where to start. There’s a clear answer to his question: we’re fake dating. But those words won’t quite reach my tongue.

Nothing about that woman feels fake. And when I try to place a label on how I feel about her, like she’s a woman in my bed that I don’t care about because the sex is hot, I want to crawl out of my skin. It’s like my brain knows what we are, but my body refuses to accept the definition.

I’m not quite sure what to do about that.

“It’s a long story,” I say, hoping that will suffice.

“Well, let’s start in a more interesting spot—to me, anyway. What happened with Jasper at Patsy’s? You earned yourself a fan club that night.”

“Really?” I ask, surprised. Jasper didn’t come across as a man with many friends, but to say I have a fan club for putting him in his place is surprising.

Drake chuckles. “Yeah.”

“What’s his deal, anyway?”

“He grew up with Gray and Brooks and Hart,” Drake says. “And when the guys found out that he cheated on Markie, they blacklisted him. Hart more than the others. Brooks and Gray would’ve just ignored him, probably. But Hartley got pissed and wrote him off. Won’t let him come to the ranch, told him in no uncertain terms to get fucked. And that was that.”

“Why? Don’t get me wrong, because I appreciate their loyalty to her, but what pissed Hartley off so much?”

Drake takes a drink, mulling over my question. He sets his glass down and leans forward against the table.

“Hartley’s point was that Jasper and Markie dated for a while, and Markie is such a good person. All the girls love her. She and Gianna share a lot of the same … energy.”

I chuckle at the description. I know just what he means.

“So, yeah. Hartley said that if Jasper could fuck her over like he did, he could turn his back on any of them. And he just refused to associate with him anymore.”

I like this Hartley guy.

“Since you seem to know all, what did Jasper do? I know he cheated on her, but how did that shake out?”

Drake sighs. “Trust me when I say that I know so much more about this than I want to.”

“I figured as much,” I say, grinning.

“Markie’s friend, Nettie, was at a nail salon or something. Believe it or not, but I try not to know this shit. Anyway, she was getting her nails done or whatever, and this girl came in and sat next to her. Jasper has a hat with a toolbox on the front—ironic, I know. But someone made it for him. It’s bright green, and you can’t miss it. And this girl who sits down by Nettie was wearing that hat.”

Oh shit.

Despite Jasper’s fuckup being beneficial to me, because now Markie is mine, the story feels like I’m watching it in real time. And picturing this scene … I know where this is headed. And if Jasper were here, I’d rip his fucking head off for fun.

Drake nods, validating what I’m thinking. “Nettie asks her about the hat. She said it belonged to the guy she’d been seeing, and he'd left it there the night before. You get the picture. It all went downhill from there.”

I imagine it did. What a fucking prick.

It’s no wonder Markie’s wary of men. And it’s no surprise she’s distrustful after hearing that bullshit.

“Men have consistently disappointed me over the past … decade, if we’re being honest. Come to think of it, besides my dad and grandpa, I’m not sure a man has ever not disappointed me.”

My pulse quickens as I consider what else she’s gone through.

When I hold her, I love how she melts into me. It’s like she’s relieved, like she’s been carrying around heavy armor and can finally set it down. And I’ve also noticed that she seems to value the post-sex moments, when we’re just lying in bed or the bath, as much as the sex itself.

My girl likes to come, but she also likes to cuddle. She likes to be comforted even though I don’t think she’d ever ask for it.

Now that I think about things, knowing her history with Jasper, a lot more about Markie makes sense.

The way her body molds to mine, the way her breathing evens out against my chest? She feels safe in my arms.

She can finally breathe.

“Fuck that guy,” I say, pulling myself back to the conversation with Drake. “Hey, how’s your dad?” I need to move this conversation along. “Is he doing any better?”

“Yeah and no. It’s dementia, so there’s really no getting better.”

I frown, wondering if I shouldn’t have brought it up. But we used to talk about his dad a lot, so I feel like it’d be rude not to ask.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

He sighs, frowning, too. “You know, that’s really just me being pissed about the whole situation and not necessarily true. He is on a few new medicines, and they’re helping some of his symptoms. His sundowning episodes have decreased, which is a huge help. Nighttime was when things were starting to get ugly, and Mom was really struggling, not sleeping—all that jazz.”

I recall Drake telling me about some of Ed’s episodes and how quickly he was deteriorating. We had a long talk about it one night over Pad Thai. It’s the only time I’ve ever seen him cry. Hearing him talk about his idol not remembering who he was or any of the memories they shared together was fucking heartbreaking.

“My sister Elodie moved in with our parents,” he says. “I volunteered to move them in with Gianna and me, but Mom thought it was best to keep Dad in the house he knew. And that makes sense. Plus, it helped my sister out. Everybody won.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

Lisa brings us plates and our pizzas, checks our drinks, then scoots off to answer the drive-thru window.

We sit quietly for a few minutes as we eat, and my mind drifts to Ed.

If there was ever a father I’d want to emulate, it’s Ed Bennett. The way Drake talks about him makes him out to be Superman. He was always there, supportive, and a source of advice for his son. Drake laughed once and said it was great growing up with a dad who knew everything, and he wasn’t sure how people made it with a father who didn’t. My own father wasn’t a walking source of knowledge, but he did teach me a lot in the eighteen years that we had together. I can only imagine what I could’ve learned from him if I’d had him as an adult.

One thing I always knew, without a doubt, was that he loved me unconditionally. It sounds like Markie knew that kind of love, too. Yet …  

“Come to think of it, besides my dad and grandpa, I’m not sure a man has ever not disappointed me.”

Her words haunt me today, tugging at my heart and my head. I hate that she feels that way. I hate that it’s such a part of her existence that she can speak it freely, like it’s an accepted part of her life.

There’s nothing I can do to erase the shitty behavior of other men, but I can validate her feelings. She’s right to expect more from men, especially ones she allows into her life, and she should expect to be adored and treated like the Pickleball Princess she is. Even if I’m only her fake boyfriend and our fake relationship has a timer ticking away with an end in sight, I’ll be damned if I don’t demonstrate to this amazing woman how a real man would treat her.

How I’d treat her if I got the chance. If the world worked differently.

“So I hear you’re playing in the pickleball tournament,” Drake says, taking another bite of his pizza. An olive falls off and lands on his plate. “That should be fun to watch.”

I laugh. “From a professional athlete’s perspective, Markie’s impressive. She’s exceptionally athletic, which surprised the hell out of me. I play with guys who get paid a lot of money to play rugby, and they don’t take it nearly as seriously as Markie takes pickleball.”

Drake laughs. “I believe that. I’ve heard about this tournament for months. Gianna’s made shirts for it. There are pompoms. It’s an event, I’m telling you. I hope you’re ready.”

I pluck a pepperoni off a slice and pop it into my mouth. Thank God Markie has friends who love her so much.

“Oh, I was going to ask you about something,” Drake says. “I saw a report last week that the Royals might be signing Graber Boyer from Lansing. Is there any truth to that?”

I nod. “Yeah. I think so. Brewer called me into his office just before I left Nashville and asked me if I’d be willing to mentor Boyer if they got him. They think he’ll be a good fit and hope he can step into my role after I’ve retired.”

My breath holds as I await the burst of anxiety that usually comes with talking about my retirement. Hearing the mechanics of my departure—what roster changes are coming, who they’re eyeing to replace me—makes it feel real. It’s not simply talking about my retirement. That feels so nonspecific.

But discussing the new winger from Michigan coming in to be the new me? That’s incredibly specific.

I blow out the breath when the surge of nervous energy doesn’t come. I’m not sure why, but it’s a relief.

“He has a great pedigree,” Drake says. “His stats all the way back to high school are impressive. And his dad was a pro in Australia years back.”

“I heard that. I watched bits and pieces of video Brewer had of Boyer, and he has a lot of potential, for sure.”

Drake takes another bite. “How does it feel to be walking away from the game? Are you excited?”

“Yeah,” I say. Mostly. “It’s time. That’s for sure. But there’s a lot of moving parts that I haven’t quite figured out.”

“Are you sticking around Nashville?”

And here comes the nerves. I set my pizza down and grab a napkin.

I’ve been thinking a lot about what Markie said about Gus only being a kid for six or seven more years. Of course, I knew that, but I’d never thought of it in that context.

“I don’t know,” I say. But what Markie said has resonated with me. Gus already lost one dad, his “first dad.” How could I not want to move closer to him? How could I not be there for him every day? I love that kid unconditionally, and I have to do whatever it takes to make sure that he knows that. “I’m leaning toward moving to Nevada to be close to Gus.”

“Makes sense. You’ll get to be there for those teen years.” Drake laughs. “I’ll pray he’s more like his mama and less like you.”

I laugh, too. “No shit. I’ll be walking into one of the most important parts of his life. Hope I don’t fuck him up.”

Drake studies me for a minute before sitting back in his seat. “My dad had this saying while we were growing up. It came out a lot when I was frustrated about football practice or when my sisters didn’t want to go to church.” He grins softly. “Presence over perfection. I heard it a million times over the years. He’d rather us show up and do our best than wait until we could do it perfectly.”

Presence over perfection. The phrase rolls around my brain.

“Gus doesn’t need a perfect dad, Jory. He just needs his dad.”

Lisa comes back to the table, engaging Drake in conversation about a customer from a day or two ago. While they chat, I use the time to carefully consider what Drake said.

When I was growing up, my dad worked his tail off. He often worked two jobs to keep the household running. He was a great father, and I looked forward to spending the random Saturday with him, even if that meant sitting in the garage while he worked on our car. That thing always needed a repair.

He wasn’t perfect, but that didn’t matter to me. I just wanted him. My dad.

Lisa places our checks on the table. Before I can ask Drake if he’s ready to go, my phone buzzes.

It’s Markie’s name on the screen, so a smile slips across my face.

“Hang on, Drake,” I say, unlocking my device.

Markie: If your goal was to make me so sore that I couldn’t stop thinking about your cock today, I’d like to let you know that you succeeded.

Now there’s a text that every man wants to receive in their lifetime.

Me: That wasn’t my goal, but I’m happy to hear you’re thinking about me. And/or my cock.

Markie: Do you know how weird it is to be at work, having a conversation about honeybees with a guy who could be my grandpa, and all I can think about is how it felt to be stretched open by you four times yesterday? face exhaling

Me: Keep it up and I’ll kidnap you from work, and you’ll get it again.

Markie: Don’t threaten me with a good time.

Me: What time are we meeting at the courts?

Markie: Six. We close at four during the week, but we have a finance meeting right after to go over utility bills and stuff.  

Me: Gus might need a math lesson after. winking face

Markie: face with open mouth Are you using your son to get me to your house?

Me: It’s worked so far. man shrugging, medium-light skin tone

Markie: Yeah, but that was before I knew that you were built to be ridden. You can just invite me over now. star-struck

Me: Consider this a standing invitation.

Markie: face blowing a kiss

I lock the screen and look up to see Drake smiling.

“I don’t need to ask who that was,” he says, chuckling.

“Is it that obvious?”

“There’s only one person who puts that look on my face. So yeah, pretty obvious.” He narrows his eyes like he’s trying to decide whether to share what’s on his mind or not. “Can I give you some advice?”

“Sure.”

Drake takes both checks and pulls out his wallet. “If you don’t watch yourself, you’re gonna be fucked in more ways than one.” He slides his credit card out and holds it with the checks. When he looks up at me, he’s smirking. “Trust me. When it comes to women like Gianna and Markie, they get under your skin before you even realize what’s happening. You just sort of look up one day and realize you’re in way over your head … and there’s nowhere else you want to be.”

He gets to his feet, heading toward the cash register to pay. I stay back, letting his words filter through my head.

This isn’t new information. It’s incredibly easy to see how Markie St. James could really fuck with your head.

“It’s complicated. I live here. You and your dad don’t. And since you’re both going back to your homes in a couple of months, it doesn’t really make any sense to be too serious. Do you know what I mean?”

I take a deep breath.

But she’s my fake girlfriend, and it’d behoove me to remember that.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-ONE

Markie

“This looks good, Brandy,” I say, closing the ledger that we’ve been working on for over an hour. “Thanks for staying and going through this with me. I have to send a report to the town board, and this helps a ton.”

“Not a problem.” She gathers her things. “You know I’ll always be here to help. I love this place.” She casts a warm smile my way. “Have a good night.”

“You, too.”

I sit back, taking my first real breath of the day, and close my eyes.

There have only been a few moments to steal for myself since I left my house early this morning. It’s been one thing after another, and every mini-catastrophe required my assistance to resolve. There are only a few days a year when I wish the market didn’t depend so heavily on me, and today was one of them.

My phone lights up on my desk. It buzzes a few times in quick succession. I pick it up, already knowing it’s the group chat.

Astrid: 5 days until Auddie’s wedding! I hope you’re all making progress on your to-do lists. Can I get an update when you have a sec?

Audrey: person cartwheeling, medium-light skin toneperson cartwheeling, medium-light skin toneperson cartwheeling, medium-light skin toneperson cartwheeling, medium-light skin toneperson cartwheeling, medium-light skin toneperson cartwheeling, medium-light skin toneperson cartwheeling, medium-light skin toneperson cartwheeling, medium-light skin toneperson cartwheeling, medium-light skin toneperson cartwheeling, medium-light skin tone

Audrey: I can’t thank you guys enough. Every time I think about how you all jumped in to help, I start crying.

Astrid: We’re shocked.

Audrey: I mean it. You took our simple barn wedding idea and ran with it. It’s going to be so special because of my friends.

Gianna: You’re welcome. Now let’s not get all emotional about this, or I’ll have to exit the chat.

Mira: rolling on the floor laughing

I giggle, too, and type out my contribution.

Me: My update—I found the pianist. He’s good-looking and extremely talented. winking face

Gianna: THIS IS THE FIRST I’M HEARING OF THIS?!

Gianna: My phone better be ringing in five seconds.

Me: rolling on the floor laughing Let’s just say that your predictions were all correct … and then some. tongue

Gianna: What can I say? It’s a gift.

Astrid: Can we focus here?

Me: My apologies.

Another text comes through, and I slide over to find a separate message from Gianna.

Gianna: I mean it. I want all the details.

Me: I’m happy to share. Call you in about ten when I leave work? Gotta run home to change clothes before practice.

Gianna: I hope that’s a dirty euphemism.

Me: Get a glass of wine and a cigarette, because you’re going to need both after our conversation. drooling face

Gianna: Dammit, Markie.

Me: rolling on the floor laughing

I pop back to the group chat.

Mira: I’ve coordinated with Cathy on snacks for everyone while we set up on Friday, and she’s handling the food for the reception.

Me: Nettie told me this morning that she still hadn’t confirmed a pickup time with Cookie’s Cakes. Cookie happened to be at the market this morning, and she said we can get the cake around 4:00 on Friday. I can totally grab that if you want me to.

Nettie: Thank you!! Love you! Can you take it to Mira’s? I already paid for it, by the way.

Audrey: I’m paying you back! What did it cost?

Nettie: It was free. Weird, right?

Audrey: Nettie … red heart I’ll figure it out and get you the money.

Me: Yeah, I’ll take it over there. Who’s making sure it gets to Audrey’s for the reception?

Mira: Cathy, Lolly, and some of Lolly’s friends. They’ve taken over everything food-related.

Astrid: I think your grandma and her friends just want to see Hartley in a tux.

I laugh, because Astrid is probably right. Lolly does have a bit of a crush on Hartley.

Mira: There is zero doubt. rolling on the floor laughing Oh, and Markie—she found out about Jory. So be expecting a call.

Me: woman facepalming, medium skin tone

Mira: I’d prepare to bring him to Sunday dinner.

Me: I’m not ready for this.

Mira: At least she didn’t make you get married to get your inheritance.

Me: face with rolling eyes OH, PLEASE. Don’t even act like that was an inconvenience.

Mira: It was still unethical.

Gianna: And you’re still married to a fucking cowboy. Nobody wants to hear you whine.

Audrey: face with open eyes and hand over mouth She didn’t mean that as harshly as it sounds, Mira.

Gianna: No, I did.

Astrid: Trying to get you all to cooperate is like trying to herd a bunch of caffeinated kittens.

I can imagine Astrid staring at the ceiling, daydreaming about strangling us. The thought makes me laugh.

I toss out my coffee from this morning and shut down my computer.

Gianna: I sent the DJ a playlist of songs that I want him to use for the reception … including “Shoop” for Hartley, Mira. rolling on the floor laughing

Mira: Someone better get some alcohol in him. rolling on the floor laughing

Gianna: I’ll volunteer Drake for that job.

I gather the rest of my things and toss them in my bag as I watch my friends go back and forth. The way they show up for each other, and me, fills my cold, black heart with an almost unsettling warmth. It’s scary, and it reminds me of how I feel when I’m with Jory.

A smile touches my lips immediately as what feels like a cozy blanket slips around me.

I can’t tell if he was sent by God or an agent of the devil. Because there’s no doubt that he’s the last unicorn, the man on par with my daddy and Gray and Brooks. He’s protective and kind, thoughtful and honorable. And the things he can do with his tongue …

But I can’t keep him. He might be a one-in-a-million, but he’s not mine. I just get to experience him for a few more weeks, and then he’ll gallop off into the sunset.

It’s a knife to the chest, the truth stealing away my breath as I imagine what it will feel like to say goodbye and never see him again. But that day is coming. And if I pretend it’s not, it’ll fuck me up even harder when it does.

I shut off the light and close the door, hitting my voicemail button as I walk out.

“Hey, honey, it’s Lolly. Just reminding you that your hind end better be at my house for Sunday dinner. And that stud that you’ve been seeing—which I had to hear about at the nursing home yesterday, and we will be discussing that at a later time—had best be with you. And so should his son because apparently, that’s a thing too. Dinner with them is not a suggestion, Markie. Love you. Bye.”

There’s no way of getting around that.

“I need to enjoy Jory while I have him,” I whisper as I step into the parking lot. “And warn him about my five-foot-nothing grandma.”

I grin. Or not.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-TWO

Markie

I flip on my turn signal and wait at the stop sign for a van to pass.

“Hello?” Miles says. He must know it’s me because he’s already distracted.

“Hey, Miles,” I say, at least pretending to sound like I want to talk to him. “How are ya?”

“What’s up?”

What’s up? I roll my eyes. “Okay, I’ll cut to the chase. For some reason, your rental house’s tax bill is being sent to my address. To you, not me, but you at my address.”

“Yeah,” he says, his voice distant. “I know.”

“Well, what do you want me to do with it?” I feel like I’m talking to a toddler. “Are you just paying it online anyway, or do you want me to mail it to you?”

He groans, as if this conversation is the most grating thing in his life—like I’m calling him to waste his time. A long sigh slips through the line as I turn toward the park.

With every second that passes, the more annoyed I get at my brother. It’s moments like this that I can’t believe he shares any DNA with Mira and me.

“Okay, what are you talking about?” he asks.

I huff a breath. “Your tax bill came to my house. What do you want me to do with it?”

“Just mail it to me.”  

If he would’ve said please, or at least pretended to be polite, I would’ve done it and moved on.

All of a sudden, I’m so over Miles. I’m good to him—way better than he is to our sister or me. He treats both of us like we exist to make his life easier, and I’m over it.

“Why did it get sent to me?” I ask. “Do you know?”

“Yeah. I had it sent to you. I didn’t want it going to the rental.”

“So … why didn’t you just have it sent to you?”

He blows out a breath. “Because it’s easier for you to run to the courthouse and pay for it than for me to get the fucking invoice and write a check. I’m not paying the online fees to process it virtually either. That’s bullshit. I don’t know why that hillbillly town can’t just modernize and do things like the rest of the world. But since you’re all fucked up over it, just mail it to me.”

“No. You wanna know what’s bullshit?” I ask, my blood pressure rising. “It’s you thinking that I somehow owe you my time. I do things for you because you’re my brother, and you can’t even say thanks. You can’t call to say hi. You just use me like your errand girl, and I’m tired of it, Miles.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. I’ll pay you back.”

He’ll pay me back? I have never asked for, or needed, Miles’s money. I’ve never even asked him to repay me for things that I’ve spent out of pocket for his house because we’re family. But I can see now that I might be the only one out of the two of us who thinks that way.

“This has nothing to do with money.” My jaw hangs open as I try to decide if he’s really this dense or if he’s just rude. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll put this in an envelope and send it to you. But you better call the treasurer or assessor or whoever it is and change the address.”

I pull into the park, spotting Jory’s vehicle, and slide in next to it. He grins from the fence as he sees me and comes my way. On any other occasion, I’d absorb that smile and wait for him to get to me, anticipating how he’ll pull me into his arms.

But I’m too pissed for that now.

“Why are you being such a bitch about this?” Miles asks.

I recoil in my seat. “Excuse me?”

“This isn’t a big deal.”

“For you. I …” I stop myself from trying to explain it. He either can’t understand or won’t, but neither is my problem. “I gotta go.”

“You called me, interrupted my time, and now you gotta go when I call you out on your bullshit?”

Oh, hell no. Jory opens my door, and I step out, avoiding his gaze and putting distance between us.

“You’re calling me out on my bullshit?” I ask, laughing angrily. “You need a reality check.” Jory steps beside me, his brows pinched together. “I’m at the courts. Change your address.”

“Oh, that’s what this is about, isn’t it?” Amusement colors his tone. “I’m sorry. Jory’s there beside you, huh? You’re trying to show off. I get it.”

