Page 32 of Playing for Keeps

“Your dick ruined a perfectly good present,” Ma-Poppy grumbles as she shoots a dark look at her stepdad. “Mom would have rocked it.”

Queen Meemaw Christine pats her daughter’s cheek and gives me a head shake.

Seeing a moment to slide my needs into my mom’s drama, I explain, “Tomorrow, I need to buy Lola an engagement ring. Will you come with me to the store?”

Ma-Poppy lifts her head from her mother’s chest and smiles at me. “I would be honored to bring class to your quickie wedding.”

“I want to make Lola feel special,” I say while kneeling in front of the couch. “She thinks she’s cursed, and this wedding is only a business deal, but I want her for real. So, I need to make slick moves to help her see what I do.”

Ma-Poppy smiles at Queen Meemaw Christine. “My boy has a heart of gold.”

My grandmother nods in agreement. We all look to King Peepaw Jared who still stands in the kitchen. He doesn’t react to our interest right away. When we don’t relent, he finally breaks down under our hopeful gazes.

“Yeah, you’re cool, kid,” he mutters, rolling his eyes.

“He likes me, Ma,” I tease and smile at Ma-Poppy. “Now I just need to get Duke to warm up to me. Then, everything will fall into place, so Lola and I can make you a beautiful grandchild to spoil.”

“If you treat his daughter right,” Queen Meemaw Christine says, “Duke is bound to warm up to you.”

Her words are exactly what I need to hear. I don’t know about Basin Rock or the Blood-Red Suns operations. I’m not sure where Lola and I will live or if Duke can chill out with me.

What I am certain about is Lola is my dream girl, and I plan to spend the rest of my life showing her what that means.

LOLA, AKA THE SAUSAGE FAN

My life in Basin Rock doesn’t change much once I’m engaged. Over the next two days, I get occasional questions from diner regulars about my upcoming nuptials. They’re very interested in Val, who they’ve heard is a pretty yet stupid man with large feet.

“You know what they say,” murmurs eighty-year-old Shannon during lunch when she repeats Val’s description. “About big feet, I mean.”

I smile and nod at the idea of Val packing massive heat. Yet, in my head, I quickly remind myself how I don’t care if he’s got a teeny-weeny, purple-dotted weenie.

The man makes me crazy, and that’s okay. I’ve chosen to own my feelings, but I also need to view Val as a real person. All this talk of him being a dumb stripper-like man is fine for regulars who will soon be charmed by him. However, I won’t fall into a delusion. I want to see the real Val.

Perhaps beckoned by my thoughts, Val rides up to the diner as Shannon and Tracey discuss the biggest meat they’ve enjoyed.

“My first husband was packing an honest-to-goodness bratwurst,” Tracey insists. “My second husband was more like a knackwurst. Shorter but plump.”

I frown at Grandma Erin who instigated the dick-as-food discussion. Nearby, a few older farmers feign horror at these seemingly uptight women objectifying men.

“My husband was like knackwurst,” Shannon replies and then smiles wistfully. “But in my youth, I had wonderful sexual relations with a man who was packing a chorizo. Very spicy.”

Outside, Val climbs off his motorcycle and looks around. His sandy brown hair is windblown. He’s wearing a dark blue-and-gray flannel shirt over a gray tank top. His blue jeans cling to hispowerful thighs, and he rounds out his outfit with riding boots. He looks relaxed yet sexy as hell.

Entering the diner, Val wears a wide-eyed expression until he sees me behind the counter. A cocky grin slides across his handsome face as he tugs his phone from his jeans. He starts playing “Psycho Killer” by Talking Heads and tries to sing along.

“What’s he doing?” Grandma Erin asks while Val attempts to get a groovy dance going to the song’s awkward, jarring beat and lyrics.

“I told him this song turned me on,” I whisper to my grandmother as Val winks at clapping Shannon and Tracey. “I think he’s serenading me.”

“Aw, that’s sweet. Too bad you didn’t pick a better song.”

Just then, Val hits a terribly awkward high note and makes the farmers laugh. Maybe realizing the dreadful singing is killing his sexiness, Val slides off his flannel top and spins it over his head.

The farmers stop laughing and get irritated with the tanned stud before them. Meanwhile, Shannon nearly faints while Tracey looks like she needs a fan for her hot flashes. Grandma Erin nudges me and nods approvingly.

I finally move toward where Val tries his damnedest to get a groove going to the jarring electric notes from a song I pretended to love.

“That’s enough,” I say and wrap my hands around his wrists.

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