Page 61 of Stick Break
Jensen snorts like he’s already won. “Whatever you need to tell yourself, man.”
My blood spikes hotter. “Does your wife know what you’re watching after she goes to bed, Jensen?”
His eyes blink once. Then again. He shifts back half a step, and just like that…I turned the table on him. Put him in the spotlight and not in a pleasant way—which is what he deserves.
“Does she know what you’re paying for?” I add, voice low and lethal.
He says nothing.
I only ever saw the damn video because I’d dropped down beside Theo at a bar in Florida. He was getting off on it like a creep while the Bucks were in his new town, playing his new team. I didn’t say a word at the time. Didn’t see the point. I recognized her from The Spotlight, but didn’t know her personally. If I had… if I’d known who she was back then, I would’ve broken Theo’s nose without a second thought.
But now? Now I know exactly who she is. I know the weight she carries in that bright smile, the bruises hidden under her strength, the way her whole damn career is balanced on a razor-thin edge because of what her ex did. And I’ll be damned if I let anyone—anyone—use that against her.
I lean in just enough to make sure Jensen hears me, and only me. “Now, why don’t you fuck off and shut your goddamn mouth.”
There’s a beat. A long one.
“Yeah, okay,” he finally mutters. “Maybe it wasn’t her.”
“It wasn’t,” I say, dead serious.
“Right.” He nods, backing away like the coward he is. “It wasn’t.”
Just then, Charley comes up to me, her brows pulled together in concern. “Everything okay?”
I tug her into me, needing her warmth like a fix. “Yeah,” I say, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Everything’s fine.”
Her eyes flick to where Jensen stood moments ago. “You and Jensen looked like you were having a very... intense conversation.”
I shrug, trying to keep it light. “Just shooting the shit. You know—sports, life, sunscreen application technique.”
She doesn’t entirely buy it, but before she can press, Jensen reappears with a grin that’s trying way too hard. His arm’s looped around his wife like he’s the goddamn picture of domestic bliss.
“We’re heading out,” he says cheerfully. “Great meeting you both, Charley. Rip. Hope to see you around more.”
“Night,” we say in perfect unison, waving like the happy couple we are—minus the part where I’d still like to knock his teeth in.
Mrs. Callahan swoops in next, wine glass in hand, cheeks flushed with laughter and too much rosé. “Thank you for the music,” she says, dreamy-eyed. Then her smile falters. “Wait—you’re not leaving, are you?”
“Window,” we blurt out at the same time.
I bite my lip to hold back a laugh. Charley recovers first, always the quicker thinker. “I think we left the window open at the cottage,” she says sweetly. “With this ocean breeze I don’t want sand blowing in.”
I yawn for effect, stretching like a man in desperate need of aloe and silence. “Also,” Charley adds, patting my arm, “I need to get some ointment on Rip’s sunburn.”
“Oh, why didn’t you say so?” Mrs. Callahan perks right up and plunges a hand into the deep pocket of her floral dress—one that looks like it came straight from a Mrs. Roper fan convention in Vegas—and produces a tube like a magician with a rabbit.
“Here. Miracle cream. Made it myself. Smells like feet but works like a charm.”
I take the tube warily, fully expecting the label to read: Not Approved by Any Medical Board Ever.
“Thanks, Mrs. Callahan.”
She squints up at me like I’m a disobedient student. “You have to reapply SPF after swimming. This is basic stuff, Ripley. Do you want to look like a baked ham?”
“Yes, I know,” I mutter, already feeling twelve years old again.
She gives a dramatic huff like she’s personally offended by my sun care negligence. Then she turns to Charley and instantly transforms into pure butter. Her face lights up as she cups Charley’s cheeks. “You are a treasure. A musical angel. If this one—” she jerks a thumb at me “—gives you any trouble, you just pack a bag and come stay with me. We’ll drink sherry, and binge-watch Bridgerton. I’ve got Netflix.”