My eyes widen as my pulse pounds so hard that I can feel it behind my eyes. “No, that’s not what’s happening. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Jory bristles as he studies my face, trying to put the pieces of what’s happening together.

“I heard that you managed to get him to be your partner,” he says, scoffing. “But, really, Markie? Did you have to do that?”

I should hang up. There’s no way this conversation will end well, and the longer it goes on, the yuckier it gets. Especially considering that the accusation in his tone is bait.

“You are so out of line right now,” I say, my voice shaking with fury.

“That’s my friend. I knew you’d fuck him and make a mess of it that way, but did you have to bring him into this juvenile pickleball bullshit? It’s embarrassing, Markie.”

I embarrass you? You asshole!

Tears cloud my eyes. What the actual fuck? There’s too much packed into one statement that I don’t even know where to begin to pick that apart.

All I know is that it hurts.

“I gotta go.” The words scoot around the lump of emotion in my throat. Then I end the call before he can say anything else.

I pop open my trunk and yank out my bag, avoiding eye contact with Jory.

“Who the fuck was that?” he asks, his tone sharp.

“It’s fine,” I say, sniffling and heading toward the court.

He stays a couple of steps behind me like he might have to pivot and head to his car to go commit an act of violence. And as much as I appreciate that, as much as I’d love to fold myself onto his lap, I can’t even look at him, or I’ll cry. And I’ll be damned if I let him see me cry.

“That’s not the question that I asked you,” he says.

“Well, that’s the answer you got.”

“Markie …”

I open the gate and toss my bag on the bench. I hate being obtuse with him, but he doesn’t need to be brought into this. He’s Miles’s friend, after all, and staying in his house. We’re having a sibling quarrel, and it doesn’t involve him.

It shouldn’t involve him.

Besides, I don’t think I can recount what my brother said to me. I can’t look Jory in the face and tell him that Miles said I’m embarrassing and messy, and he apparently thinks I just fuck anyone I come into contact with. How humiliating.  

I busy myself with my bag, digging through my stuff. Thankfully, it’s a bit of a clusterfuck, and sorting through the balls, towels, and empty water bottles gives me a moment to clear my head. Miles is just a dickhead. I’m here now, with Jory, and that’s all that matters.

Take a breath, Markie.

I do, and blow it out slowly, allowing my heartbeat to settle.

“Did you bring the paddle you took home the other day, or do you need one of mine?” I ask, digging through my stuff.

“I need you to answer my question.”

Steeling myself against my emotions, I turn toward him. The concern in his beautiful face is enough to break me, but I keep it together. Barely.

“Not now.” I hold his gaze long enough for him to see that I’m okay. Maybe then he’ll let it go. “Can we just play? I need to hit something hard.”

“And you didn’t even make a sexual joke. This must be bad.”

The laugh that erupts from my belly feels good, and the tension on my shoulders crumbles—at least a bit.

He pulls me into a hug before I can stop him, nestling his face against the top of my head.

My eyes flutter closed as I breathe him in, letting the scent of his cologne and soap and sweat recenter me. The mix is a magic balm. It’s almost impossible to feel like anything is too bad when Jory’s arms are around me.

“You’re okay?” he whispers.

“I’m fine. Better now.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” He kisses my forehead and then lets me go. “I have a problem, though.”

I pull back, looking up at him. A hundred thoughts zoom through my mind, everything from maybe Miles called him with similar accusations today, or something happened to Gus, or that he forgot his paddle. “What is it?”

He pinches the back of my shirt, tugging it away from my body, then letting it go. All the while, his eyes stay glued to mine.

“I’m not following you,” I say.

“What in the fuck are you doing with another man’s name on your back?”

“What?” I peer over my shoulder, confused. Did someone put a sticky note on my back when I wasn’t looking? But this shirt was clean and I just put it on and came straight there … “What are you talking about?”

He rolls his eyes and grabs his paddle from a backpack, then sets off for the other side of the court. “The back of your shirt says Landry.”

“Oh,” I say, sighing in relief. “I thought something was actually wrong, asshole.”

“It is actually wrong. You’re wearing some other guy’s shirt.”

I roll my eyes right back at him. He better be kidding because I’ll fight him today. 

“It’s not some other guy’s shirt,” I say, taking my spot behind the baseline. “It’s a shirt Mira bought me for Christmas a few years ago that just happens to have Lincoln Landry’s name on it.”

“Yeah. I can read.”

“Good,” I say, serving the ball.

His return lands at my feet. “I probably have a half a dozen shirts with my name on the back.”

I punch the ball down the line as I realize what’s happening. He might be playing around, because there’s no way he can take this seriously, but there is an element of truth to it.

Jory’s jealous.

My core begins to burn as I internalize this fact. Jealousy looks so hot on him.

I lunge to my left side just in time to tap the ball across the net. “If it bothers you so much, I’ll order something online tonight.”

“No need for that,” he says, as he volleys it back. “You can keep the one I fuck you in when we get home.”

I stop moving in the middle of the court as the ball bounces in front of me. He follows through the motion, moving toward the kitchen with a smirk, feeding the fire burning between my legs.

I don’t even care that he said home, like a place we go together. It registers in the back of my brain, and I’m sure I’ll overthink that later, but there are other, more pressing matters at hand.

“Got a problem?” he asks, that smirk digging deeper into his cheek.

“You could say that.”

We meet at the net, separated only by the black mesh and white tape, watching each other closely.

This is usually my favorite place in the world in the summer. It’s where I feel most alive, most energized. I’m the most myself with a paddle in my hand, under the blazing sun, with a deadline on the horizon.

But today, this isn’t where I want to be. This isn’t what I need.

As I search his handsome face—totally unguarded and honest—I realize what I have to do. We might be fake dating for the public, but this thing between us feels very real. The fact that it’s temporary really doesn’t matter. I want to honor whatever this is while it’s here and, with that, comes honesty from me, too. Even when it hurts.

“That was Miles on the phone,” I say, my voice fairly even despite the emotion gathering in my throat again.

The humor disappears from Jory’s face.

“I don’t want to talk about what he said,” I say. “And I’d appreciate it if you’d just let it be. But I don’t want you to think I’m hiding things from you, because I’m not.”

“Thank you for telling me.”

I shrug. “Thank you for caring.”

“It’s not a struggle to care about you, babe.” He reaches for my hand. “Let’s call it a day and go home.”

My hand slides into Jory’s without a second thought, because strangely, what I need right now is to go home with him.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-THREE

Jory

Rain pelts the windows, coming down in angled sheets. Thunder rips through the air as lightning cracks across the sky. Gus stands at the living room window watching Mother Nature like she’s putting on a show just for him.

“I’ve never seen it do this before,” he says in awe. “The sky looks like puke. It’s green.” He looks at me over his shoulder. “How long can it do this?”

“I’ve seen it rain for a week straight.” I press the first few notes of the bridal chorus on the small keyboard I found at a thrift store beside Miller’s Market today. It’s been a few years since I played anything, but it’s coming back to me like riding a bike. “Pretty cool, huh?”

“Yeah.” He turns back to the window. “I saw it rain a couple of times when we visited Papa Ernie in Ohio, but it wasn’t like this.”

My fingers come to a rest against the keys. “Did you talk to your mom today?”

He nods.

Deidre texted me yesterday and said she was flying to Ohio because her dad was sick. She didn’t want to worry Gus but wanted me to know what was happening. I woke up to another message this morning. They’d ruled out a heart attack, which was her biggest concern, and she thought it was going to be okay. I haven’t brought it up to Gus, as she requested, but I’m not sure if she’s said anything to him or not.

“What’s she been up to?” I ask, trying to prod some information out of him to see what he knows.

“Nothing. We didn’t talk long because she was gonna take a nap. She just wanted to make sure I was doing that math packet.” He snorts. “I assured her that you were taking my math homework very seriously.”

I grin, shaking my head, and go back to the keyboard.

“We should come back here next summer,” he says, flopping into the recliner by the fireplace. “Don’t ya think?”

“Sure.”

“That’s not a very convincing sure, Dad.”

I chuckle, wishing he wasn’t quite old enough to read me so well. He wasn’t this good at it even last year.

My gaze doesn’t lift, and I keep focused on working out the right notes for Audrey’s wedding. There’s not a good way to explain to an eleven-year-old that next year won’t look anything like this year. That, by next year, his friends here will have moved on and that he’ll have new friends and routines and maybe even sports in Nevada.

Markie will have forgotten about us. 

And I’ll be across the country with Gus. 

I draw in a breath, feeling the air squeeze its way into my lungs. Thinking about how things might look next year just reminds me of the changes headed my way, and that one of them is walking away alone from this special couple of months in Sugar Creek.

I’ve been fixated on what happens when I leave the Royals next year. I never imagined that I’d be dealing with that theme much sooner. This small town was supposed to be a quiet stopover, a place for Gus and me to get to know each other. It wasn’t intended to be … this.

“Well, Gus, I think coming back here would be great, but I’m just not sure it’ll be feasible.” I shrug. “You never know, though.”

“You need to think about it. Why wouldn’t we come back? We know people here. We can fish—or I can. You probably suck at it.”

I fire him a look that makes him laugh.

“And I can walk all around town with my friends,” he says. “I could never do that back home. I could get a bike next time, and it’d be fun.” He squirms in his seat. “You like it here, too, yeah? I mean, you have Markie here. You’re welcome for that, by the way.”

“I’m not sure that has anything to do with you.”

“Oh, come on. I baited the hook and cast the line. You barely managed to reel her in.”

My laughter is quick and easy this time. “Fishing references, huh?”

“I’m an angler. It’s in my blood.”

We turn toward the entryway as the door creaks open. The rain grows louder before the click of the door closes. Markie comes around the corner with a pizza and a tote bag.

“You’re soaked,” Gus says.

Markie’s eyes find mine, and I smirk, making her blush.

“It’s pretty wet out there,” she says, shaking her head and placing the pizza on the table. “Are you hungry for some pizza, Gus?”

“Yup.”

He hops to his feet and races into the kitchen for a plate, passing Markie on her way to me.

I pout as she grows closer. “You didn’t ask me if I’m hungry.”

“Because you aren’t eating pizza if I have any say in it,” she says, nipping my protruding lip with her teeth.

I growl, making her giggle. “Keep it up …”

“Where’d you get that?” she asks, pointing at the keyboard on my lap.

“I believe it’s called Goode’s or something. It’s next to Miller’s. I didn’t even know it was there until I drove around the parking lot today and saw it tucked back in the trees.” 

She makes her way back to the kitchen. “I didn’t even realize that place was still open. Do you want some pizza?”

“Yeah, I’m coming.”

I move the keyboard to the floor and join Gus and Markie at the pizza boxes. We pile a few slices on the paper plates Gus grabbed from the cabinet, then grab our drinks and return to the living room. It’s not something I let Gus do all the time, but every now and then, eating in front of the television won’t hurt him.

I hope.

Markie clears her throat. “So, this might seem a little weird, but I have to ask.” She grimaces. “Will you boys go with me to Lolly’s for dinner on Sunday?” She takes a bite. “I go to my grandma’s almost every Sunday unless she’s out gallivanting around the country with her girlfriends. But she left me a voicemail this afternoon that she heard from someone that you exist,” she says, looking at me. “And she expects you to show up with me this week.”

“And me?” Gus asks, his eyes bright.

“Of course, and you. Are you kidding me?”

“I mean, I figured …” he says like he’s the star of the show everywhere he goes. He kind of is, which makes my heart stutter as pride washes through me. This kid.

Markie laughs.

I put my pizza on the plate and rest it against my leg. Meeting a woman’s family has never ranked high on my to-do list, and I’ve avoided almost every interaction possible. I have a kid with Deidre, and I met her parents once last summer.

A part of me, the logical one, wants to say no. The more embedded that I get in Markie’s life, the harder it’s going to be to leave. I have to leave—that’s not a choice—and her life is here. But the other part of me, the one growing more attracted to this woman every single day, wants to say yes.

The look in her eye is the tiebreaker.

“Of course, we’ll go,” I say, rubbing her shoulder.

She tucks her legs beneath her and curls up beside me. “Great. Thanks. It’ll make my life a lot easier.” 

We eat quietly, Gus asking random questions about the weather here and there. I don’t know if he thinks we’re meteorologists or what, but I have no clue what makes thunder. I do, however, love having the two of them here with me. 

Markie takes out her phone and studies the screen, her brows pulled together. It reminds me of how she looked earlier at the park when she got off the phone with Miles. I still don’t know what that shit was all about, and she asked me not to press, but something tells me she’s reading a text from him and that it’s in the same vein as whatever they discussed this afternoon. I was hopeful she’d talk to me when we got back to the house, but Gus was wild and gave us no privacy. And then she had to go to Mira’s about Audrey’s wedding for a while.

This is the first time I’m seeing her since then. 

She glances up at me and mouths, “Miles,” before turning back to her phone with a clenched jaw.

I want to rip the phone out of her hand and read what he’s saying to her. But that’s a massive overstep and an invasion of her privacy, no matter what my intentions are. So, I place a hand on her thigh to let her know she’s not alone. And maybe to remind her that I could break his face if required. Sure, Miles is one of my best friends, but even best friends don’t just get a pass for being an asshole.

“Do you guys want to watch a movie? There’s nothing else to do since it’s raining,” she says. 

“Have you ever seen The Goonies?” Gus asks. “The guys were talking about it at the park the other day, and I’ve never seen it.”

Markie gasps, tossing her phone beside her. “You’ve never seen The Goonies? How is that possible?” 

“I have failed you, my boy.” I reach for the remote. “My apologies.” 

I find the movie on a streaming service, and the three of us settle in. 

I’ve seen The Goonies a million times over the years. It was one of my favorites as a kid. I always thought it would be so cool to go on an adventure like that with my friends.

As Markie’s breathing levels beside me with her head on my shoulder, and Gus’s fidgeting stops as he becomes engrossed in the plot, I learn something that I’d never considered before, but it's glaringly obvious now.

It was never about the adventure or the gold, because they have the treasure from the start.

They had each other.

Kinda like I do right now.

I sigh, stroking Markie’s shoulder.

You were right, Drake. I’m fucked.  

“I’ve never slept that well a day in my life, let alone on the floor,” I say, pressing a kiss to the top of Markie’s head. Gus is sprawled beside the coffee table, where he moved about halfway through the movie, sleeping so soundly he’s snoring. “If I even tried to lie on the floor, I wouldn’t be able to get up in the morning.”

“He looks so peaceful.” Markie looks up at me. “Should you carry him to bed?”

I consider it for about half a second. “Well, if I try, he’ll wake up, and then I’ll never get time alone with you tonight. So, the answer is no.” I stand, pulling Markie to her feet behind me. “I am going to grab a blanket and cover him, though.” Leaning close, just in case Gus is faking sleep, I whisper in her ear. “Go ahead into my room and be naked when I get there.”  

She grins mischievously and makes a beeline for the doorway.

I take a blanket and pillow from Gus’s bed and manage to tuck him in without moving him too much. The way his hair falls onto his forehead makes him look so much younger, and I can’t help but imagine what he looked like as a toddler. I have the pictures Deidre gave me, but Gus is so animated in real life that it’s pretty much the same. 

Last summer, I felt nervous more than anything else at the thought of having him for eight weeks by myself. It was fun, and we had a good time, especially at the end when we finally found our rhythm, but this year has been a blast. I’m pretty certain that because of how often we talked, messaged, and FaceTimed throughout the year, it was easier to find our groove right away. We just clicked.

Even when we added Markie to the mix.

I stare at the closed door leading to my room and wonder what it feels like to live this way all the time. Me and Markie, Gus, and maybe other kids—our children together. What would that dynamic look like?

I allow myself to think about that, to feel the way the image seems to take over. How it starts low in my stomach and spreads throughout my body until I think I can’t possibly hold it anymore.

It. The idea of us as a family.

It’s the messiest sensation I’ve ever experienced. An ache, yet stillness. Constriction and freedom. An absolute peacefulness that comes with a striking burst of fear.

But none of that matters because it can’t happen. I can’t stay or ask her to go. My life is elsewhere, and hers is here, and that’s the unfortunate reality I’m living in.

I came here to learn to be a father, and I’ve accidentally found what could’ve been my home.

Life’s a bitch sometimes.

I whisper a prayer over my son, then head for the bedroom.

“That took long enough,” Markie says as I close the door behind me. I look up to find her on the bed just as I requested—without a stitch of clothing on her delectable body. She’s lying on her side facing me, her heavy tits hanging perfectly from her chest.

“I’m going to start giving you requests more often.”

“Ask, and you shall receive,” she says, giggling.

You better mean that. I hide a grin, heading to my closet and pausing only to turn on the television. She gives me a curious look as I walk by her.

“I checked my email, and we got the brackets for the tournament,” she says. “They’re starting the games on Thursday this year. Something about there being a parking conflict with a church ice cream social at the park on Sunday.”  

“When do we play?”

“Thursday at two thirty. It should be fine, right? I mean, we’ve practiced a lot, and our chemistry is great.” She sighs. “I really wanted to get in one or two doubles matches before then. But with the wedding prep tomorrow, and then the wedding Saturday, and then Lolly’s on Sunday, that only leaves three days next week, and I know the courts will be packed.”

I slide my shirt and shorts off, tossing them in the laundry basket by the closet door. “We’re going to be fine.”

She groans. “I hope so.”

I rifle through a stack of T-shirts until I find what I’m looking for. “You worry too much.”

“Yeah, probably.”

I come back into the room and toss the shirt on the bed beside her. “Put that on.”

She picks it up, confused. “What is it?”

I hop onto the bed and get situated at the headboard. “It’s a practice shirt.”

“Are you serious?” she asks, not sure whether to laugh or not.

“Put. It. On.” I palm my dick and stroke it, watching her expectantly. “You’re wasting time.”

“Whatever.” She slides the deep purple cotton over her head. It’s too big and hangs off her narrow frame like a dress. It’s adorable. “Happy now?”

“I’ll be happy when you’re riding my cock, and I’m looking at my name above your ass while you’re coming.”

“Feeling desperate, Mr. Plath?”

Absofuckinglutely.

“Come on,” I say, taking her hand. “I need to be inside you.”

“What are you thinking? Reverse cowgirl? I feel like that’s the vision.”

I pull her face to mine and kiss her roughly. “You’re a fast learner.”

She sighs, but I can tell she’s amused, as she gathers the fabric at her waist and straddles me backwards. Hovering over me, her round ass is perfectly placed for my palms.

“It’s going to go so deep this way,” she says, wrapping her hand around my cock. “This is going to feel so good.”

“I know.”

She moans as she sinks down on me inch by inch. I hiss, shivering from the tightness of her pussy and how hot and ready she is for me.

“Oh, my gosh,” she groans, taking me in as far as she can. Her head falls back, the ends of her hair dusting against my wrists as I squeeze her ass cheeks. “This is amazing.”

I flex my hips, craving the friction. “Let’s go, babe. Ride this dick.”

She begins to move, grinding back and forth, rolling her hips in slow circles.

I gather the hem of the shirt and hold it at her waist. The shape of her body is such a turn-on. Full hips. Rounded ass. The wicked curve of her waist.

And sitting just above that, my fucking name.

“You have no idea how sexy it is to see you like this with Plath printed on your back.” I hiss again, rocking into her. “You’re lucky I didn’t rip that Landry shirt off you today.”

She changes her strategy and begins bouncing up and down, her ass jiggling.

“That really bothered you, didn’t it?” she asks, her giggle turning into a moan.

“More than you know.” I reach around her, massaging her tits, feeling the weight of them in my hands. “You’re so fucking sexy, Markie. I could come right now.”

She slows, and the shift in tempo is excruciating. She peeks over her shoulder, flashing me the most devious smile. “Not yet.”

I growl as she leans forward, gripping my shins with both hands. From this angle, I can see and feel everything.

The pink of her pussy. The way her body grips my cock as she slides it in and out of her. The way her tits brush against my legs with each movement.

Fuck. Me.

“Do you feel how hard you are?” she asks, sucking in a breath. “I feel your cock swelling. You want to come, don’t you?”

I smack her ass. The crack of my palm breaks through the room, mixing with her moan. “Hey, don’t get too loud.”

“Fuck,” she whispers. “I forgot.”

“If you forget again, I’ll put your face in the pillows and fuck you from behind.”

She laughs. “Oh, darn. I’d hate that so much.” She widens her knees, changing the angle, and working me faster and deeper.

I’m coated in her juices as she grinds on me. Blood rushes to my head as an orgasm builds, my brain going fuzzy as I watch her little cunt practically beg for my cum.

“Oh,” she moans, pounding her pussy down the length of my shaft. “Jory!”

“Shh.” I half growl, half groan. “I don’t want to stop you when you’re this close, but you gotta be quiet.”

“I’ll try!” She gasps, her breath shaking as she struggles to contain herself. “I can’t …”

I hear the panic in her voice. I’ve heard it before. This is the precipice of her orgasm and I know my girl. She’s gonna get loud.

I sit up, wrapping my arms around her and guiding her back onto my chest.

She pants, her eyes starting to roll, as I play with her nipples.

“You can’t scream, remember?” I whisper in her ear, chuckling. “Come on. You gotta behave.”

She turns her head so she can look me in the eye with a coy grin on her lips. “I don’t think I can.”

I pull out of her, tossing her onto the bed beside me. She yelps at the sudden movement, the sound breaking into a giggle.

“Face down,” I say, sliding an arm around her middle. “Ass up.”

She folds her body, bringing a pillow to her face as I line the head of my cock up with her opening.

