Page 22 of Play Maker

Sex between two people who agreed it was just that is perfect, just like I thought it would be.

I had sex, was fingered, oral, tits—he loved my tits—devoured, V-card gone.

The next asshole I decide to get naked and sweaty with will be on the same level of special as I will hold Grimes to. And he’s going to be in the prone position, and I’ll be riding him … owning his ass.

His ass … fat, muscular, and no doubt wears my mark. The kind that doesn’t wash off in the shower.

I decide right here and now, I’m done mind-fucking myself.

Over it.

Then I mentally high-five myself because I actually orgasmed my first time. I mean, it wasn’t by penetration. That shit was not comfy …

We pass Sydney’s shop, Sugar Rush, and I see Boone’s SUV parked in front.

“He’s doing well,” Jackson answers my question without my asking.

“Had he not been there?” I can’t even verbalize my worries; something about speaking them makes me feel like I’m daring the stars.

“You saw them at the wedding. They’re good.”

I glance in the rearview at the old firehouse. The parking lot is packed. “Are there more vehicles there than yesterday?”

“Gonna be even more.” He glances over at me. “With Riley at Hart’s place now, you don’t need to be up on the hill all alone either.”

Hell no.“I have my taser, pepper spray, and a baseball bat.”

He exhales and gives a slight shake of his head. “You don’t even have a gun, Lo.”

“Do you know our cousins? They have no boundaries. Imagine them jumping out of my closet, spooking me when I’m armed?” I huff. “Could have popped a cap in your ass today, too.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Mmhmm,” I mimic.

When we pull in, Dad and Grandpa Jack are plowing the parking lot, and I see smoke billowing out of the brewery chimney.Dad started the fireplace.

Jackson pulls my Jeep right up to my little porch. “Go get your pretty on. I’ll park your ride where it’s out of their way.”

So, that’s what I do.

* * *

The generator is running the place. Hopefully, the power will be up soon. If not, we’re good. No sense in worrying about what I can’t control. Moving on.

I finish wiping down the last table—a few still feel sticky. I assume it’s either from Maggie’s attention to detail, being as it is specifically when the players are around, or drool … perhaps both. Then I step back and look around, wondering what I’m missing … always wondering what I’m missing.

I head back to the bar, grab the battered notebook, flip to the opening list, and set to walk around and check boxes off my list.

Opening Check List

Sweep floors—twice—no footprints near the fireplace—check.

Wipe down all tables—check under edges, too—check

Polish bar top—no smudges, no sticky spots—check

Test sound system—fireplace speaker crackled yesterday—have Jackson or Dad check it out.

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