“Don’t. Scream,” I say through clenched teeth just before I hammer into her.

She screams. Thankfully, the pillow deadens most of it.

“I’m going to come in about five fucking seconds,” I say as I drive my cock into her soaked flesh.

Her muscles quiver around me and her body begins to shake. I flex against her and explode while buried all the way in.

“Fucking hell, Markie,” I groan, trembling with the force of my orgasm.

The muffled sounds of her own climax hitting her make mine last even longer.

Finally, when I’m empty and she’s practically collapsed, held up only by my forearm beneath her, I slowly slide out of her. Then I guide her gently to the bed and lie beside her.

She takes a moment to catch her breath, then giggles. “You just fucked up.”

I drag her across the mattress until her back is flat against my chest.

“If that’s what I get for wearing a Landry shirt, consider that my new uniform,” she says, all too pleased with herself.

I kiss the top of her head. “I wouldn’t. Next time, I’ll tie your ass up. Ball gag you, maybe.”

“Promise?”

I fall back on the bed and shake my head. “There’s no winning with you.”

“Oh, the state of my thighs would beg to differ.”

I chuckle as she scoots over and lays her head on my chest.  

We need to get up and take a shower, and I probably need to pick Gus up off the living room floor. But there’s something wonderful about lying here with her in my arms, in the quiet house, with the rain starting up again outside.

This is the shit movies are made about. It’s a scene I’ve watched countless times and didn’t think was real.

But it is real. She’s real.

And she’s wearing my shirt and everything about this moment feels more real than anything I’ve ever experienced.

It feels like … more.

“One day, you’ll find it—that missing part of your life that you never knew existed. Your life will be filled with something more beautiful and special than you could ever dream, and that’s what I want for you. It’s all I’ve ever wanted for you.”

This is it. This is what she was describing—the thing I never really thought I’d find. But I did. Markie is more. Still, what I said to Gus stands. Our lives don’t intersect outside of Sugar Creek.

Isn’t there any way to make her mine?

CHAPTER

TWENTY-FOUR

Jory

“Dad!” Gus yells, racing around the corner and sliding on his socks like he’s in a nineties romcom. He comes to a stop by grabbing the doorframe to my bedroom. “Hey. Dad.”

“Hey. Gus.”

He lifts a brow the way I do to him when I think he’s mocking me. “My friends are here, and they’re going to ride bikes by Sugar Creek behind Miller’s. Ricky … who you don’t know, but he’s been friends with Josh since they were born, and I think they’re cousins, but everyone here seems to be cousins or whatever. Anyway, Ricky has an extra bike that was his brother’s, but his brother is in college now and doesn’t ride it, and Ricky said he won’t care if I use it because he doesn’t think his brother even remembers that he has it⁠—”

“Gus. Slow down, kid. Breathe.”

He gasps a breath and laughs. “So, can I go? Please?”

I put the socks into the drawer and then peer out the window. The sky is clear with marshmallow-like clouds floating across it.

“Do you have your phone?” I ask.

“Yes. Of course. I know the rules.”

“Then, fine. You can go. But be smart and stay away from the water.”

“Okay.”

“And if I call⁠—”

“I gotta answer!” he says, already out of sight. “I know! Thanks, Dad! Love you!”

The door slams, effectively ending our conversation.

I stare at the spot he just left, thinking we need to talk about patience and respect. Yet a smile touches my lips. The kid’s so new here and yet he’s being asked to do things with other kids every day. Small-town living is good for a little boy. Let him live.

The quickness of my answer jolts me when I think about it because this was the fastest response I’ve ever given him when it comes to things like this. There was a slight hesitation, mostly because he’ll be around water, but I gave him my approval in record speed. Is that because I’m more confident in myself or I trust him more? I don’t have a clue.

I sit on the edge of the bed and grab my phone, checking it for messages from Markie. She’s been at Audrey’s all day, helping prep for the wedding tomorrow. The updates have been fairly steady, most of them raising suspicions that they’re doing more gossiping and goofing around than putting up floral displays and balloon arches. But I can see her joy in being with her friends in the words she sends. That’s really all that matters. And while I love this for her, I selfishly hate it for me.

Because the happier she is with them, the less likely she’d consider leaving them—leaving Sugar Creek, for me.

Markie: You know how they say that if a couple can build a house together that they’re able to work through anything?

My fingers fly over the keys.

Me: I’ve heard that.

Markie: I’m adding to that wisdom. If two friends can decorate a wedding venue together, they’ll stay friends forever. rolling on the floor laughing

Me: Why? What’s going on?

Markie: Astrid is … well, you know her. She’s Type A+++++++++++++++. And Gianna is about a Type C- on a good day. Things here are getting froggy. rolling on the floor laughing They’re currently arguing whether bows have directions.

Me: I don’t think they do. Or is that wrong?

Markie: Look, I see both sides but stayed out of it. And I almost slipped into the middle of how you center something but caught myself just in time. Gianna is satisfied with “eyeball center” and Astrid almost had a stroke.

Me: For what it’s worth, eyeball center works most of the time.

Markie: Yeah, unless you’re Astrid and carry a tape measure in your purse.

Markie: Astrid just said, “We’re getting off schedule.” Then Gianna fucked up by saying that she didn’t know we had one. I’m now being summoned to a scheduled meeting. Wish me luck.

Me: But aren’t you guys about done?

Markie: I wish. There’s only one meeting I’d like to schedule, and it’s with you, in a locked room with closed blinds and an empty house and kitchen table. Again. drooling face

Me: What can I say? I’m a dream maker. winking face

Markie: I challenge you to prove that when I get out of here.

Me: saluting face Challenge accepted.

I consider putting an expiration date on my offer to hurry her home, but I’m afraid she’ll actually do that. She needs to be there.

My phone rings, and Miles’s name pops up. The sight of those five letters constricts my chest. I shouldn’t answer.

I don’t have enough information to not answer. Markie didn’t share what her brother said to her, and I’ve never explicitly asked. But, damn, I want to know.

“Oh, fuck it.” I accept the call. “Hey.”

My knee bounces like it does while I’m waiting outside Brewer’s office at the Royals facility. Whatever the reason for the conversation, it’ll probably end up fine. But there’s always an off chance that it doesn’t go well, and my body likes to be primed to fight or fly, I guess.

“Hey,” Miles says. “What’s going on over there?”

His voice holds steady, and I can’t glean anything out of his tone.

“Not much,” I say, getting to my feet. “Just put some laundry away. Gus is hanging out with friends.” I could leave it there, but what the hell. “Waiting on Markie to get home from Audrey’s.”

Miles hums, and I’m not sure what to make of that. He could just be distracted like usual, or just not give a shit. That would be totally Miles coded. Or he may be wondering if I said her name for a reason—perhaps to give him an opening to say what’s on his mind.

There’s a long pause, rippling with anticipation. I stay silent and wait him out because, at the end of the day, his excuse, if he has one, is inconsequential to me. He upset her, and that’s all I need to know. I just hope he’s smart enough to know that.

“Have you been spending much time with her?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

“I figured,” he says, sighing. “Listen, Jory, about that … I tried to warn you.”

I bite my tongue, trying to be fair and at least hear him out. Even if my mind is made up and he’s an arrogant asshole—I knew this prior to his conversation with Markie—and there’s zero doubt in my mind that he’s responsible for whatever hostility transpired between them, he is my friend … at least for now. The right thing to do is to let him say his piece and then react.

That way, he’ll know that I’m reacting to him and not to anything she said. I’ll be damned if he blames her. He can get pissed at me.

“Markie’s a pistol,” he says. “I tried to tell you that before she had a chance to wrap you up in her nonsense.”

“In her nonsense? I’m not following you, Miles.”

“The pickleball bullshit. She told me you were her partner, and I can only imagine what stunts she pulled to get you to do that.”

I flinch, not just at his words, but at his tone, too. Miles is abrasive and pretty cold as a human being. But, for some reason, I expected his relationship with his family to be different. More … warm. Even though Markie seemed to share a lot of my sentiments about her brother, I still imagined that he had a soft spot for her and Mira.

“Actually,” I say, pacing around the room. “I volunteered, and she turned me down a few times.”

“Right.”

“Really,” I say, choosing my words carefully. “She’s a lot of fun and one hell of a competitor.”

He scoffs, and the sound pisses me off. “She said you were fucking, so cut the shit, Plath.”

“Excuse me?” My feet stop moving. “You wanna rephrase that?”

“No.”

My blood heats, scalding my veins as it races its way around my body. Who the fuck does Miles think he is? And what makes him think that I’m the guy who’s going to put up with it?

“That would be a mistake,” I say, narrowing my eyes.

I have to walk a fine line. If he were anyone else, I’d tell him to screw off. But he’s Markie’s brother and will be her brother whether she and I are fucking or not.

My hand balls into a fist at the idea of oversimplifying what this is between us to just fucking. That doesn’t come close to describing our relationship. Hearing it reduced to that—to something cheap and disposable—is an insult. Especially coming from her brother who, at the very least, should have her back. It ignites something ugly inside me.

“You do know that she does this, right?” he asks. “She’s a little attention whore who⁠—”

“Stop.” The room becomes eerily quiet as my hand curls into a fist so tight that my nails bite into my skin. “I’d stop talking if I were you.”

He chuckles. “She doesn’t need you to defend her.”

“Do you realize that you’re talking about your sister?” I ask. “Forget the way that I feel about her. She’s your family, Miles. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“There’s nothing wrong with me aside from the fact that I have two sisters who can’t just move on with their damn lives and stop trying to pretend like we’re some big happy family. I mean, I probably wouldn’t even recognize them if I saw them on the street.”

What the actual fuck?

“I’m sorry,” I say, rubbing my temple. “Didn’t you have her leave the house keys and utility information for me?”  

The line is silent.

“And didn’t you have her bring me the key to the mechanical room?” I ask. “And when the guy from the water department came around to read the meter, he said Markie had called and asked them to do that.”

He sighs. “What’s your point?”

“The fact that you can’t see my point and have to ask for an explanation says it all.”

Markie has jumped through a number of hoops for Miles since I’ve been in town. And she’s done every one of them without muttering a cross word. She’s never complained or failed to follow through. She’s been … Markie.

The woman spending her Friday night decorating a barn for her friend’s wedding. Who has lunch with her grandma after church on Sundays. Everyone describes Markie the same way—fun, loyal, and responsible.

She answers her brother’s calls when she shouldn’t.

When she said every man aside from her dad and grandfather has let her down, she really meant that shit.

“You know,” I say, pacing again. “Streets run both ways. Why don’t you just stop calling your sisters? Don’t take their calls? Or is there a reason you keep the line of communication open?”

I shake my head angrily. Now that I think about it, Markie's first comment about Miles makes even more sense. He uses them. He doesn’t give a shit about the relationship—or would know them if he passed them on the street—yet he’s okay to utilize their “family status” for whatever he feels is beneath him.

It’s no wonder Miles keeps this place as a rental as it’s never any skin off his nose to keep it running. His sisters do that for him for free.

“You keep the lines of communication open because you use them when it’s convenient for you, right?” I ask, lobbying my accusation his way with no fucks given.

“You just met Markie a month ago. Don’t talk to me like you know anything about our relationship.”

“Ditto, motherfucker.”

“Oh, so that’s where we are now? We’re at motherfucker?” he asks with equal parts surprise and fury. “Okay. Okay, good to know.”

“You’ve been one of my closest friends for years, and I’d hate to lose that, but who the fuck are you, man? Who is this guy who uses his sisters and talks about them like they’re trash? Because this isn’t the guy I met in college. You’re not the guy who used to float me cash so I could buy food and gas for the week.” I sigh. “I don’t know this person, Miles. And if you’ve always been this person, I guess I never really knew you at all.”

He exhales loudly into the phone. “Yeah, I knew she’d get in your ear. She’d act like I’m so mean and such a terrible person, so you’d have sympathy for her.” He chuckles. “If you’re that easily fooled by a piece of pussy, then good for you.”

He didn’t …

“That’s your sister, you piece of shit. Listen to how you’re talking about her. I’ll ask you again. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Rage floods my body as every muscle locks. My jaw aches from clenching my teeth, and I’m ready to put my fist through the phone and take Miles by the throat.

I’ve always thought I was seeing the real Miles, while his family was seeing the edited version. Turns out that I had it backward. Somehow, the egotistical asshole that I knew was the best version of him, and his family got the true man.

And that breaks my fucking heart.

“I’ll tell you what,” I say, rolling my head back and then side to side in a futile attempt at loosening the tension held there. “You’re a grown-ass man who can make his own choices. But as someone who used to respect you, this is bad, Miles. I don’t know what the hell happened to you, but you need to check yourself.”

“You need to stay out of my family’s business.”

I recoil at the suggestion—at the insinuation that I’m not her family.

It stops me in my tracks like a bucket of ice water over my head. And every cell in my body rejects that conclusion.

Technically, Miles is right. He’s her brother, and I’m the guy who showed up a month ago. Technically, he wins.   

But family is more than biology. It’s checking in with the people you love. It’s following through on promises. It’s showing up, being vulnerable, and treating each other with respect.

And when you put it like that, she’s a hell of a lot more my family than his.

“You’re right,” I say. “Your relationship with Markie isn’t mine to fix. It’s not my problem.”

“You’re damn right, it isn’t.”

“But when you upset her—when she has tears in her eyes when she gets off the phone with you—it becomes my problem,” I say, my tone steady and controlled. “I make it my problem.”

“What are you saying?”

My grip tightens around the phone. “I’m saying that your sister is in my life, Miles. So, when you hurt her, don’t expect me to pretend I don’t see it.”

“Fuck you, Plath.”

He ends the call.

I stare at the wall for a minute, letting my heart rate return to normal. But the longer I go without moving, the more I wish that my next movement was toward Markie.

If we lived in the same town, if our lives were more aligned—if I didn’t think that approaching the conversation about us would scare her off—I would’ve already taken steps to be her forever pickleball partner. If. If. Fucking if.

I really like Markie. And the fact that she didn’t malign her brother and tell me what he said says more about her character than I realized. He was terrible to her, and she’d have every right to vent to me about him.

But she didn’t. She was trying to protect my relationship with him.

That’s the woman he just disparaged. Who he called a whore.

My stomach twists, and I take a deep breath.

I don’t know this guy. But Markie? I consider her my family. I want to introduce her to my mom. I want her to meet my friends and become a part of my life in every way.

But I know a few things about her, mostly that she’s independent and determined. She’s fiercely loyal. She loves her family and friends, almost to the point of failure. Would she have space in that heart of hers to love Gus and me, too?

My own heart skips a beat as I consider that.

If I don’t pressure her and continue to show up for her—prove that I’m not like the others when it comes to her, could there be a future for us somehow?

Because I think that’s what I’ve been hoping for.

And I’ve never hoped for something as much as this.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-FIVE

Markie

“What do you think?” I ask Jory as we reach the barn. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

The sun hangs just above the trees that loom over the clearing, punctuated by the most beautiful spray of pinks and purples that the world has ever seen. It’s as if the universe is giving Brooks and Audrey their blessing.

My friends and I have spent countless hours transforming the old wooden structure into a venue fit for a princess’s wedding. Seeing it at sunset, as the lights hanging from the rafters twinkle and the candles flicker in the shadows, it was all worth it. Even if Astrid nearly murdered everyone in the process.

How in the world will she ever manage her own wedding and not have a coronary?

“I’m going to be honest,” he says, lacing our fingers together. “The barn looks great. But you have a monopoly on beautiful tonight.”

The look on his face when he picked me up from my house said it all. His jaw nearly dropped when I opened the door in this navy-blue number that I’ve had in my closet for weeks. It was on sale, and I had no place to wear it, but it fit me like a glove, so I couldn’t pass it up.

“Thank you,” I say, laying my head against his bicep as we pass through a massive pink-and-white flower-laden arch.

“Wow,” Jory says, pausing to take everything in. “You and your friends did this? This is incredible.”

Half the interior hosts round tables with pink chiffon tablecloths and candles burning in the centerpieces. A buffet lines the far wall, a DJ booth is arranged in the far back corner, and a bar is set up beside the cake table. The rest of the room is straight out of a romance movie with yards of pale pink chiffon draped over the rafters, creating a canopy effect.  

It is spectacular, even if it took us up until three hours ago to get it finished. We barely had time to go home, shower, and get dressed before the ceremony. But today isn’t about us; it’s about Audrey. And the fact that we were able to make this happen on such short notice is pretty unbelievable.

“Yeah, but we had some help. Hartley got roped into bringing over ladders. Then he realized that we were going to climb them and was horrified.” I laugh at the memory of his face when Mira started to go up. “He had one of his farm guys come over and help him do the ceiling stuff. But, yeah, it was mostly us girls.”

“Are you trying to outshine all of us?” Gianna asks, grinning. She looks me up and down. “Damn, Markie. You are smokin’.”

I roll my eyes, my cheeks turning the same shade as the chiffon. “I’m just trying to keep up with you.”

“Oh, right.” She winks at me and then turns to Jory. “I’ve heard good things. I only wanna hear good things. Got it?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good boy.” She smiles. “I just saw Astrid make a signal that I think I’m supposed to understand.”

I laugh. “Was it her finger making a circle in the air?”

“That was it.”

“That means Audrey’s arrived, and we have ten minutes until we start.”

Gianna grins. “Glad someone listens.” Gianna blows me a kiss and takes off to find Drake.

“Where is the keyboard?” Jory asks, looking around.

“Behind the ferns.” I point to the area just off the arbor where the I do’s will take place. “The DJ did something over there this morning and connected it to a sound system … or something. He said you’d understand.”

He squeezes my hand. “I do. I’m going to head over there so I’m ready. Astrid sent me a very detailed set of instructions, and to be honest, I’m slightly terrified of her.”

I giggle.

“Save me a seat?” he asks.

“Of course.”

He kisses my cheek and then sets off toward the keyboard. I watch him move so gracefully through the crowd of people, shaking a couple of hands and laughing with Audrey’s dad like they’ve known each other for years. Everyone around him lights up when they interact with him, and I swear it seems like they’re drawn to him, too.

Heads turn as he stands behind the keyboard and inspects it. But how could they not? Dark charcoal trousers fit his muscled thighs. A plain white crewneck and tobacco-colored blazer stretch over his shoulders. He’s smart and casual yet polished at the same time.

And he’s here with me.

“Hey, Markie,” Alfie says. He’s owned the gym in town for as long as I can remember. The man has to be touching seventy-five years old by now. “I haven’t seen you around in ages.”

“I try to stay out of trouble.” I smile at him. “You look great. How have you been?”

“Kickin’ ass and takin’ names.”

I chuckle. “I’m sure you are.”

“You playin’ in the tournament this year?”

“Alfie.” I cock my head, making him laugh. “Come on. You know I am.”

“It wouldn’t be the same if you didn’t. Good luck. Not that you need it.”

“That’s right.”

We exchange a smile before he lowers himself into a seat in the back. I spot Nettie sitting on the other side of the aisle and join her.

“Hey, hottie,” I say. “Is this seat taken?”

She laughs. “You can sit there. But when your boy toy comes back, how about we let him sit in the middle?”

I laugh, too. “Very funny.”

“My gosh, Markie. That man is fine.”

Jory looks up, catching my gaze, and a slow, sinful smirk splashes across his lips.

“Oh, Nettie,” I say, my core clenching. “You don’t know the half of it.”

A soft melody flows through the air, drifting through the rafters and quieting the conversations around the barn. Guests take their seats, giving me an unobstructed view of Jory and the keyboard.  

The calloused hands that gripped my waist so tightly this morning now glide across the keys with a gentleness that steals my breath. The fingers that play me until I scream now coax the sweetest melody from the instrument he’s only just met. He’s masculine strength under a sea of pink carnations, and I can’t take my eyes off him, even as the groom walks down the aisle.

The familiar notes of the Bridal Chorus cues everyone to stand and turn our attention to the back of the barn. Audrey stands in the doorway like an angel—a glorious vision in white.

She moves slowly, her hand slipped through her father’s elbow, her eyes glued to Brooks.

Tears gather in the corners of my eyes as she reaches her fiancé, and he wipes away tears of his own from his lashes.

“Welcome, everyone,” Pastor Reed says. “Thank you for joining me this evening to celebrate one of God’s greatest gifts. We gather together not just to witness their vows, but to celebrate this new chapter of their lives, and to honor the love and commitment between Brooks and Audrey.”

I glance over my shoulder as Jory slides into his seat.

“You did great,” I whisper.

He smiles, taking my hand and holding it on his lap. My body angles immediately toward him, my shoulder resting against his.

“The promise to walk through life together, through wins and losses, celebrations and trials, the easy seasons along with the difficult ones, is one of the most beautiful things in the world. And it’s not to be taken lightly. Your partner will count on you for comfort, protection, forgiveness, and support. It will be your job to follow through.”

Jory squeezes my hand, something he’s done many times before. But this time, the constriction ripples up my arm, curls around my chest, and lands on my heart.

When I look at him, he’s watching me with a tenderness that I can barely handle. It’s probably just because we’re at a wedding that it’s making me emotional. That, or I’m exhausted from hanging lights for the last two days. But something about the way he looks at me brings tears to my eyes.

He notices, I think, and kisses my nose. And I rest my head on his shoulder as my friends take their vows.

Despite how sudden this wedding came about, and how just as suddenly Jory entered my world, it feels right. All of it. Especially having him by my side, something I never thought I’d say about a man and mean it. And that’s just a little terrifying.

I settle against him and listen to Brooks declare his love for Audrey in a way only Brooks can.

Jory takes my hand and laces our fingers together.

Stay strong, heart of mine. He is only mine for a while longer.

“This has been the best night of my life,” Audrey says, laughing. Her cheeks are flushed from too much champagne and her lips swollen because of her husband. Brooks hasn’t been able to keep his hands off her all night. “You’re the best friends in the world.”

We cheer for ourselves, holding up our glasses as the DJ keeps the music rolling.

The barn is hot and sticky despite the huge fans Hartley set up in each corner. Instead of being annoying, it adds to the fun. That, or I’ve just had too much champagne to care.

I dance with Astrid and Gianna while Jory and Drake hang out with Gray by the bar. They watch us, amused, as we shake our asses and sing at the tops of our lungs.

“Where’s Nettie?” Gianna practically shouts. “I haven’t seen her in like an hour!”

“Did you see Brooks’s fighter buddies, particularly the two who were like six-two, six-three with arms covered with tattoos?” I ask.

Gianna’s eyes sparkle. “Yup.”

“The three of them took a little field trip,” I say, grinning. “They may or may not be back. But she’s definitely on her back.”

“Nettie!” Gianna holds her glass in the air. “Get it, girl!”

Drake’s arms come around Gianna’s waist, and he pulls her close, nestling his lips into her neck. “I’ll tell you what you’re gonna get when we get home.”

“I hear we have a karaoke request!” The DJ’s voice bursts through the speakers as the song ends. “Will Hartley Adler please come to the mic?”

“Shoop!” we all yell, laughing so hard that we sound like a herd of cows mooing. “Shoop!”

He stumbles to the DJ booth, glassy-eyed, thanks to Drake, and takes the microphone. Squinting, he searches the crowd until he finds Mira standing beside me. “I’m only doing this because my wife asked.”

“Love you, Hart!” she shouts.

“I love you.” He turns to the DJ. “Let’s do this. I want to shoop, baby.”

The notes of the song begin to play, Hartley starts moving his hips, and I die. I’ve seen him do this once before at a bonfire at the ranch, which was apparently his second performance, and my sides ached from laughing for two days afterward.

The crowd cheers him on as I slip out of the throng of people.

My gaze immediately finds Jory. As he reaches for a bottle of water from an ice bucket next to the cake table, I can’t help but notice how he’s so unruffled by the chaos, so calm and controlled. So handsome. The eye of the storm in so many ways for me.

He looks over his shoulder and catches me staring.

He lifts a brow and makes his way to me with a smirk that makes me weak.  

“Hey,” I say, touching the side of his face, unable to go any longer without physical contact.

“You need water, babe.” He presses the bottle of water into my hand and takes the mostly empty champagne glass from me, placing it on a table. “Drink.”

“I’m fine.”

“Drink.” His lips press together. “You’re gonna get dehydrated if you don’t get some water in you.” His gaze drops to my chest. “Fuck, I want to get you out of that dress so damn bad.”

I lift and press a sweet but firm kiss to his mouth. “I can make that happen.”

“Want to climb in the back seat of my car for a quickie?”

“No.” I smack his chest, laughing. “I mean, yeah, but …”

“Drink.” He takes the cap off the bottle and waits until I swallow a mouthful of water. “Are you having fun?”

I take another drink of the cool liquid. I didn’t realize how thirsty I was. “I am. What about you?”

“I’ve had a good time, actually. You have some pretty great friends.”

“They are pretty great.” I’m glad he likes them. It would be so weird and disastrous if he didn’t.

“I just heard from Gus. He’s staying with Josh at their friend Brandon’s house, and apparently, Brandon’s dad has a pinball machine. Gus has the highest score on the board.”

Why am I not surprised a bit that he’s competitive? “That’s so not surprising.”

“Not even a little,” he says, chuckling.

Hartley winds up his performance with a bow and a declaration that his karaoke career is finished.

“Can we get all couples on the dance floor?” the DJ asks.

I look up at Jory. He grins.

I’m not sure what his reaction means, or what the knot in my stomach’s telling me, but I have no idea if we qualify to be on the dance floor.

Sure, we’re fake dating. But standing next to him with his eyes on me like this, that label feels inadequate. I don’t know what we are anymore, but it doesn’t feel like we’re only playing pretend.

“Couples,” the DJ repeats. “If you’re a couple, please find your way to the dance floor.”

“Come on,” he says softly.

“Really?”

He takes my hand and slowly leads me back out onto the floor, and the entire room disappears. As the first notes of Keith Whitley’s “When You Say Nothing At All” play through the air, Jory pulls me against him with a look of such affection that it makes my breath stutter.

My heart swells as a peace, a brilliant stillness, settles through me.

His arms wrap around me, holding me tight, as we move to the music. My eyes flutter closed as I melt into his arms, the only place I’ve been able to breathe in a long time. Because when I’m with him, I’m not on edge. I’m not fighting for the next thing. I don’t have to keep my guard up, firmly in place, so I don’t get chopped down when I’m not looking.

There’s no competition, no proving myself—I don’t have to explain anything.

And, my goodness, what a relief this has been.

No other relationship, fake or not, has been like this. So easy and gentle, but fierce and solid at the same time. It’s too bad that this can’t be real. That it can’t always be this way.

I look up into his flecks of jade and swear I see the same thoughts rolling through his mind. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, and it probably is, but the moment of hope it gives me that maybe things will work out for us is the first taste of hope I’ve had in a really long time.

“Are you okay?” he asks, searching my eyes.

“Of course. Why do you ask?”

He grins. “Just making sure.”

I rest my head against his chest again, craving the connection while I can get it.

There was a time when I thought Jasper could’ve been the one. I could’ve fallen for him, had it gone on much longer.

But Jory? I think it’s too late.

And even though I think he might actually like me, too, I can’t ask him. He has too many decisions to make, for one. And, for two, I’m afraid of his answer.

I don’t want to be disappointed … because being disappointed by Jory Plath might destroy me.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-SIX

Markie

“Can you strain the potatoes, Mira?” Lolly asks.

“Sure.”

The kitchen’s warm, filled with the scents of fried chicken and apple pie—two not so great choices to cook when it’s so hot out—but when Lolly asked Jory for Gus’s favorite foods last night at the wedding, that was his answer.

“I just know Martha Reed is going to give me hell about not attending church this morning,” Lolly says.

“I’m not saying that I understand spiritual rules or anything,” I say, adding the bacon to the broccoli and cauliflower salad. “But I think saying ‘give me hell’ when you’re talking about the pastor’s wife and church is probably a no.”

Lolly rolls her eyes. “It’s the same as saying give me heck.” She looks at me over her shoulder. “And like you have any room to talk. You were practically fornicating with your new hottie in front of the pastor last night.”

I gasp. “I was not.”

“You kind of were,” Mira says, giggling.

Last night is a little fuzzy, some parts more than others. I distinctly remember getting back to my house and barely making it through the front door fully clothed. An art piece Gianna gave me for my birthday fell off the wall and shattered when Jory slammed my back against it while he was fucking me.

Somehow, I think Gianna will understand.  

“I sat on his lap.” I go back to my task, mostly so they can’t see my blush. “We were fully clothed. It’s you two who are the problem. Your minds are in the gutter all the time.”

Mira laughs. “It’s amazing that you, of all people, can say that sentence with a straight face.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.

“Oh, nothing.” Mira grins at our grandmother as she grabs the milk and butter from the fridge. “What did you think of Jory last night, Lolly?”

“I think that he would make beautiful grandbabies.”

“Lolly!” I pick my jaw up off the floor. She doesn’t know that our relationship is based on a lie Jory told Jasper in the bar, and I’d like to keep it that way. But that doesn’t make any of this less uncomfortable. “Let’s not … we’re not ready for that kind of language, okay?”

“You must’ve gotten that from your father’s side of the family,” Lolly says. “Because the first thing I see when I look at that man is give me babies.” She pauses. “Well, you babies. I was meaning if I was about forty years younger.”

Mira smirks. “You better watch her, Markie. Take it from me. When she starts talking about your man this way, it only gets worse.”

We exchange a smile behind Lolly’s back.

Sunday dinners now that Mira’s back in Sugar Creek are my favorite part of the week. Lolly and I have always shared a meal after church as long as we’re both in town—with her being out of town much more than me. But with the three of us together, and now Hartley, too, it reminds me of when our parents were alive. We’d all go to Lolly and Pop’s and have a big meal on Sunday afternoons. They’re some of the best memories I have of my family, and one of the traditions that I hope to keep alive if I ever have a family of my own.  

“There he is,” Lolly says as the door opens. Hartley comes in looking like he sang karaoke last night. “How are you, handsome?”

He kisses her cheek. “Smells good in here.”

“You look like shit,” I whisper to my brother-in-law.

He leans down so Lolly can’t hear. “I just saw Jory in the driveway, and he doesn’t look much better.”

I drop the knife.

Hartley chuckles. “I have a feeling this is gonna be a good time.”

I glare at him as he washes his hands and then helps carry the food to the table.

“I’ll be right back,” I say, exiting through the back door before anyone can object.

The sun is hot on my face as I turn the corner of the house. The only other guy I’ve ever brought to dinner—besides a guy I dated in college—was Jasper. But he was so high the entire time that I’m not sure if I can even count him as present.

Any nerves I have of bringing Jory and Gus to dinner disappear as my gaze lands on the two of them. Dressed in jeans and polo shirts, they’re ridiculously handsome. Gus is such a mini version of Jory that it’s wild. And the flowers in Gus’s hand? Such a nice touch.

“Hey, guys,” I say, smiling at Gus. “You better be ready for some fried chicken, kid. Lolly has been cooking all day.”

“She made fried chicken? Are you serious?”

Jory laughs.

“She heard it was your favorite food,” I say.

“Heck yeah!”

I lean up as Jory bends down to plant a kiss on my forehead.

“How are you feeling this afternoon?” he asks, stroking my cheek with his thumb. “I hated leaving you asleep without checking on you, but Gus got dropped off at like eight thirty this morning.”

I want to tell him that the juice and medicine he left on my nightstand, along with the little note, was more than anyone has ever left me in my life. But with Gus right here, I can’t.

“I’m okay. I think I would’ve been worse if I hadn’t been forced to drink water last night.” I side-eye Gus. “And the exercise after the ceremony helped flush it out of my system.”

Jory’s eyes heat. “I’ve heard that’s a cure-all.”

“I’ll definitely be trying it again.”

He slides a hand across the small of my back, letting me lead the way into the house.

“What do I call your grandma?” Gus asks. “Does she have a name? Or Mrs. St. James? Or what?”

“Well, she was my mom’s mom, so she’s not a St. James,” I say. “But you can call her Lolly. She’d probably be offended if you tried to call her anything else.”

We take the steps to the door, and Gus holds it open for me. A gentleman, just like his daddy.

“If Lolly says anything embarrassing or about grandkids, just play along and know that I can’t stop her,” I whisper hurriedly.

Jory’s fingers flex against my skin.

“I think everyone is in the dining room already,” I say.

“Are we late?” Gus asks, his brow pulled together.

“No. Lolly just got excited that you were coming and got dinner done much faster than usual,” I say. It’s partly true. “Hey, everyone. Look who I found in the driveway.”

Hartley comes around the table to shake Jory’s hand. Mira waves at Gus.

“Gus, this is my sister Mira, and her husband, Hartley.” I point to my grandmother. “And this is my Lolly.”

“You are the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” Lolly says. “Welcome to my home.” Her gaze lifts to Jory’s. “Both of you.”

Gus extends the flowers wrapped in florist paper. “Thank you for having us. I brought you flowers. Hope you like them.”

“Oh, dear heavens.” Lolly takes them and then pulls Gus into a hug. “You are the sweetest thing. Come with me and let’s find a vase.”

She winks at me as they walk by.

“We’re never going to get to eat,” Hartley says, chuckling.

Jory pulls out my chair for me, waiting until I sit. Then he takes the one beside me, across from Hartley.  

“It all looks great,” he says, surveying the spread in front of us. “Is this a special occasion or just how she cooks?”

Mira laughs. “This is Sunday dinner. She forgets that she has two granddaughters and not an army.”

Lolly and Gus return with the flowers transferred to a glass vase. She sets them in the center of the table as if it’s her new prized possession. Gus beams as he sits beside his dad.

“Speaking of flowers,” Mira says, as Lolly gets situated. “I found the name of that florist in Nashville that we used to send flowers to Astrid a couple of months ago. I emailed it to you if you want to use it to send something to Tally for her surgery.”

My shoulders sag. “Yes. Thank you. The last place I used sent some janky, half-dead tulip or something, and it was like one hundred and fifty dollars.”

“I remember you said something about it when you were over the other night for the wedding planning stuff, and I stumbled upon it today.”

Lolly clears her throat. “Hartley, would you say grace?”

We bow our heads.

Jory and I reach for the other’s hands at the same time. Our fingers lace together under the table, resting against the side of Jory’s thigh. It’s one of my favorite things about him—the way he instinctively reaches for me like he doesn’t even think about it.

Last night, as I lay beside him in my bed, listening to his heartbeat in the still of the night, something inside me softened. I can’t explain it, but I felt it. It was like my body gave up the fight, like it chucked the shield it keeps around because it’s just too heavy.

Kind of like it’s not mine to carry anymore.

The thought is terrifying because what happens if I lose it? What if I need it someday and can’t find it? What am I supposed to do—just live life and walk around with a target in the center of my chest?

The hard part to rectify is that the only one who could hurt me is Jory. And the only reason I can lay it down is because of him, too.

“So, Jory,” Lolly asks as we begin to eat. “Tell me about you.”

He sits up straight as if he’s been put on the spot. I rest my hand on his thigh just in case it comforts him like it does when he does that to me. Have I ever been this in tune with a man before? I’ve seen it with my friends and their partners, but I’ve never experienced this.

“I’m from California,” he says like he’s in a job interview. It makes me smile. “I’m a rugby player and played with Gray for a few years in Nashville. I’m retiring at the end of next season, though.”

Lolly nods approvingly. “That’s good. Rugby is tough on your body.”

Please stop there, Lolly. Don’t bust out the adjectives describing his body. Don’t make it weird. 

“It can be, yeah,” Jory says. “And I have to admit that I’m getting too old to get up in the morning and feel like I’ve been hit by a truck. I’m over it.”

I smile at him and remove my hand. He’s doing fine on his own.

“What are you going to do when you retire?” Hartley asks, lifting a forkful of mashed potatoes.

It didn’t occur to me until last night that Jory hadn’t met Hartley before the wedding. I guess it was the first time we’d been anywhere as a couple even though that feels strange to think about. But, unsurprisingly, he and Hartley hit it off right away. They’re so different in their day-to-day lives, but what they have in common is decency and kindness. And if we continue this once summer ends, they’d become even better friends. Maybe even family.

Oof. The way my brain just made that transition makes my head spin. Let’s slow your roll, Markie. At least get through dinner first.

I spear some green beans and pop them into my mouth.

“Well, I’m going to move to Nevada,” Jory says.

My eyes widen at the declaration, but I catch myself before anyone notices.

“You are?” Gus asks. “I didn’t know that. That’s awesome, Dad!”

That makes two of us, Gus.

I force a swallow and then down a large part of my iced tea, hoping it cools the heat in my face. Mira’s watching me closely, but I avoid glancing up at her, as she’ll read my surprise like a book.

Certainly, I knew Jory was considering the move. I even told him it was the right thing to do. But that was then—that was before … us. Before this felt so real.

Before I started to think that maybe there could be a future together.

I dab my mouth with a napkin and try to gather the wits that have just been scattered carelessly around the dining room.

A swell of fire-hot emotion rises in my chest. Absentmindedly, I rub it with my palm.

“Hey, are you okay?” Jory whispers, peering over his shoulder at me.

I paste on a smile. “Yes. I’m fine. I swallowed too fast, and it’s kind of stuck. I just need a minute.”

“Okay,” he says, unconvinced.

Maybe he’ll ask me to go.

But would I go? I glance around the table at my family—the people I love most in the world. Could I leave them? Could I go across the country and start a new life without them?

The thought of not having these meals every week makes tears prickle at the corners of my eyes.

I’m getting too far ahead of myself. I clear my throat and take a deep breath. Nothing has to be decided at this table. You have time.

Jory’s hand finds my thigh, and his fingers splay across the whole width of it.

This time, the comfort in his touch isn’t as strong as it usually is, because he’s moving to Nevada when he retires. And the fact that he hasn’t mentioned it to me says it all.

This “comforting touch” is absolutely temporary, and I should really remember that. Because I now know what it feels like when it’s not there.

When it won’t be there.

And I hate it.

I hate it so damn much.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-SEVEN

Markie

He hasn’t mentioned Nevada.

That sentence has rolled around in my head at least once every-other-hour since Sunday afternoon. For three days, I’ve wondered if today would be the day he brings it up. That he explains what his plan is … and if it includes me in any way.

I’ve tried not to get too optimistic about it because optimism and I have had a very love-hate relationship over the years. If I think too positively about something, it generally spirals out of control. But pessimism is no fun, either. If only finding that middle ground was easier.

Thunder rumbles through the sky, and I wish I could growl along with it. The endless rain hasn’t helped my mood at all. Jory and I were supposed to practice every day this week leading up to the tournament on Thursday, but we barely got a run in yesterday. The rain has come down in waves, accompanied by all sorts of thunder and lightning. It’s been dreary just like my mood.

It’s a good thing that he’s a pro athlete with exceptional skills, and I’m basically a pro pickleballer. Our chemistry is off the charts, so we can get away with less practice than everybody else. I hope.

“I hate math,” Gus sings. His math packet is open on my coffee table, and he does occasionally glance down at it. But mostly his attention is on the sports talk show on the television that his dad turned on about an hour ago. “I really hate math.”

“Have you ever heard that you get more flies with honey than vinegar?” I ask Gus.

“No.”

“Well, it’s true.” I think. “But math kind of works the same way. If you bring a positive attitude, it gets easier.”

And I’m a hypocrite. I’ve tried to bring a positive attitude, which isn’t the same as optimism, to this situation with Jory and it hasn’t fixed a damn thing—or made it easier.  

“Have you done any of it?” Jory asks from the couch. He’s dozed off and on all afternoon. “You’re not doing anything else until you finish a lesson.”

“That sucks,” Gus says sarcastically. “I was planning on going outside in the sunshine with my friends today. Guess I won’t do that.”

I tap him on the shoulder. “Don’t.”

He makes a face at me but does turn back to his work.

I pull up the bracket for the hundredth time and map out our path to the championship. We got a good draw with a bye for day one, so we should have one game on Thursday. Neither of the two teams playing each other before they get to us is all that great. I’ve played at least one player on both of them before and it’s not going to be a problem for me and Jory. We should go into Friday in the winner’s bracket and play two games. Game one will be a piece of cake. Game two, depending on how things shake out, could get tougher.

And then comes Saturday. The title game is at noon. And, unless they really botch their games, our opponents should be Jasper and Courtney.

I love it when a plan comes together.

Jory’s phone rings. He takes a look at the screen and then answers it. “Hello?” He listens and then sits upright, his face etched with concern. “What’s wrong?”

My stomach tightens as I watch his emotions drift across his features.

“Can you hang on a sec?” His brows pull together as he stands, looking at me. “I’ll be right back.”

“Okay.”

He walks through the kitchen and onto the back porch.

Gus groans. “Can we turn on something else now? This is boring.”

“You don’t like sports?” I ask, side-eyeing the door. “I thought you played all kinds of stuff.”

“I do. But that doesn’t mean I want to watch it all the time.”

I blow out a breath, wishing I could eavesdrop on Jory’s conversation. The way his tone changed and his demeanor stiffened, I know that something’s wrong. The shiver snaking down my spine cosigns my intuition. 

“You’re not supposed to be watching television, anyway. The festival starts tomorrow and you don’t want to be in here for the rest of the week doing math, do you?”

He spins around, suddenly reengaged with the idea of actually doing his work. “So, what you’re saying is that if I do my work tonight, I can avoid this packet until Monday?”

“Sure.” I shrug. “Why not? Four days won’t hurt you.”

“I love you, Markie.”

Wish your dad did, too, kid.

The thought comes out of nowhere before I can think it through—before I can decide whether I feel that way or if I’m just being dramatic. But it’s so natural, almost a given at this point, that there’s not much to argue.

I think I love him.

The floor tilts beneath my feet as I wrestle with that sentence. It’s terrifying and it makes me want to puke. And it’s so me of me to fall in love with a guy with no interest in staying in Sugar Creek … or with me for the long haul, it seems.

A swell of warmth, accompanied by a sharp pain, rises in my chest. I’ve fought this feeling since lunch at Lolly’s. It’s an emotional tightrope of wanting an answer—am I just your summer fling? Of wanting to tell him the truth—I love you, Jory. And of wanting to do the most Markie thing of all and cut him loose before any real, lasting damage can be done.

I usually have no problem doing that. See ya later, alligator. But I can’t justify having him in town for three or four more weeks and passing him in Miller’s and saying hi like I do with everyone else, because even I can’t act casually around a unicorn. 

I just have to figure out how to enjoy these weeks and know it’s going to be over. Just try to minimize the destruction.

The door creaks open and Jory pokes his head around the corner. His eyes are wary and that sends a shot of bile up my throat.

“Markie? Can you come here for a minute?” he asks.

“Sure.” My voice is much calmer than I feel. “I’ll be right back, Gus. Remember, you have strategies to help you break this down and solve it. And once you’re done up to”—I peer over his shoulder—“exercise eighteen, you won’t have to look at it or think about it again until Monday.”

“Aye, aye, captain.”

I try not to jog to the door.

The air outside is thick and humid, making it hard to breathe. Rain splatters the ground and pounds on the roof. Water droplets splash onto the porch, making everything damp.

It feels an awful lot like foreshadowing to me.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“That was Deidre,” he says, running a hand down his face. “Her dad had a massive heart attack this morning and they don’t think he’s going to make it.”

“Oh, my gosh. I’m so sorry.”

My thoughts go to Gus and what this will do to him. I don’t know much about his relationship with his grandparents, so whether this will crush him or be manageable, I don’t know. Either way, it’s not going to be fun.

“I have to tell Gus.” He drops his hand and sighs. “Deidre said she isn’t steady enough to do it right now, and I should handle it however I think is best.”

“Yeah. I can imagine that she has a lot on her plate.”

“I don’t know what is best,” Jory says, eyes wide. “I don’t know how to tell a kid that his grandpa is dying.”

I force a swallow. “I don’t think there’s an easy way to do it, Jory. It sucks from every angle.”

He licks his lips, and I can tell he’s struggling with something.

“Jory?”

He looks at the ceiling before looking at me again. “They gave Ernie twenty-four to forty-eight hours to live.”

Oh. Our eyes lock as my heart sinks because I realize what he’s saying. “I see.”

“Ernie lives in Ohio, which is about an eight-hour drive from here. And if Gus wants to tell him goodbye …”

“Then you’ll need to leave now.”

He nods carefully, watching my reaction.

I turn away from him and rub my forehead.

This will be the first time I’ve ever had to forfeit the tournament—and that sucks. In a vacuum, it would be devastating, but strangely, it’s not. The pain in my heart has nothing to do with pickleball. It has everything to do with Jory’s little boy and giving him the opportunity that Mira and I never had. He can say goodbye to his grandfather.

I blow out a breath that seems to start in my toes. “You probably need to tell Gus and then get on the road. If you can get out of town by seven, you’ll make it around three or four in the morning depending on how many times you stop.”

“And you know what that means, right?”

I nod, forcing a swallow. “Yeah. That means you won’t be here tomorrow.”

He reaches for me, pulling me into a hug that feels a lot like a man who loves me.

I cling to him, breathing him in, and absorbing as much of his warmth as I can. Because despite the heat of the evening, I’m afraid that when he leaves, I’ll be very, very cold.

“I’m so sorry, babe,” he says, kissing the top of my head. “I’m letting you down and I don’t know how to fix it.”

“You can’t. This is just what it is, Jory.” I kiss his sternum and then pull away. “But you need to tell Gus and then head north. You can’t waste time.”

He sighs.

If I could kiss the pain off his face, I would. If I could make it easier, I’d do it in a second. Because I love this man. And that’s what you do for those you love.

We lace our fingers together and make our way into the living room. I sit on the sofa where Jory had been, and he takes my spot beside Gus.

“Hey, buddy. I need to talk to you for a second,” Jory says.

I grab the remote and turn the television off.

“I wasn’t watching it,” Gus says, pretending to do his packet. “I’ve been working.”

Jory touches his shoulder. “I mean it, Gus. Stop and look at me.”

Gus drops his pencil and scoots around, facing his dad.

“Your mom just called,” Jory says. “And your papa Ernie had a heart attack this morning and he’s not doing well. They don’t think he’ll live for much longer.”

Gus pulls away, staring off into space as if he’s processing the words are too difficult. My chest tightens and my breathing halts. I watch this little boy try to cope with the idea of losing his grandpa … and it’s heartbreaking.

His head begins to shake back and forth. “No.”

“What do you mean, no?” Jory asks.

“That can’t be right,” Gus says.

The stream of emotions rolling through his little mind is too familiar to me. I remember being told that my parents had passed away.

“No, Pop. That can’t be true. They were coming home and we were going bowling tomorrow for Dad’s birthday.”

I was fourteen, but I felt so helpless, so vulnerable—probably a lot like Gus right now.

Tears fill my eyes as he wrestles with coming to terms with something so devastating. There’s a haunting familiarity that’s a punch to the gut. He’s done this before. He’s lost someone he loves already. And he’s thinking about that.

It has to feel so … big.

This is so unfair.

His hands ball into fists at his sides. His eyes are foggy when he looks at his dad, and his voice breaks when he speaks.

“So, he’s gonna die?”

“I’m sorry,” Jory says quietly. “But yes. It seems that way. Probably in the next day or two.”

He nods slowly.

“If you want, we can go to Ohio and try to make it in time for you to say goodbye,” Jory says. “But that’s up to you. Your mom’s there now, and your aunts and cousins are with her. So, she’s not alone.”

Gus springs to his feet and lunges across the room, tackling me. I catch his flying body as his arms wrap around my neck and he sobs into my chest.

I hold him with one arm and cover my mouth to try to soften the sounds of my own cries. He shakes with the force of a much older person as he spills his heartache onto me.

Tears stream down my face as I comb my fingers through his hair, rocking him back and forth. I want to tell him that it’s going to be okay and that it’s okay for him to be sad. But none of those words can make it past the lump in my throat.

Jory watches the two of us, his eyes cloudy. He sniffles, letting his head hang.

“This stinks,” I whisper, continuing to rock him. “I know it sucks so much. I’m so sorry, Gus.”

“It’s not fair.”

“I know it’s not.” I rest my cheek against the side of his head as he begins to calm down a little. “If you’d like to go say goodbye, your dad will drive you to Ohio tonight.” My gaze connects with Jory’s and the pain in my heart is reflected in his eyes. “You don’t have to go—it’s your choice. You get to choose what’s best for you. But your mom might like to have you with her.”

Gus pulls back, wiping his face with the back of his hands. “Is Papa in the hospital?”

I nod. “Yes.”

“Then, yes. I want to go there.” He sniffles as his lip quivers. “I need to tell him I love him.”

I give his hand a squeeze. “Of course, buddy.”

“We’ll need to head to our house and pack you a bag,” Jory says. “Can you wait in the car for me and I’ll be right out?”

He nods, his shoulders carrying the weight of the world on them. He looks up at me, gives me one last lingering hug, then heads to the driveway.

Once he’s gone, I blow out a long breath while drying my cheeks. “That’s not heartbreaking or anything.”

“I don’t know when I’ll be back,” Jory says. “I have no idea what I’m walking into, you know?”

I nod. “Yeah. I get it. Can I help at all? Can I make you hotel reservations or something? If it’s eight hours there, you’ll need to sleep before you come back. I expect this will be an emotional trip for you, too.”

He sighs, getting to his feet. “I don’t fucking know. I guess it’s probably better just to get something when I’m there. I don’t know what’s close or if Gus will stay with me or his mom …”

I follow him to the front door, rubbing his back between his shoulder blades as we go. I just want to touch him, to help him.

He stops at the door, turning to me, cupping my face in his palms, and studying my face with an intensity that sends a chill through my body.

“Be safe, okay?” I say, fighting to keep the emotion out of my tone. He doesn’t need my insecurities tossed on him today, too.

His lips meet mine in the sweetest, gentlest kiss. It lingers for a few long seconds before he pulls away, resting his forehead against mine.

“Everything I fear in life, I wind up facing much faster than I expect.” He takes a deep breath. “I lost my dad at eighteen. I became a dad to a pre-teen and had to grow up overnight. My career is shorter than I expected.” He pulls back, looking me in the eyes. “And I have to say goodbye to you.”

Tears roll down my cheeks because this really feels like goodbye. A real goodbye. The final kind.

“I gotta go,” he says. He rests his lips against my forehead before walking out of the house.

Once the door is shut, I choke back a sob. Because sometimes your heart knows things your brain can’t process. Or maybe things your brain refuses to accept.

But in the depths of my soul, I know what just happened.

He said goodbye.

I knew he was going to go, that he wasn’t staying in Sugar Creek, but it wasn’t supposed to end like this. We were going to have a few more weeks together. He would have had time to invite me to go with him.

Is this it? Are we done forever?

I cover my mouth, my knees going weak, and slide down the wall until I’m sitting on the floor in a heap of tears and misery. Gus is broken. Jory is struggling. And I can’t be there to help either of them.

It’s the two of them against the world … without me.

Grabbing my phone out of my pocket, I do what I always do when I need a friend.

Me: Hey. You free? I could really, really use a hug.

The bridge of my nose burns as I wait for her reply. Thankfully, it comes in seconds.

Mira: On my way.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-EIGHT

Jory

“How much longer?” Gus asks, his voice raspy from crying. He’s been pretty calm for the last few hours, and I actually thought he was asleep.

“We’re about halfway there.” I glance over at him. “Are you doing okay? Hungry? Gotta pee?”

He shakes his head.

He’s been quiet and I’ve left him alone. I have no idea if that’s the right thing to do or if this is one of those situations where I should prompt him to talk about it. Share his feelings. Get it all out. All I know is that when I feel like shit and have a lot on my mind, the last thing I want to do is talk about it.

Leaving him alone wins by default.

I glance at the clock, wondering what Markie’s doing. Is she in bed? Is she wearing my Royals shirt like she has the last few nights? Is she reading or going over the bracket for the thousandth time?

My heart splinters as I remember that she doesn’t need to look at the bracket. We won’t be playing.

Internally, I scream. My knuckles turn white around the steering wheel as I grip it like I can strangle it. Fuck this. Fuck all of this.

I run a hand down my face, moving to the left so a car can merge easily onto the highway. I hate this. I hate what’s happened to Ernie and to Deidre and her family. I hate that Gus is in so much pain and dealing with another loss in his life. But I hate that it means I’m letting Markie down, too.

Will she now lump me in the pen with every other man who’s failed her over the years? Am I just another disappointment now?

My teeth grind together as I try to stay calm.

Things between us have been weird since the Sunday dinner with her family, and I only figured out why yesterday. It all started when I said that I was moving to Nevada. I remembered the moment from the dinner table at about six o’clock yesterday morning. Markie had a visceral reaction to my statement, something I said off-the-cuff. Something that she told me was the right choice.

I wasn’t prepared for the question. And what was I supposed to do? Hartley had no way of knowing how complicated that answer would be.

It was either say that I’m moving to Nevada, which is what I will do—I’m a father and I want to be there for my son. He deserves to have me in his life in a way I haven’t been before. Or say that I should move to Nevada, but my heart is all fucked up because the woman I love has her whole life in Tennessee.

Each answer hurts one of them. And because Markie was so adamant about Nevada, I went with that. It never occurred to me how she may have internalized my response until yesterday.

And I didn’t get time to talk to her about it tonight. I lay on her sofa, figuring out how to approach the topic and how to be fair about it. The last thing I want to do is to make her feel pressured to disrupt her whole life for mine. I just can’t quite come up with a solution in which we all win.

I’m not even sure if it’s fair to tell her that I love her and then follow it up with but remember that I’m leaving Sugar Creek in a month and Tennessee in ten or eleven months.

What the fuck?

Gus sighs sadly. “I wish Markie could’ve come with us.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. I like her a lot.”

“Me, too, kiddo.”

He turns to me. “Are you going to marry her?”

My eyes widen in surprise. Talk about being unprepared for a question.

“It’s not that crazy of an idea, Dad.”

Oh, to be eleven and naïve.

“Marriage is a big deal, Gus. You don’t just marry someone because you like to hang out with them or they’re hot.” I smile at him before looking back at the dark road ahead of us. “You marry someone because you love them. You make all of these promises before God and you have to take it seriously.”

“What kind of promises?”

I sigh. “Well, you have to promise that you’ll take care of them and you’ll treat them well. That they’ll be your best friend, and you’ll prioritize what they need and what makes them happy. And when they mess up, that you’ll try your very best to forgive them. And they make the same promises to you.”

“I promised to go to war with you. And I keep my promises.” 

Disappointment that I failed her, that I might have made her feel like her life and what’s important to her isn’t important to me, presses on my heart. I would never hurt her. Not intentionally.

I know this isn’t my fault and that she doesn’t blame me for it. But the fact is that I did break my promise. I’m not there for her when I said I would be. Worst of all, I left her with a bunch of questions … and without knowing the truth. That I love her so fucking much.

I glance over at my son again.

“Do you know why I like Markie so much?” he asks.

“Why all the talk about Markie? Want to listen to the radio or something?”

He lifts a brow. “No, I want to talk about Markie.”

I shrug, feeling helpless. Whatever you want, kid.

“She reminds me of my first dad,” Gus says.

This isn’t what I expected. “Oh, really? How?”

I’m curious now. I don’t know much about his first dad, as he calls him, a title that doesn’t bother me in the least. He was, in fact, Gus’s first dad, and he loved my son. I have nothing but respect and gratitude for him. But I don’t bring him up because I feel like if Gus wants to talk about him, he will. And if he does, I’ll listen.

“I have some memories of my first dad,” he says quietly. “I remember the sound of his voice and how he loved baseball and how our house felt so happy. And then he died and it wasn’t happy like that anymore.”

Fuck. “Gus, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he says, nodding. “It was a sad time. And things got better and Mom got happier, but it was never the same, you know?” He takes a breath. “But at your house, when Markie is there, it reminds me of that time before he died. It’s happy. It feels … I don’t know. Full.”

My elbow rests against the window as I lay the side of my head against my palm.

Gus snuggles against the seat. “I’m going to try to sleep now. My head hurts.”

Mine, too, buddy. Mine fucking, too.

***   

Markie

I wander aimlessly through my house, wearing a path in the carpet. I made Mira go home to Hartley about an hour ago, and the depths of the loneliness I’ve experienced since have been indescribable.

I can’t sit, can’t read, can’t focus long enough to clean out a cabinet. Lying down isn’t an option because my bed reminds me of Jory. Even the bathtub reminds me of him, which is unfortunate.

I might just have to buy a new house and start over.

Or become a nun.

“Yup, that’d probably be easier,” I say, sighing.

My head throbs from crying off and on for the last however many hours. I hate crying for any reason, but I really hate it when I’m feeling sorry for myself. Sure, I’m crying for Gus and Jory and Deidre. But, if I’m being honest, I’m crying for myself, too. And I really, really feel like a shitty person for that.

The phone rings and I jump, racing to the table to pick it up. My heart in my throat, I hold my breath until I see that it’s not Jory.

“What do you want, Miles?” I ask, taking the blanket off the baby. My annoyance with him is thick in my tone, and I don’t care.

“Hello to you, too.”

“It’s your lucky day. If you called to fight, I’m ready. Let’s go. Throw the first punch so I can rip your head off.”

“Woah,” he says like he just cornered a badger. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Bad night. What do you want? We both know you only call when you want something, so get it out of the way so I can tell you no and to eat shit and die.”

He pauses and I can almost feel the energy shift through the phone. “Seriously, Markie. What’s wrong?”

“Like you care.”

“Okay, I’ll admit that I don’t truly desire to listen to you bitch about your life for the next ten minutes, but I am intrigued.”

“I really don’t want to talk about it, least of all with you.”

“Where’s Jory?”

“Ohio.”

“Why?”

“Call him and ask him.”

“I’d rather not.” He chuckles softly. “As a matter of fact, the next time you talk to him, be sure to tell him that I’m not the one who pissed you off, okay?”

I pace the room again, going back and forth from one wall of the living room to the other. There’s an edge to Miles’s tone that I can’t quite place. It’s so … awkward.

“You’re probably not going to believe this, and there’s not a damn thing that I can do about that,” he says. “But I’m calling to say I was out of line the last time we spoke.”

I flinch. My pace slows until I’m standing in the middle of the room with my brows pulled together. What’s happening here?

“I’m not going to make excuses,” he says, choosing his words carefully. “I was an asshole on the phone—more than usual. And I’m not saying that I won’t be again because it’s probably a personality defect.”

My lips twitch.

“But I do apologize for that phone call. I took that too far,” he says, contrite.

“What’s happening here?” I ask, holding the side of my head. “Are you dying or something?”

“No. Not dying. I just had someone put me in my place and I haven’t been able to shake it. Turns out that I might have a soul after all.”

I hum. “Well, thanks for apologizing. I’ll believe it when you call without wanting something and learn how to say thank you.”

“That’s fair. I deserve that.”

I’m living in a twilight zone. It’s the only answer.

“The next time you talk to Jory, tell him something for me, okay?”

“Sure,” I say, deadpan.

“Tell him that he’s a better man than me.”

What?

“I’ll let you go. Thanks for answering, Markie.”

The line goes dead. I stare at my phone, trying to figure out what the hell just happened.

It must be the end of the world. Hell is clearly freezing over.

I glance at the time and wonder how far Jory and Gus have gotten. They should be halfway there by now. Has Gus fallen asleep? Has Jory given himself an ulcer from worrying about his son?

Has he thought about me?

I blow out a breath and collapse onto the couch. Suddenly, I don’t have the strength to stand anymore, and I don’t want to sit here alone with my thoughts. And I really don’t want to have to worry about telling my friends not to show up for me tomorrow.

Might as well get it over with. It’s not like I have anything better to do.

Me: I won’t be playing in the tournament this year. I know you were all going to come watch and cheer us on, but we won’t be there.

Before I have a chance to set my phone down, it dings. I blow out a breath, readying myself for the questions when notifications flow through in quick succession. 

My stomach tightens as the messages keep coming.

Fuck. I don’t want to do this tonight. 

Astrid: Why?

Gianna: What’s going on?

Nettie: Huh? What did I miss?

Gianna: You miss stuff when you’re in a hotel with two fighters for days. neutral face

Gianna: Ignore me. I’m just jealous.

Gianna: No. Past Gianna is jealous. I AM A HAPPY (non-engaged) woman. 

Gianna: face with rolling eyes

Gianna: Anyway, back to Markie … 

I rest my head on a pillow Jory used just a few hours ago. It still smells like his cologne.

Me: Gus’s mom’s family had an emergency, and Jory had to take Gus to Ohio tonight.

Astrid: Oh, no. Is everything okay?

Nettie: frowning face

Me: I mean, yeah.

As soon as I send the message, I know it’s a lie.

My eyes fill with tears.  

Me: You know what? I don’t know if it’s okay.

Nettie: What’s the emergency?

Me: Gus’s grandpa is dying. He has a day or two left and Gus wanted to say goodbye.

Mira: I love you, sister. So much.

My phone rings. Gianna. I smile, tears sliding across my lips as I start to speak.

“Hi,” I say.

“Girl. Are you okay? Be honest with me. I can be there in ten minutes. Fifteen if Drake drives.”

I laugh through my tears. “I’m fine.”

“Doesn’t sound like it. And, not that you’re not sympathetic and I’m not calling you not an empath, but I don’t think this has anything to do with the dead grandpa.”

“You’re so callous.”

“I get to the point. So, what’s going on? What’s really going on? And don’t lie to me.”

My eyes close as my head begins to throb, and the idea of regurgitating everything makes me nauseous. Yet, what would I say?

I know it’s possible for more than one thing to exist at a time. I can be heartbroken for Gus, sad for his mother, and terrified that Jory doesn’t see me in his future. But they all seem on such opposite ends of the spectrum and, when they’re lumped together, it’s too much on my heart for one night.

Besides, this is becoming the story of my life. It’ll wind up on my tombstone.

Here lies Markie St. James, the woman who died single anyway.

“I appreciate you,” I say. And I do. Talking things out with Mira wiped me out, though, and I don’t think I have any more words left in my brain. “But I really don’t want to talk about it tonight.”

“I do.”

Grinning, I sigh. “I know, Gianna, but I need to sort through things in my head before I start talking shit. Otherwise, I’ll convince myself of God knows what and nothing will be better for that.”

“You know what? I do that. I never made the connection.”

“Well, you just learned something.” I laugh. “I’m going to try to go to bed. My head hurts. My heart hurts. I just need to sleep and hope that, in the morning, I’ll be calmer and smarter.”

“I think you’re pretty calm and pretty smart. But call me any time. I’ll have my phone on.”

“Thanks, Gianna.”

“Of course. Since I know Nettie’s around, I’m going to call her for an update on Brooks's friends. It’ll give me something to think about aside from worrying about you.”

“You’re just nosey.”

“So?”

I smile. “Well, I hope she gives you all the details.”

“She will.” She laughs. “Call me.”

“I will. Bye.”

“Goodbye.”

I hold my phone to my chest and consider calling Jory. But he hasn’t called me, and he’s probably busy with Gus. Besides, didn’t he just tell me goodbye?

Me: I’m saying a prayer for Gus and his family. You are all in my thoughts.

I hit send and wait a few minutes, but there’s no reply. So, I roll over onto my side, tugging his practice shirt over my bent knees, and try to sleep.

Wisdom is in the space between emotion and acting on it.

Let’s hope it hits me before I wake up.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-NINE

Jory

Everything hurts.

“Dr. Michaels, please call Extension 2244. Dr. Michaels, Extension 2244.”

I shift my weight, groaning as my right hip throbs from sitting in the car for eight hours. I got speared by an opponent a few years ago—his head drove straight into my bone—and it’s never been quite right since.

My elbows rest on my knees, a paper cup halfway filled with nasty-ass coffee between my hands. The growing acidity in my stomach, either from the coffee or worrying about Gus and Markie, feels like a hole burning through the lining. I grimace, rubbing my eyes with the back of one hand. I’d give almost anything to be in bed right now.

I take out my phone and reread Markie’s text. I didn’t get it until we got here, and I truly hope she didn’t wait on me to respond. I’ve warred with whether to just respond to it now at this ungodly hour and hope it doesn’t wake her up, or whether to wait until a more respectable hour and just call her.

Neither seem right.

Nothing about this godforsaken day seems right.

“Dr. Michaels, please call Extension 2244. Dr. Michaels, Extension 2244.”

If I knew how to call the extension, I’d do it and pretend to be Dr. Michaels just to stop the announcement every five minutes.

I look up as the doors to the waiting room open and spot Gus. He waves to some of Deidre’s family members on the other side of the room but makes a beeline my way.

My boy.

“Hey,” I say, wrapping my arm around him as he sits beside me. His big, green eyes are filled with emotion. He’s been crying, evident by the tear stains on his cheeks. “How are you doing?”

He shrugs. “I’m sad.”

“I know, bud. I’m so sad that you’re going through losing someone again. As you said to Markie, it sucks.”

“The nurses came in needing to do a few things, so they asked me if I’d step out,” he says. “I was ready for a break anyway. It’s a lot in there.”

“You know that you don’t have to sit in there. You can tap out at any point. Just blame it on me, if you need a scapegoat.”

He sighs, as if he’s been holding that lungful of air all night. “At least I got to tell Papa that I love him, right? That matters.”

“That matters.” I pat his leg. “But, even if you didn’t make it here to tell him, you know that he knew that.”

“You think?”

“Well, let me ask you this,” I say. “Do you know that Papa Ernie loves you?”

He nods. “Yeah. He told me every time I talked to him.”

“Exactly. So, don’t you think he knows that you love him, too? He’s probably smarter than you. I mean, I’ve seen videos of you on Brandon’s skateboard.”

I bump his shoulder with mine, earning a lazy smile in return.

The exhaustion that the last nine or so hours has taken on him is written on his face. It tears at my heart as he falls back into his seat. He yawns, leaning his head on me. I contemplate taking him to a hotel but would like to talk to Deidre first.

“Have you talked to Markie?” Gus asks, his voice quiet.

I shake my head. “No, but it’s the middle of the night, my guy, and I don’t want to wake her up.”

“But she didn’t call you while I was asleep in the car?”

“She had stuff to do. I’ll talk to her later this morning.”

“What is she doing about the tournament?” he asks. “That was really important to her.”

Just twist the knife in my heart a little more, why don’t you?

I sigh. “I don’t know. I’m not sure what she’ll do.”

He sits up, his little shoulders slumped forward. “You should be there with her.”

“Nah, I should be here with you.”

He chuckles sleepily. “Dad, I have put a lot of work into your relationship. Please don’t screw it up.”

I laugh, catching the sound before it gets too loud.

“What time’s your first game meant to be?” he asks.

“Two thirty, I think.”

“If you leave now, could you make it?”

“Gus …” I groan, moving around in my seat again. “I’m here with you. Let’s get through this and then worry about the rest, okay?”

He turns, pulling one leg up so he’s facing me. His mouth twists and he looks at me like the roles are reversed—like he’s the adult and I’m the child.

If I wasn’t so tired, I’d find it amusing. If we were home, I’d tell him that he better tread carefully because I know that little smirk. But neither are true.

“You’re a good dad,” he says. “I appreciate you for bringing me here tonight, but I’m here with Mom. You should be with Markie.”

I hang my head again.

“Mom has dated a few guys since my first dad died. And she’s never found another guy who made our house feel like it did when he was here.” He scoots closer. “But your house feels like that with Markie there, Dad. And she makes you happy. And, for some reason, you make her happy. It’s probably because you have me and I’m so charming, but it works in your favor.”

I chuckle, lifting my gaze to his. How is he so wise and amusing at three in the morning?

“You gotta go back,” he says, imploring me. “I know the drive sucks, but you can’t let her down. Remember all that stuff you said about promises you make to the people you love?”

I sigh. “Yeah, I remember. But we were talking about when you get married.”

“Does that make you love someone more?”

Touché.

The door opens again. This time, it’s Deidre. She smiles at me, then at Gus, and wraps her cardigan tightly around her chest as she approaches us.

I stand, pulling her into a quick hug. “Deidre, I’m so sorry.”

She tries to speak, but all that comes out is a choked sob.

“How is Papa?” Gus asks her.

She forces a swallow as she pulls away. “He’s resting, baby. I had to come out to go to the restroom, so I thought I’d check on you.” She ruffles his hair. “Are you hungry or anything?”

He shakes his head.

“Aunt Wendy’s going back to her house in a few minutes to try to get some sleep before your cousins wake up in a few hours,” she says. “If you want to go there and rest, she’d love to take you.” She looks up at me. “There’s a room there for you, too. Or you can go to Dad’s and stay there. I can give you a key.”

“That’s nice of you, Deidre, thanks. But I’ll just hit up a hotel.”

Gus turns to face me. “No, Dad. Go home.”

Deidre flinches. “Gus. Don’t talk to him that way.”

“What are you going to do here, Dad?” Gus asks, ignoring his mother.

“I’m going to be here for you.”

“I’m bad at math,” he says. “But let’s balance this equation.”

Chuckling, I hold out my hands. “How do you know how to balance an equation?”

“Markie. Don’t change the subject.” He lifts a brow. “I’m here but I have Mom, and Aunt Wendy, and a million other people that I don’t know. I’ll be fine. But on the other end of this equation is Markie, and she’s all alone.” He leans forward. “Balance the equation, Dad.”

Deidre flinches. “I feel like I’ve missed a lot.”

“Tell him to go home,” Gus tells her. “Kick him out of here. He has responsibilities to his girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend?” Deidre grins. “I didn’t know you had a girlfriend.”

“Yeah, well …”

“Her name is Markie,” Gus says. “And she’d make an excellent stepmom, which is why I hooked them up in the first place.”

Deidre lifts a brow. “Well, okay then.” Her eyes hold a glimmer of the sparkle I remember from college. “Looks like you need to go back to Sugar Creek.”

I stare at her because I don’t know what to do and I don’t want to make the wrong fucking decision. Again.

“I’ll make this easy for you. Do you love her?” Deidre asks, her gaze searching mine.

My heart swells as I think of Markie and how much I wish she was here. I wish I told her at Lolly’s that I want her to go to Nevada with me. That I want to figure out a way to make things work because she’s … it. She’s my girl. She’s my more.

“Yeah,” I say, nodding. “I do. I love her.”

“Then our son is right and you need to go. That drive is going to be awful, but such is the adventure when you’re in love.” She wraps her arm around Gus’s shoulders. “He can rest at my sister’s. I have lots of family here to entertain him. And once this is all over, maybe I can bring him back to you or meet you halfway or something. That is, if you want to finish the summer out there, Gus.”

He nods. “For sure, I do.”

Excitement begins to stir inside me. “You’re sure?” I ask my son. “I’ll stay. I’m happy to stay.”

“If you stay, I’ll be stressed out. So, please go. You can still make it for the tournament, right?”

I take out my phone and check the time. “Maybe,” I say. “Barely. If I can get enough coffee and not hit traffic.”

Gus gives me a hug. Then I give Deidre a tight squeeze.

“Call me if you need anything,” I whisper in her ear. “I’m a phone call away.”

She pulls back and smiles. “Go get our son’s stepmom. That’s the best thing you can do for all of us right now.”

I kiss the top of Gus’s head. “I love you, buddy. More than you’ll ever know.”

“Yeah. I know, Dad.” He grins. “I love you, too.”

I wind my way out of the hospital with adrenaline flooding my veins, hitting a full sprint as soon as I’m in the parking lot.

Time waits for no man, and with this second chance, I refuse to be another notch of disappointment on Markie’s conscience. 

CHAPTER

THIRTY

Markie

“Ouch,” I mumble, squinting as I try to open my eyes. They’re puffy. Swollen. I can tell that without looking.  

I groan, dropping my hand over my face. The light streaming through the bedroom windows is too bright and the sound of the ceiling fan is grating. This is worse than a hangover.

My phone buzzes somewhere in the pile of pillows and blankets that I apparently fought throughout the night. I rummage around with my hand until I find the device halfway off the bed under a sock.  

“Looks and feels like there was a party here last night,” I say, unlocking the screen. “Too bad I missed all the fun.”

I was up to see the sunrise and even had a cup of coffee, figuring I wasn’t sleeping. But I must’ve passed out around eight or eight thirty this morning. The last thing I remember is my alarm going off—the one I set a couple of days ago so I could get up and make a hearty breakfast for me, Jory, and Gus before the tournament started.

There are three unread messages staring back at me. One from Adam, one from Audrey, and one from Jory. Of course, Jory’s is the one I want to read first, but I know once I read it, I’ll be unable to process anything else. So, I start with Adam.

I click on his name and his message pops up on the screen.

Adam: It’s game day! Kick ass! I’m pulling for you.

I smile sadly and try to decide what to say. Do I tell him that I’m not playing? If I do, he’ll surely want a reason, and I have zero desire to get into that with him.

Me: Thanks! Hope you’re having fun.

What I really want to say is, Thanks! If you’d just played with me, I wouldn’t be in hell right now.

I hit send and move on to Audrey’s.

Audrey: Hey, it’s Brooks. I heard about what happened with Jory. If you need a partner, call Aud. I’m more than happy to come play with you. I haven’t played pickleball in forever, but I am a professional athlete. I got you. <muscle emoji> And if Gray volunteers, remember that fighters have more dexterity and think quicker on our feet. I’M the better choice.

“No,” I say, laughing through the tears that flood my eyes from Brooks’s sweet message. “I’m not crying today. I’m not a crybaby.”

Still, as I reread Brooks’s message, I can’t help but to shed a few tears. He really is a great guy.

Me: Thank you, Brooks, but I’m just going to sit this one out. Appreciate you, though.

I bite my lip, fending off a wave of anxiety, as I open Jory’s message. It was sent at nine this morning.

Jory: Thanks for the prayers. Gus is hanging in there but it’s hard. Call me when you’re up.

I struggle to sit up. As I become vertical, the pain behind my eyes begins to throb. I want to lie back down and cover my face with a pillow, but that won’t help. Besides, it’s already one thirty in the afternoon.

I’ve replayed yesterday evening repeatedly, and every time I reconsider it, I’m even more convinced that Jory was, in fact, telling me goodbye. It was the look in his eyes and the way he touched me. It was just final. It was his version of, “You heard me say that I’m going to Nevada, so let’s just do this now.”

“You can’t blame him,” I say aloud to the empty room. “He never made you any promises.”

Maybe not, but it felt like a promise every time he smiled my way. Every time he touched the side of my face. Every time he said my name, kissed me, and made me laugh. It all felt like a piece of a bigger puzzle.

There’s a crack running down the center of my chest, and the pain from my heart is seeping through.

I love him. I fell in love with the single dad who came into my life and turned it upside down with his amazing pickleball skills and wicked sense of humor.

My temporary unicorn with a crooked smile and enormous … heart.

I love him and his little boy so damn much that I may never recover.

I read his message again and consider calling him. I’d give anything to hear his voice. But, if my instincts are right, and they always are, there’s a good chance I may not see him if he does come back to Sugar Creek. And once the summer is over—that’s it.

It’s game over.

My feet hit the floor and I stretch, trying to bring some life into my muscles. But as I push my arms over my head, an invisible band wraps around my chest.

It’ll be game over sooner or later, and I can’t keep worrying about it. I can’t tell him goodbye twice. But I need him to know how I feel, and I don’t think I trust myself to say it to his face.

I sit on the edge of the mattress and get to work putting my feelings into a text. Saying everything I need to say.  

Me: I’m glad you made it and that Gus is doing okay. Please give him a hug for me.

I want to be honest with you before I turn my phone off today. And I’m saying it in a text because I don’t trust myself to get it all out the right way on the phone.

Last night felt like a real goodbye. I think I can read you pretty well, and I think you were telling me that this was the end of us. And, honestly, it makes sense. If we couldn’t play in the tournament together, then why drag this thing between us out over the next few weeks? It’ll just make things harder.

These last few weeks were the best weeks of my life. You and your little boy were a light in my life in a way that I never expected. And Jory—you’re the best dad. Never forget that.

I don’t know if you’re coming back to Sugar Creek or not, but I’m going to go away for a bit. I can’t risk running into you around town. And there’s no sense in seeing you before you leave. I’m not sure I could survive saying goodbye again.

I hope someday we can be friends, and maybe we can chat here and there on Social. But, for right now, I need a clean break. I hope you understand. This is a me problem, not a you problem. <heart emoji>

I’m keeping your practice jersey to wear while I cheer you on from the couch next season. I’ll put anything else you left here in a box and set it inside the back door of your house.

Take care, Jory. Please.

Love,

Markie

I hit send and turn off my phone.

“Might as well pack a bag and make sure that Brandy can cover for me for a few days,” I say, sighing as I get up. If she can’t, I’ll have to stay in Laveen or somewhere close so I can commute back and forth to the market. Maybe I can stay at the ranch. It’s far enough away from town.

That’ll suck, but it’ll work. I think.

I tug down the end of Jory’s shirt and make my way into the kitchen. The tightness in my chest has taken root, and it’s somehow both hollow and heavy all at once. I imagine that it’s the space that Jory and Gus used to fill. I also imagine that I’ll become quite acquainted with the feeling for a long time.

“What will go bad?” I ask, looking in the fridge. There are fruits and vegetables, and some meat that will expire if not eaten soon. “Where’s my cooler? I could just take it all with me.”

I lean against the refrigerator, rubbing my eyes, trying to stop myself from crying.

This was not what today was supposed to look like.

There’s a saying that it’s better to have loved and lost than to never have experienced it at all, and I firmly disagree. I was so much better off hating men. I was functioning just fine without having a hole in my fucking chest, trying to figure out how to live through the pain. 

“I’m just going to have to switch back,” I say, like it’s that easy and close the fridge. “I hated all men once. I can hate them again.” I pause before heading to the sink for a glass of water. “Well, I’ll never be able to hate Jory, but …”

The sound of a car horn blaring in front of the house distracts me. I grab a glass out of the cabinet before it starts honking again.

“What the heck is going on?” I ask, getting very good at talking to myself. “What the …”

I peer through the window, angling my neck to get a glimpse of the front of the house. Just as I lean forward, the glass falls from my hand, smashing against the floor into a hundred pieces.

No. There’s no way.

My heart pounds as I gasp, spinning toward the front door. My eyes are as big as saucers as I hold my breath. I’m afraid to run to the door like I want to, because I could be hallucinating. Things get weird for me when I haven’t slept or eaten enough and, if I were going to see an apparition, I’d totally see Jory.

The door flies open and he comes into the house, scanning the room until he finds me.

A slow, sinful smile slips across his cheeks.

“You’re in my shirt,” he says, his eyes lighting up.

“And you’re in the same clothes you were wearing when you left here last night.”

He starts to speak then stops himself. I certainly can’t say anything more because I don’t know whether to laugh or cry or ask questions.

What is going on here?

As if he can read my mind, he springs to life. “We have twenty minutes. You gotta get dressed, babe.”

“For what?”

“Do we not play at two thirty?”

“I … I mean, yeah. But you left and …”

“And I’m back.” His smile softens. “Now get that fine, little ass of yours into something that you can wear in public. I’ll get your bag out of your car. We gotta go.”

“Jory?”

He slides a kiss across my lips as he moves by me, side-stepping the glass. “We’ll get that later. Do you have anything I can grab quick to eat? I’m fucking starving.”

“Yeah. I mean, there’s a banana and probably some snack cakes in the pantry. Jory, what’s happening?”

He closes the fridge and faces me. The crooked smile that I love so much shines back at me like a beacon guiding me home.

“This is not the way that I wanted to do this,” he says. “But you’re not going to stop asking until I answer you and we gotta go.” He smiles. “So, the quick version is this: I drove Gus to the hospital and sat with him for an hour or so. Then I got gas, a cup of coffee, and an energy drink and came back. I’m hungry. I’m tired. And I owe a county in Kentucky like two hundred bucks for speeding.”

I gasp. “Are you kidding me?”

“I am not. But it’s a small price to pay to keep my promise to the woman I love.”

My hand covers my mouth, and I know there’s no stopping the tears this time.

He wraps me up in his arms and kisses my forehead. “I love you, Markie. I’m going to be honest and tell you that I don’t know what this looks like. I don’t know how we make it work—only that we will. We have to, babe. If that’s what losing you feels like, I can’t do it again.” He grins, swiping the wetness from my cheeks with his thumbs. “And I’m pretty sure Gus would never speak to me again, either.”

“I love you,” I say, laughing through my tears. “I love you so much.”

“Then never send a text like you sent me a little bit ago again.” He groans. “That about killed me.”

“Why didn’t you call?”

He lets me go and smacks my ass. “Because you turned your phone off. Now get dressed. We have a pickleball tournament to win.”

CHAPTER

THIRTY-ONE

Markie

“Grab the wheel,” Jory says as we head toward the park.

“What?”

“Hold the wheel. I need to change my shirt.”

He grips the edge of his shirt, so I lean over and hold the steering wheel so that we don’t crash.

“I cried myself to sleep last night,” I say, making sure we don’t hit a pothole in the road. “And now you’re literally shirtless beside me after telling me that you love me. I don’t know what kind of restraint you think I have, but you’re wrong.”

He kisses me quickly as he twists toward the back seat. “Wanna talk about restraint?” He sits facing forward, slides on a clean shirt, then returns to steering. “I walked into your house and saw you with my shirt bunched up at the top of your ass cheeks and I managed to stay focused and not fuck you on the kitchen table.”

“Sounds like we’re even then.”

We exchange a smile as he pilots the car into one of the last parking spots near the courts.

“Let’s go kick some ass,” Jory says, kissing me quickly before we hop out of the car. He grabs our bags and then we make a dash for Court 3.

The crowd gathered around for our match turns as we jog toward them.

“There they are!” a voice says from somewhere in the mass of people.

I wave at George Mathers, and the relief on his face is evident.

Jory holds the gate open and we step onto the court.

The electricity in the park is almost alive, buzzing through the townspeople lined up on bleachers and lawn chairs surrounding the courts. We place our stuff on the bench, still wet from the rain this morning, and take out our paddles. Our opponents stare us down from the other side of the court.

They clearly don’t know me. Intimidation never works.

“You ready?” Jory asks, smiling at me.

“I was born ready.”

“Did you see your friends over there?”

Huh? “No. Where?”

“Behind us. Top row.”

I turn, scanning the audience for them. Finally, at the very end, I spot them all. Audrey and Brooks, Gray and Astrid, Gianna and Drake, and Mira and Hartley. Nettie sits beside one of the guys from the wedding, and when she and I make eye contact, she winks.

My heart swells as they all wave—showcasing the shirts Gianna made them all—and pink and white pompoms shake in Audrey and Mira’s hands.

“How did they know?” I ask Jory. “I told them last night that we weren’t playing.”

“Long story.” He half smiles. “Your brother called me this morning, and then called Mira, I think.”

“Miles called me last night, too.”

His brows pull together. “How’d that go?”

“I’ll tell you about it later.”

“We’re ready to get started on Court 3,” George says into the microphone. “This is Match 13 on your brackets, ladies and gentlemen. We have Jill Jenkins and Darrin Beren taking on Markie St. James and Jory Plath.”

The crowd cheers as the four of us meet to shake hands. George reminds us of the rules as we take our places on the court. We do our best to loosen up in the small amount of time that we have to work with. It’s not enough, but it’ll have to work.

A bubble of anxiety starts to pop in my stomach. I’m usually so good about not getting nervous. This is my dominion, after all. But this all happened so fast, the tide changed in the blink of an eye, and I didn’t have time to prepare. My game face got left in the car.

The ball is handed to Darrin, and he takes his position behind the baseline, waiting for the instruction to begin.

George raises his hand and then lets it fall dramatically to his side.

The crowd roars in applause.

Darrin drops the ball and drives his serve diagonally across the court toward Jory. Jory handles it easily, firing a deep return down the sideline.

Jill’s next shot comes up short, but I dig it without any trouble, dropping a soft dink into the opposite corner. By the time they react, the ball is already bouncing twice.

I lift my hands, a burst of excitement ripping through me, as I turn to Jory. He gives me a high five and takes the ball from George.

“Good job,” Jory says. “Let’s keep it going.”

I face our opponents, ready to work. My nerves are gone. I’m in the zone.

The crack of Jory’s serve echoes behind me. Darrin struggles with the power but manages to get a paddle on it. I send it back with interest, painting the sideline.  

Jill reaches it, but her shot hangs.  

Rookie mistake.

I scoop it up, and feather another dink into the open court, winning the point.

The crowd goes wild.

“There we go,” I say, clapping my hands. “We got this.”

Jory fires another serve to Darrin’s backhand. He twists, trying to recover, but the ball lands just inside the baseline before he can get his paddle on it.  

“That’s a point,” George announces. “That’s 3-0, Team St. James.”

Jory lifts a brow. “Team St. James, huh?”  

“I don’t know where he got that,” I say, laughing, too.

“Sure, you don’t.”

“I guess this means you need a shirt with my name on the back.”

He narrows his eyes playfully.

“I could have so much fun with this,” I say, teasing him.

He catches George’s toss. “Stop thinking about my dick and pay attention.”

“Never thought I’d hear you say that,” I say, giggling. “Let’s win this and go home.”

We score the next seven points with little effort. Darrin and Jill manage to put two points on the board, but they never stood a chance.  

While I generally enjoy a more competitive game, after last night, it’s fun to relax a little. My friends cheering us on, the warm sun on our faces, and the spirit of the Sugar Days Festival buzzing around us—it’s exactly what my soul needed. And with Jory beside me, I couldn’t ask for anything more.

“We need one more,” Jory says. “You ready?”

“Yup.” I grin, leaning closer. “Darrin is creeping toward the center line. That sideline is wide open.”  

“You got it, boss.”

Jill drops the ball and fires a serve my way. It’s shallow, like ninety percent of her serves today. I handle it easily, dropping a lob over the net. Don’t crowd the kitchen, Jill. Darrin poaches it, almost knocking her over, and sends it ripping toward Jory.

He drives it down the sideline, but Darrin somehow gets ahold of it, and the pace changes instantly.

I adjust. But, when I plant my foot to pivot, my sneaker lands in a puddle of water.

I gasp, realizing what’s happening way faster than I can stop it.

Panic bolts through my veins as I try to stay on my feet, but my foot slides. Knee twists. Ankle pops.

And then I’m falling, the court rushing toward me.

I hit the asphalt hard.

“Ah,” I yell, dropping my paddle to the sound of the audience gasping. Fire shoots through my calf and foot just as Jory reaches me.

“Hey,” he says, kneeling beside me. “What happened?”

“Water. I think.” I moan, wanting to hold my ankle but also not wanting to touch it. “Oh, my gosh, this hurts.”

Tears fill my eyes—red hot. They burn my cheeks as they drip onto them.

“Let me look,” Jory says gently.

“Please, don’t touch it.”

I tremble from the pain, looking at the sky and wishing I could redo the last two minutes.

“Babe, it’s really swollen,” Jory says, just as Mira reaches my side. “I think we need to get you to a doctor.”

“Markie, are you okay?” she asks, squatting next to me. “Oh, that doesn’t look good.”

“It hurts so bad—ugh,” I say, hissing a breath. “I can’t walk on it. There’s no way.”

Mira and Jory say something, but I can’t hear them over the roar of blood across my eardrums.

“I’ll talk to George,” Mira says.

I blink back tears as I peer up at Jory. “All of that driving last night for nothing.”

“For nothing?” He shakes his head softly. “It was never about this tournament for me, Markie. It was just about showing up for you.”

He kisses my forehead as a medic arrives to look at my foot.

I groan as the woman tries to move it.

“I know this sucks for you,” Jory says. “I know how important it was to win and to beat Jasper.”

The crowd’s on their feet, watching the EMT check me out. And as I look at them—recognizing friends, old opponents, and Alfie and Mr. Crowder—I realize something else.

It was really never about this tournament for me either.

This tournament was a way for me to cling to a time in my life that was special to me. The last time in my life when I felt fulfilled. It represented a way of life that I missed, a nostalgia for a life I didn’t think I’d have again.

The Jasper part? That was petty. We all have our moments.

The only thing that matters is the man holding my hand, ensuring the EMT doesn’t hurt me, and keeping everyone away from me so I don’t get overwhelmed. The man who drove sixteen hours to take care of his son and me in the same night. The man who defended me when he didn’t have to, who kept his promises when it didn’t seem possible, and whose actions have made me feel loved beyond comprehension.

“Gonna need you to stop crying,” he says, smiling sadly.

“These are happy tears.”

He grimaces. “I find that hard to believe.”

“I don’t need to win this tournament, Jory. And I don’t give a shit about Jasper.”

“Really?”

I stare into his eyes. “I was just biding my time, I think. Keeping busy until you showed up. I mean, it would explain why I never got a full-time, year-round job. And why I could never figure out what path I was supposed to take in life.” I shrug. “I was waiting on you and Gus.”

“He’ll be very glad to hear that.” He laughs, his eyes clouding. “And I’ll show you once we’re alone how happy that makes me.”

“I love you, Jory.”

“Oh, babe. Not nearly as much as I love you.”

His lips find my forehead as the EMT suggests taking me to the hospital for an X-ray. Jory assures her that he’ll drive me there himself.

He lifts me in his arms to applause from the crowd. I find my friends in the stands. Brooks holds his hands out as if to say, “I told you I was the best choice.” It makes me laugh despite the pain in my foot.

I hold up my hand and the crowd claps louder. Jory turns me in a circle so I can see everyone. Because this is my retirement from pickleball. May the next champion reign as happily as I have.

Except Jasper. Fuck Jasper.

“I’ll meet you at the hospital,” Mira says, walking off the court with us.

“You don’t have to do that,” I say. “I’ll be fine.”

She looks at Jory and smiles. “I know you will.”

I look up at him, too.

That makes two of us.

CHAPTER

THIRTY-TWO

Jory

I have never been so tired in my life.

“How do you feel?” I ask, sitting on the edge of Markie’s bed. The mattress dips with my weight. “Are the painkillers helping?”

She nods. “Yeah. Lying with my foot up in the air like this will get old really quick though.”

“I happen to like your legs up in the air, although I prefer to be between them.”

She grins sleepily. “Me, too.”

Rain pelts the glass and the sky is dark. We spent the majority of the afternoon at the hospital. After some tests, they decided that Markie has a nasty sprain but should recover if she manages to stay off it.

I assured them she will.

I’ll be right here watching her.

“Did you talk to Gus?” she asks, yawning.

I stretch out beside her, careful not to bump her foot. “Yeah. He called about an hour ago. His grandpa died around four o’clock.”

“Oh, no. How was he?”

“Sad, of course, but I think he’s okay. He mentioned a couple of times that he’s happy he got to tell him he loves him. I think that gave him closure.”

“I bet so. That was one of the hardest things about losing my parents. There was never any closure.”

“I was older when I lost my dad. Eighteen, but older than you and Gus. I hate that we all have that in common, but I’m grateful Gus has people in his corner who know how it feels.”

She pulls my arm toward her and rests her head against it.

“Last night though,” I say, sighing. “That fucking hurt. Leaving you here. Realizing what you probably thought, but there really wasn’t anything that I could do about it.” I kiss the side of her face. “How should I have handled it? How can I do that better next time?”

“There won’t be a next time. I won’t be the fake girlfriend afraid to ask you for more.”

I chuckle. “You’re my more.”

She looks at me with her brows pulled together, but she doesn’t ask.

“So, do you want to talk about the logistics of this, or do you want to wait until you’re sober?” I ask, teasing her.

“It’s all the same to me.”

“That’s not true. Your family’s here. Your friends. The logistics of our life together will matter to you.”

She hums against my skin. “Why don’t we keep my house here? Gus loves it in Sugar Creek, so we could always visit in the summers or on his school breaks. And then when he goes off to college, we could always move back here, if we wanted.” She grins. “I think our babies would love it here, too.”

My dick hardens at the insinuation of having children with her.

“Babies?” I ask. “Plural?”

“I was thinking two or three, if that’s okay.”

I snort. “If you want fifteen, I have no problems with that.”

“Fifteen?” She bursts out laughing and then cringes when her foot moves. “Two or three is great. Don’t get crazy.”

“So, does this mean you’re okay with moving?”

She kisses my bicep. “I told you. I think I’ve always been waiting on you. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love this little town, and I’ll miss Lolly and Mira and my friends. But my life is with you and Gus.”

“So, it’s safe to say that when I get a ring, you’ll marry me?”

Her eyes lift to mine.

“I’ll propose in a much better way. I promise,” I say. “But I’m never going to not say what I’m thinking or let there be any doubt in your pretty head about what my intentions are.” I brush her hair out of her face. “I love you. I know it’s been fast, but when you know, you know. And I know,” I whisper. “I want to marry you. I want to spoil the shit out of you. I want to have children with you, and grow old with you, and have you there to teach Gus math.”

She laughs, touching my face. “I love you. I want all of that, too. And if that was your way of proposing, my answer is yes.”

I drop my lips to hers and kiss her like my life depends on it. Because, really? It does.

I came to Sugar Creek uncertain about the future, and yet somehow, due to this amazing woman, I’ll leave here with my future.

Funny how that works out—how the world puts you where you’re supposed to be.

And I’m supposed to be right here, with Markie in my arms.

EPILOGUE

Markie

Three weeks later …

“I told you,” Brooks says, pointing at me as he walks toward the fire. “You should’ve let me be your partner.”

“Excuse fucking me?” Jory says, lifting a brow.  

Brooks laughs, sitting in a lawn chair next to him. “So, where’s the Guster?”  

The fire crackles in front of us, casting a rosy glow across Gianna’s backyard. It’s our new favorite hobby—having a fire, a drink, and smores in the evenings. It will be one of the things I miss most about Sugar Creek.

Jory laces his fingers with mine. “Gus is fishing with his friends. He goes back to his mom’s next week. She’s going to come here and take him back with her since Markie can’t travel well on crutches. Deidre wants to meet Gus’s soon-to-be stepmom that she keeps hearing about.”

I know the smile on my face is goofy, but I can’t help it. I’m that fucking happy.

Deidre and I have spoken a couple of times on the phone since Gus came back from Ohio. She’s so sweet and such a doll. We’ve even texted a few memes back and forth, and I’m thrilled that we get along so well.

“And,” I say, smiling at my fiancé. “We decided to have a little wedding ceremony at my house before Gus leaves for Nevada.”

“What did you just say?” Astrid asks, her jaw hitting the ground.

Gianna, Nettie, and Audrey all turn toward me.

“Mira already knows this, so she won’t care that I’m telling you now,” I say. “But Jory and I are getting married next Friday.”

“Oh, my gosh,” Nettie says. “Markie! That’s amazing. Congrats!”

“Thank you.”

“Ring?” Gianna asks, side-eyeing Jory.

“It’s getting sized. Relax,” he tells her, making everyone—but Gianna—laugh.

The ring’s stunning and more than I expected. I had to see a specialist in Nashville last week because the doctor wanted a second opinion on whether I needed surgery. The ankle’s not healing as they thought. While we were there, I saw his apartment—where we’ll be living once we leave here this winter for the rugby season—and we went to a jewelry store. Siggy’s was where Drake found Gianna’s ring and now where Jory found one perfect for me.

“Where did the guys go?” Gianna asks, just noticing that Drake, Gray, and Hartley left about a half hour ago.

“They’ll be back,” Brooks says, trying not to give away that something is brewing.

“But, where did they go?” she asks again.

Brooks takes a long swig of his beer. “Hell if I know.”

“You’re a liar, Brooks Dempsey.”

“What a terrible accusation to throw around.”

I listen to them argue like siblings, which is always amusing, and then, in the distance, I spot Hartley’s truck coming up the drive. Gianna notices it, too, and grows suspicious.

“Guys, what’s going on?” she asks, with a hand on her hip.

The truck comes around the back of the house making a wide circle around the firepit. Gray, Mira, and Hartley get out of the front, and Drake gets out of the back … with a piglet.

“Oh, my gosh. No, you didn’t!” she squeals, making a beeline for Drake. “That better be mine.” She stops a few feet away. “You’re so cute. Look at you.”

“Do you want to hold her?” Drake asks, smirking.

“No. Not even a little bit.”

“Then why did you want one?” Astrid asks, laughing. “I don’t understand the logic.”

“Because it’s cute and we can form a friendship. And it can eat our food waste. And … stuff.”

Nettie and I exchange a smile.

“What’s that around its neck?” Audrey asks. “It’s blue, I think.”

Drake pretends to try to find the box that’s secretly in his hand. “I don’t see it.”

“It’s right there—no.” Gianna covers her mouth, jumping backward. “You are not.”

Drake hands the pig to Hartley, then he drops to one knee.

“Drake …” Gianna says, bouncing on her toes. “It took you long enough.”

We all laugh at her reaction as Drake opens the box.

“You, Miss Bardot, are the love of my life,” Drake says. “I love the life we’re building together, and the way you can destroy a kitchen, and how I never know what art supplies will be all over the floor in the morning. You keep things interesting and beautiful, and I’d be honored if you’d be my wife.”

“Yes. Yes, yes, yes!” She squeals, throwing her arms around Drake’s neck. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he says, taking the ring out and slipping it onto her finger.

I clap, and the others follow along.

Something else is going on, and I can’t figure out what it is. But Mira is smiling a little too big. Hartley is a little too close to her, and Brooks is grinning like a loon with Audrey on his lap.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

Gianna and Drake look over as we all kind of watch each other suspiciously.

Audrey and Mira exchange a smile.

“Mira and I have something to say,” Audrey says.

“Excuse me?” Brooks asks, shaking his head.

Mira laughs. “Hartley and I, and Brooks and Audrey have something to say.”

I gasp. “You’re pregnant!”

“No!” Gianna wraps Mira into a hug. “You’re pregnant?”

“We’re due a month apart,” Audrey says. “That’s why we got married so quickly. I wanted to do it before we got too far along.”

I point at my sister. “And you didn’t tell me first?”

“I tried,” she says. “But you got engaged and I didn’t want to steal that from you. And then things just kept happening and Audrey and I accidentally figured it out.”

Audrey giggles. “That’s a story for another day.”

“Did you tell Lolly?” I ask, turning to Audrey. “Does your mom know?”

Audrey nods.

“I told Lolly today,” Mira says. “She lost her ever-loving mind.”

I laugh. “I bet she did.”

Astrid sighs. “I’m not getting left out.”

“What do you have to tell us?” Gianna asks, tucking herself into Drake’s side.

Gray grins. “We’re going to Vegas to get married tomorrow.”

“What?” I ask. “Why?”

Astrid scoffs. “I don’t have it in me to plan another wedding.”

We all laugh, thinking about her antics during Audrey’s.

“And I don’t have it in me to wait any longer,” Gray says, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. “I want to get to the baby making part, too.”

“If you need a witness, we can go,” Gianna says. “I love Vegas.”

Nettie raises her hand. “Here’s my news.” She looks around, smiling. “I am not getting married and I am not pregnant, thank God.”

“No, but you have a reverse harem thing going on, so you just keep on living that life, girl,” Gianna says, before Drake nips at her ear, making her laugh.

The flames dance, the oranges and blues looking livelier than they did a few moments ago. It’s as if they’re happy for all of us, too.

Fireflies twinkle in the distance as Hartley and Drake show Gianna the pen that they’ve been secretly building for a couple of weeks. Brooks and Audrey whisper things back and forth that make her cheeks turn pink. Nettie excuses herself for an appointment, which means she’s meeting the fighters for round number … who knows. And Mira and Astrid chat about the ranch and what they’ll do for Cathy’s birthday next week.

Gray grabs a beer and takes a seat beside Jory.

This is most definitely not the life I imagined just a few months ago, but I can see now that this was exactly the life meant for me.

I found—and get to keep—my unicorn, the man who might still disappoint me from time to time, as, let’s face it, he’s also human. But I trust him. Implicitly. We’re going to build an amazing life together and I can’t wait for it to begin.

Because when there’s trust, when someone intentionally works at being your person, at making your needs his priority, expectations ease and joy remains.

No begging required.

Thank you for reading Beg Me, book 5 in the Play Me Series.

If you haven’t read the rest of the book in this collection, start with Play Me (Gray & Astrid’s book). Chapter One follows, so keep swiping.

If you have read Play Me, Try Me, Show Me, and Make Me, then you should read The Proposal. Keep reading for Chapter One of it, too.

PLAY ME

He’s supposed to be playing rugby—not playing me.

I didn’t think it was possible to hate someone. Like utterly despise another human. Then I was hired to babysit the Royals’ newest star and found out just how wrong I was.

My job should’ve been easy. Keep the hotshot on time and out of trouble. But that’s hard to do when I dream of smothering him with his jersey.

Every day delivers a new reason to detest Gray Adler. His truck is the size of a whale, and he uses the horn like a weapon. And, no, that’s not a euphemism. He can’t manage a sentence without being rude. And the universe, in its cruelest joke, gave that tattooed, walking red flag the body of a Greek god.

Just when I finally get used to hating him, things take a turn.

A scalding-hot, mind-blowing I can’t do this with a man I work with sort of turn.

Suddenly, those rough hands make my skin sizzle. His sinful smirks fade into grins just for me. And our banter shifts into something much more profound than it should.

But Gray Adler is hiding something. And when those secrets collide with my vulnerable heart, I ask myself an important question.

Is he finally telling me the truth, or am I still getting played?

***

Chapter One

Astrid

“Can you still track me?” 

“That doesn’t make me sound creepy at all,” I say, watching dollar bills flow from my bank account into my gas tank. My compact car may not be flashy, but what it lacks in style, it makes up for in gas mileage. Thank God. “But, yes, I can see where you are unless you removed yourself from our friend circle in the app. Why?” 

Gianna sighs. “Because I’m about to meet a guy in front of a defunct carpet store, and all I can think about is a scene in a horror movie where the killer asks the girl to help him load a rug. You can guess how that ends.” 

“I’d rather not.” I release the trigger, let the residual drips of gas fall into my tank—gotta get every penny’s worth in this economy—and return the dispenser to the pump. 

The late morning is unseasonably warm for spring. Birds perch along the power lines, forming neat little rows overhead. The sky is cloudless, allowing the sun’s bright rays to heat my face as I duck back into my car. 

“Okay,” I say, giving my friend all my attention once I’m settled in my seat. “Do you know this guy you’re meeting?” 

“Nope. Met him on Social last night.” 

“And why are you meeting him?” 

She groans. “To buy a urinal.” 

“As one does.”

“Don’t be a smart-ass, Astrid.”

I laugh. “I just wish this surprised me a little more. That’s all.”

I start the engine and wait for my phone to reconnect to Bluetooth.

Gianna and I have been friends since we were kids. A classmate put gum in her hair in first grade, so I dumped my juice on his crotch and made it look like he peed his pants. Turns out that juice on your pants is a much bigger travesty than gum in your hair in elementary school. 

It also creates the best friendships, even if her dreamy Pisces tendencies occasionally drive my goal-oriented brain bananas. 

“Finding a urinal has been on my bucket list for a long time,” she says. “You’d be surprised how hard they are to find. And they’re not cheap.” 

“At least tell me it’s a new one.” My response is met with silence. I rest my head against the seat and take a long breath. “Let me get this straight. You’re meeting a stranger in an abandoned parking lot to buy a used urinal you found on the black market?” 

“Don’t say it like that.” 

“Why? Because it sounds utterly ridiculous?” I sigh, fastening my seat belt. “I love your love for art, but I really need you to implement more stranger-danger protocols—like not meeting strange men in strange places for strange items.” I glance at the clock. “If you can wait an hour, I can go with you. I just have to take care of a few returns for my boss’s wife, and then I can get away for a little while.” 

“Can’t. I’m meeting him in fifteen minutes.”

Oh, for the love of Pete.

I stare out my windshield and wonder if this is what parenting feels like. You watch someone you love toddle into the world, hoping they don’t kill themselves. Over a urinal. 

It’s amazing humans still exist, especially ones like Gianna Bardot. That she’s survived for the past twenty-seven years amazes me. 

I grab my phone and find the app our friend group uses to share our locations.

“You’re logged in,” I say, watching her designated car emoji travel south out of the city. “I’m watching you now.” 

“Good. Okay. If you don’t hear from me in twenty minutes, I’ve probably been stuffed in the back of a van. Literally, not figuratively, unfortunately.” 

I snort, glancing in the rearview mirror as a large black truck pulls in behind me. The engine rumbles, creating a low vibration that I feel in my bones. I narrow my eyes to see who’s sitting in the driver’s seat, but the window tint’s too dark. 

“What are you doing for dinner?” Gianna asks, pulling my attention back to our conversation. 

I drop my phone in the cup holder. “No clue. I just finished breakfast.”

“Just now? I’ve been up working since six thirty.”

“I didn’t say I just woke up.” I’ve already done a load of laundry, loaded the dishwasher, and cleaned out two closets today. “Not only have I finished my chores and completed nearly all my tasks for Renn and Blakely for the day but I’ve also spent a couple of hours looking for a new side hustle.” 

“Your last side hustle just ended. Can’t you take a few weeks off and relax for once?” 

I wish. “No. If I have time on my hands, I need to pay down this debt faster. The interest is killing me.” 

Gianna sighs. “That means you don’t read enough. If you read more books, you wouldn’t have time to worry about your debt.” 

“That’s a responsible take on things.” I laugh. “Besides, I can’t sit still long enough to read a book for fun.” 

“Audiobooks were made for a reason, Astrid.” 

“So were books about personal safety, but you ignore those.” 

She laughs. “Sometimes you have to risk things for art.”

Her joy over this urinal and the sense of adventure she feels about the process brings a smile to my face. 

If there were one thing, one habit, that I would adopt from someone else, it’s Gianna’s passion. She throws herself into random art pieces, recipes, and side quests she unearths as a wildly successful advice columnist. It’s something I could never do. The lack of structure makes me itchy, and I feel the overwhelming need to put it all on a calendar … and take the fun out of it. 

“Want to meet at Stupey’s for overpriced sandwiches?” Gianna asks. “My treat since you bought last time. I think Audrey’s going to be around this weekend. The three of us haven’t been all together for two whole weeks.”

“Sure.” I glance back at the truck again. It’s still behind me despite nearly every other pump available. Weird. I consider pointing out how aware I am of my surroundings and suggesting that Gianna do the same. But she’s too fixated on the urinal to listen now. “I’ll drop it in the chat, and we’ll work it out.” 

“Sounds like a plan.”

My boss’s name flashes across my infotainment center. At the same time, the black truck revs its engine. Is he revving that thing at me?

“Hey, Renn’s calling me,” I say, glaring at the truck. “Text me when you secure the toilet and you’re on your way home.” 

“Urinal, Astrid. Ur-in-al.”

I laugh. “Bye.”

“Bye, friend.”

I tap the button to accept Renn’s call, push in the brake, and then move my hand to the gear shifter. But as soon as I touch the knob, the truck revs again—and that stops me in my tracks. He’s definitely revving his engine at me. 

“Hey, Renn,” I say, watching the behemoth behind me. Irritation snakes its way down my spine. “What’s up?”

“It’s been a hell of a morning. I didn’t catch you in the middle of anything, did I?” 

“Nothing much. Just waiting out some guy who’s overcompensating for something by having an extra-large truck.” 

Renn pauses. “Waiting him out? For what?” 

“He pulled in right behind me even though every other pump but one is open. I’m at the gas station, by the way. And because I haven’t rushed to get out of his way, he’s revving his engine at me.” 

“Oh.”

“What can I do for you?”

“Don’t get arrested? That would be great.” 

The engine roars again—louder this time. 

“Can you hear that?” I ask, my fingers gripping the steering wheel.

“Yeah, I can. Are you able to leave?” 

“Sure, I could. And I would if he hadn’t tried to bully me.” I roll my window down and hold my hand out, palm-side up. “Now, I’m going to sit here until he leaves.” 

“Astrid.”

A large, thick forearm sticks out of the driver’s side window, mimicking my gesture. Fucker.

“Why did you say you called?” I ask, annoyance stinging my cheeks. 

Renn sighs as if he doesn’t know what to say. It’s like a part of him wants to continue persuading me to leave, but the rest of him knows it’s pointless—and that side is right. I’ll gladly back down from a skirmish if I’m wrong. I’ll even apologize. But in this case? I’m not. So I won’t.

“I have a proposition to discuss with you,” he says. 

“That sounds vaguely interesting.” 

“Will you move?” a voice shouts from the truck. 

I mute Renn. “Yeah. When I’m ready!” I yell back before unmuting my boss. “Do you want to discuss it now or later?” 

“Do you think you can swing by my office this afternoon?” Renn asks. 

“Some of us have things to do today!” he shouts again.

I hit mute and then stick my head out the window. “Then pick another pump!” I settle back in my seat and huff before unmuting Renn again. “Sure. I have a couple of errands to run for Blakely, and then I’ll be free.” 

“That works.”

A horn blasts out of nowhere, the sound echoing thanks to the awning covering the gas station. I jump, anger prickling my scalp, and unbuckle myself. He did not just do that. “I’ll see you then.”

“What’s going on?” Renn asks.

“I gotta go.”

“Astrid, what’s happening?”

I pop the handle, and my door swings open. “This asshole just honked at me.”

“Let it go.”

“Thanks for the advice, Elsa,” I say, my finger hovering over the button to end the call. “I’ll let you know when I’m on my way. Talk soon.” 

I drop my fingertip against the red button, then fling my legs out of the car, slamming the door behind me. I storm toward the truck, my anger singeing the edges of my restraint.

My tennis shoes pound against the asphalt with more force than is probably necessary, but I can’t help it. If there’s one thing I hate more than anything, it’s men who audaciously think that their penis gives them a free pass to act like a chump. It’s like they believe that their five-incher has magical powers. In my twenty-eight years of life, I’ve never met a woman who claims a penis gave her more than a headache and, on the rare occasion, a semi-satisfying orgasm.

Heat billows from the front of the truck, blasting me as I march by. The top of the tires are waist-high, and I can’t fathom why anyone driving in the city needs tires this big. It’s obnoxious … kind of like the driver.

“Do you have a problem?” I yell over the sound coming from beneath the hood. The scent of gasoline and grease fills the air, stinging my nostrils. It crosses my mind for one quick, fleeting moment that this may not be significantly different from Gianna’s meetup for the urinal. 

I’ll just have to be a hypocrite today. 

I round the side mirror jutting out and come face-to-face with my nemesis. He stares down at me from his perch in the cab of the truck with a sardonic expression that sends my temper soaring. 

He arches a thick brow, pinning me to the spot with deep, walnut-colored eyes. “Yeah, I do have a problem. You’re blocking the pump.”

“There are literally …” I peel my gaze from his and quickly count the vacant pumps. All of them are open. Every. Last. One. “You have nine different options. Pick another one.” 

“I want this one.”

“You can’t always get what you want.”

His lips twitch. “True, because I’d also like to take that stick out of your ass, but that’s probably off the table, too, huh?”

I gasp, startled by his crudeness. Surprise siphons the blood from my face. Words wedge themselves in my throat from the shock of the moment.

“You’re a fucking asshole.”

“I’ve been called worse,” he says with a nonchalant shrug. “Will you move now?”

“I would’ve happily moved out of your way if you’d asked nicely. But you didn’t,” I say, pointing a finger at him. “Instead, you rolled up here in this ridiculous truck and revved your engine at me like some kind of threat.”

He makes the cockiest face—quirked brow, subtle smirk—like I’m acting irrational, and he thinks it’s funny.

“Then you honked your horn at me, which is unacceptable anywhere except maybe to avoid a collision.” I’m fighting to stay calm. “You are rude and disrespectful, and I have a personal rule that I don’t acquiesce to men who try to bully me.”

“Wow.” He grins, displaying a set of dimples. “Bully you? Okay. You realize that you were sitting in your little car, taking up real estate while you had social hour, right?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I was talking to my boss.”

The lively twinkle in his eye is like throwing fuel on my simmering fury. “Do it in the office, sweetheart. Not here.”

“Sweetheart?” I bark, my eyes widening. “You will never get the pleasure of knowing me well enough to call me sweetheart.” 

“Thank God for small favors.” The chuckle he only half-heartedly tries to suppress proves otherwise. “Know what I find interesting?” he asks, rolling his tongue along his bottom lip. “I find it interesting that you claim to be some kind of manners police when you’re the one blocking the damn pump.”

My hands go to my hips as I bite back the first thought that comes to mind because, unfortunately, I know he’s technically right. It is bad manners to block a pump. But they say the devil is in the details, and I try to avoid the devil at all costs.

I take a breath, then wear the biggest, most facetious smile I can manage. “I’ll leave when you ask nicely, sweetheart.”

He rests one massive forearm along the window and gives me the most blasé look ever. I pointedly ignore his pouty bottom lip and the perfect amount of scruff peppering a rock-hard jawline. Instead, I remember his insolence. 

“I should sit here all day just because you’re a jerk,” I say, unblinking. 

He turns off his truck without breaking eye contact. “Fine by me. I have time today.” 

Before I can think of something quick-witted to say—didn’t he just say he has somewhere to be?— an older sedan pulls up to the pump beside us, nearly clipping the bollards protecting the equipment. A small, older lady gets out, oblivious to the standoff happening feet from her, and waddles around the back of the car in her Velcro-strapped shoes. She fiddles with the pump, groaning as she tries to lift the nozzle from the machine. Whiffs of grandma perfume float in the air, and I suddenly crave snickerdoodles. 

I fold my arms over my chest, unable to argue with this guy in front of somebody’s grandma. 

He sighs. “Move,” he says more softly this time, bringing my attention to him once again. 

I take a step back as the truck door swings open. He doesn’t bother with the step rail but instead hops down with a natural ease. He doesn’t bother to look my way either. 

He’s taller than average, which surprises me. Broad shoulders fill out a plain black T-shirt, and thick thighs stretch the denim covering them. Dark hair is cut close to his head. He carries himself with a confidence that’s universally accepted as attractive—and it’s such a shame. 

Why waste a package like this on a guy with such a bad attitude?

“Are you doing okay over here?” he asks the woman like he wasn’t just being awful to me five seconds ago. “These pumps can get a little tricky.” 

“Yes, they can.” She sighs, clutching her pocketbook in her free hand. “I have a heck of a time wrangling these things. My arthritis is something awful. My John used to pump my gas for me, but he’s been gone for twenty-three years now. Feels like yesterday sometimes.”

“I’m not John, but I’d be happy to pump your gas for you today.” 

Oh, please.

I shuffle a bit closer so I can hear more clearly.

She coos, clearly smitten with him and his thoughtfulness. And, although she’s getting played by Truck Boy, I can’t blame her. He must seem genuinely sweet from her perspective. There’s no way for her to know he’s a fox in sheep’s clothing. 

“You don’t mind?” she asks. “I don’t want to take up too much of your time.” 

He glances at me out of the corner of his eye, his dimple shining in his cheek. “Not at all, ma’am. I’m going to be here a while anyway.”

I glare at him. 

“Oh, you’re such a good boy. So many young men don’t want to bother with an old woman like me.” She loops her arm through his elbow, and they slowly move to the driver’s side. “When you get to be my age, you feel like you don’t belong in the world anymore. You can barely work the new gadgets, and everyone’s so impatient with you. It’s terrible.” 

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” he says as he opens her car door. 

I stand beside his truck and watch them, trying to make sense of this encounter. He flipped from prick to prince in five seconds flat. My mind spins in bewilderment.

“Wait just a second,” the lady says, dropping into her seat with a huff. “I forgot to put my card in to pay.” 

“It’s on me today,” he says. 

I roll my eyes so hard it hurts.

He comes back to the pump, his gaze leveling with mine. A smug grin is all it takes to send me back into a free fall. But, before I can get a word out, he steps to the left and out of sight. 

My first instinct is to stand my ground and wait for him to finish. If I move, he wins. But with each second that passes without him in my line of sight, I think more clearly. And a glance around reminds me that I’m standing at a gas station, arguing with a stranger over a pump.

It’s like a bucket of cold water being tossed on my head.

So what if he wants to be a child about this? I have errands to run … and I’m getting off schedule.

“If you want to play games, Truck Boy, you’ll have to find someone else to play with you,” I say. 

I throw my hair over my shoulder in a final act of defiance and march my way back to my car. 

Take a deep breath, Astrid. Get out of fight or flight. It’s over.

I fill my lungs again and slowly exhale.

At least my asshole quota has been met for the day, and it can only get better from here.

Thank God for that.

Read or listen to Play Me here.

THE PROPOSAL

The Proposal

Breaking News: Rugby’s bad boy marries his best friend’s little sister

If Renn Brewer would’ve asked me to marry him, I would’ve said no.

Why?

One, his reputation precedes him. His name is in the headlines at least once a month. Two, he’s not just my brother’s best friend. They’re teammates. And three, I’m in my self-care era. 

Unfortunately, a version of me equates self-care with bad choices.

The cocktail in my hand—similar to the one that got me into this situation—is the prettiest shade of pink. It’s almost the same color as the giant rock on my left hand. And instead of discussing an annulment, I’m considering a 90-day marriage of convenience to the man I accidentally married in Las Vegas.

Renn didn’t propose marriage. But he does deliver a proposal I might be unable to turn down.

***

Chapter One

Blakely

“Could you die quietly?” Ella sighs, pulling her sunglasses down and squinting into the sunlight. “And maybe do it over there, please?”

Two quintessential frat boys, a label I’d bet my life on yet feels like a disservice to fraternities everywhere, cease their constant complaints about being hungover. Their whining is a show, a pathetic effort to gain attention, and one we’re over—especially Ella.

They fire a dirty look at my best friend. She cocks a brow, challenging them right back, and waits.

Lying on the chaise next to her, I smirk. How many seconds will it take for them to realize they’re outgunned by a five-foot-three pistol with bubble-gum pink toenails?

Eight … Nine … Ten …

They gather their things quietly, watching Ella like she might toss them into the pool if they don’t act quickly enough.

I wouldn’t be shocked if that happened, either.

Ella St. James doesn’t surprise me much anymore. She carried a tray of freshly baked snickerdoodle cookies when she rang my doorbell three years ago. She was adorable, wearing an apron with embroidered cherries and a white silk ribbon in her hair while welcoming me to the Nashville neighborhood. It starkly contrasted with the following weekend when she took me out so I could get acquainted with the city. That night ended with Ella jacking some guy’s jaw for trying to grope me on the dance floor and me picking her up from the police station in an Uber at three in the morning.

“Thank you,” she says, sliding the glasses up her nose and returning to her book.

Las Vegas is sweltering. Blue water sparkles just inches from our feet, and I swear it only amplifies the sun’s rays. We should probably get a massage or go shopping to beat the unbearable heat, but I didn’t fly for almost four hours to stay inside.

I could’ve celebrated my new job and birthday like that in Tennessee.

“How do you think I would look with red hair?” I ask, stretching my legs in front of me. “Not bright cherry red, but a more purple-y, crimson-y red.”

“No.”

I furrow my brows. “That wasn’t a yes or no question.”

“I was cutting to the chase.” Her fingertip trails along the bottom of the paperback. “That’s not the question you were really asking.”

It wasn’t? I settle against my chair. Yeah, it wasn’t.

It was a last-minute attempt at being young and reckless before I turn thirty tomorrow. 

This whole birthday crap has been a bit of a mind fuck. 

I’ve lived the past ten years with little abandon. I’ve traveled, dated, and swam with sharks. Went on a ten-city tour with a rock band. Attended a movie premiere, got engaged (and unengaged), and ate pizza at the world’s oldest pizzeria in Naples. Check that off the bucket list. And with every year of fun, I assumed I had nothing to worry about—that I would have my shit together before I turned thirty and became a real adult. 

That was an incorrect assumption. 

By all accounts, I should be in a stable relationship and burdened with a mortgage and enough debt to bury my soul until Jesus returns. Appliances should excite me. I should have a baby. I should understand life insurance. Instead, I just broke up with another bad boy with commitment issues, re-upped the rental contract on my townhouse, and refilled my birth control. 

But that all ends in six hours. I have to turn over a new leaf when the sun comes up. It’s time. 

Ella’s book snaps closed. “This is not a tri-life crisis, Blakely. It’s just a birthday.”

“I know that.”

“But do you?”

“Yes, I do,” I say, mocking her. “I’m not in crisis mode. I’m just transitioning into this new era of buying eye cream and freezing my eggs, and it’s a little … terrifying.”

She sighs. “You’ve been buying eye cream for years.”

“Yeah, as a hedge against the future. This is the future.”

Ella rolls onto her side, brushing her dark hair off her shoulder. “While I can’t relate because I have a solid two years before I’m thirty⁠—”

“Was that necessary?”

She laughs. “You’re freaking out for no reason. Tomorrow is just another day.” 

“I know. I really do. There’s just this pressure to get my ducks in a row and start making serious progress, or else I’ll be fifty with no husband or kids. And I want both.” 

“All I ask is that you be a little more selective on the husband part because the last few guys you’ve dated …” She whistles. “Not good, Blakely.” 

Yeah, I know.

“I know you feel your biological clock ticking or whatever it is, but you have been doing big things,” she says. “You’re the new artist manager assistant at Mason Music Label. Remember, you little badass? That’s impressive.” 

I shrug happily at the reminder. That’s true—a dream come true, really. And even more of a reason to get my shit together. “But would I be even more impressive as a redhead?” 

“The answer is still no.”

I groan. “Come on. I want to go out on something big. Something fun. Something wild that I’ll remember while I’m taking vitamins and going to bed before ten.”

Ella reaches for her water. “Fine. But let's find something else. Red doesn’t suit your skin tone.”

“Like what? I’m not getting anything pierced, and I don’t think I’m ready to commit to a tattoo.”

“You’ve been wanting a tattoo since the day I met you. As a matter of fact, weren’t you looking at tattoos when I brought over those cookies?”

I laugh. “Yes. But it’s so permanent. What if I don’t want it next week?”

She rolls her eyes.

“What else is there?” I ask. “Let’s think.” 

“Well, you could find a man with money and get a quickie wedding on the Strip.”

I laugh again, turning over onto my stomach. “At this point, that’s the only way I’ll get married—inebriated and to a stranger.” The guys I date aren’t marriage material. I’ll probably be alone forever at this rate. 

“Hey, people find love in all sorts of ways.”

“True, but the odds that I’ll find a marry-able man in the next few hours is incredibly low.” I fold my arms under my head. “In lieu of sexy strangers with an engagement ring in their pocket, what else do you suggest?”

She taps a finger to her lips. “We could go to a show tonight. A male striptease or something like that. It might be a way to get your juices flowing⁠—”

“Ew!”

“While lacking permanence. Then just see where the night takes us. Be free-spirited.”

“You just want to go because it’s one more way to needle Brock.” 

Her grin is full of mischief. “So? What’s your point?”

Ella and my brother have been a thing for almost two years. What kind of thing? I’m afraid to label it, although I’m fairly certain they’re exclusive without declaring exclusivity.

On the one hand, Ella is a lot to handle. She’s smart, opinionated, and doesn’t need a man—and she knows it. She also has a propensity to make decisions and weigh the risks after. That drives Brock nuts.

On the other hand, dating Brock would be a nightmare. Women throw themselves at him wherever he goes. Men stop him for autographs and to man-swoon over him. And during the season, he’s focused and mostly unavailable. That doesn’t always work for Ella.

I watch this back-and-forth and vow never to get into a relationship with a player—an athlete or otherwise. Again. I’ve done that before, and it didn’t end well. 

“I’m taking it you two are still fighting,” I say.

“We aren’t fighting. There’s nothing to fight about.” She lifts her chin to the sky. “I’m right, and he’s wrong. That’s all there is to it.” 

“I agree. You’re right this time.” 

Her eyes widen. “You’re damn right I’m right. I’m not putting up with him taking off to Miami with his friends and not even mentioning our anniversary.” 

“How can you have an anniversary if you aren’t in an official relationship?” I snicker. “Isn’t that what you always tell me? That you aren’t in an official relationship with him?”

She waves a hand through the air, dismissing my question. “It’s a prelationship, but that doesn’t change anything in this circumstance.”

“A what?”

“A prelationship. The formative stage where boundaries and expectations are established so you can determine if the other person is willing to abide by them.” She pauses. “Brock isn’t.”

I roll my eyes and let it go. They’ll settle this before Brock returns from Miami and we’re home from Vegas. I’ve seen it too many times to count.

“Then fine,” I say, sitting up. “Let’s go to a show. But if my brother asks whose idea it was, I’m not taking the blame.”

“Tell him it was mine. I want him to know. A little competition never hurt anyone.” 

“Competition for your non-boyfriend?” I ask, grinning. 

“Precisely.”

I shake my head as a bead of sweat trickles down my face. I wipe it away with the back of my hand. “I’m ready to go in and grab a shower.”

“And I need to make reservations for dinner.” She sits up, slipping on her flip-flops. “You owe me, you know.”

“What do I owe you for?”

“For depriving me of my right as your best friend to throw you the most outrageous, amazing birthday party that Nashville has ever seen.” She stuffs her water bottle in her bag. “I’m known in certain circles as the girl who throws the best bashes. I can only wonder what everyone is thinking about this.” 

I laugh at her ridiculousness, slipping my cover-up over my head. “You’ve thrown me a huge birthday party every year I’ve known you. You can miss this one. It won’t hurt.”

She frowns. “Maybe it won’t hurt you, but it pains me. I have a reputation to uphold.” 

“You’ll survive.”

I drop my phone, towel, and water bottle into my bag. I skim the area around me to ensure I have everything.

“Ready?” she asks.

“Yeah.” A bubble of excitement fills me. Let the birthday festivities commence. “Let’s go find trouble.” 

Ella shares my smile as we slide our bags on our sun-kissed shoulders. I spot my book under her chair and grab it. How did it get there?

As I stand, my gaze falls on Ella. Her wide eyes are twinkling. I’ve seen this look enough times to know things are about to get real.

“What?” I ask, frozen in place. 

Her grin pulls wider. “I think trouble just found us.” 

Oh no.

Read or listen to The Proposal here.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I’d like to thank my Creator before all else. Always.

This is the final book in the Play Me Series, and I’m having such a hard time accepting it. I fell in love with each of these characters as soon as they walked onto the page. The idea of me walking away from them is so sad.

Mr. Locke and my boys have been so patient with me and the time I’ve spent in my office working diligently on this book. I wanted it to be perfect. I’m so grateful for their understanding and support.

I couldn’t write an acknowledgments section without thanking the brilliant women I work with every day, Mandi Beck, S.L. Scott, Jessica Prince, Kenna Rey, and Anjelica Grace. Love you all endlessly.

I’d also like to thank a handful of other women who keep things (and me) going behind the scenes: Tiffany Remy, Nikki Hendren, Jenny Farhat, and Michele Ficht.

I’m beyond grateful for my team when they agree to work with me on yet another book. Marion Archer with Marion Making Manuscripts and Jenny Sims with Editing 4 Indies are the best editors in the universe and beyond. Sarah Hansen with Okay Creations is absoultely brilliant and photographer Wander Aguiar is exceptional at everything he does. Thank you all from the bottom of my heart.

And, as always, thank you to my readers. Thank you for trusting me to tell you a story and spending a little time in my world. I love you. Xo

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Adriana Locke is a USA Today and Amazon Charts Bestselling author with a knack for writing swoony, unforgettable contemporary romances. At nineteen, she traded her small-town roots for big-city life, only to realize her heart beats for quiet mornings and cozy chaos. These days, she’s living her happily-ever-after in Ohio with Mr. Locke—her high school sweetheart—four lively sons, and two hilariously hyper Jack Russell terriers.

When she’s not penning love stories that will leave you laughing and sighing, Adriana is battling the epic quest of missing silverware, “gardening” (a.k.a. chatting with her plants), or leaving her grocery list on the counter as she heads to the store. Grab a cup of coffee, settle in, and let her books whisk you away to a world of heartwarming romance and irresistible heroes.

www.adrianalocke.com