Page 30 of End Game
“And, just like that, the Illinois Legends lose a wide receiver at the hands of a very tight end.”
“Shut up,” I laugh. “I’ll just put on another shirt. Finn will never know.”
“He will never know what, exactly?” she asks, tapping her chin with a fingernail.
“That Branch just made me come five times in the span of less than two hours while telling me how beautiful I am and how much he loves my body and . . .” My face heats and I look away. “Best afternoon of my life, pun intended.”
In a very un-Poppy-like way, she says nothing. After a long pause, I turn to look at her. She’s watching me agape.
“What?” I ask.
“Five times? Are you fucking serious?”
“Oh, the fucking was serious all right, and yes, five times. I mean, a couple of them sort of ran together so that’s not a scientific number or anything.”
“Butfive times. Damn.”
“I was hoping you were him,” I sigh.
“I have never been happier that I let you talk me into something I didn’t want to do before. Coming up here was the best decision we ever made.”
Our laughter blends together as I stand and change out my shirt.
“So, you and Branch are actively fucking now?” she asks.
“No. I don’t think so. I mean . . . No. We’re not.”
She wrinkles her nose.
“Maybe for the weekend, but that’s it,” I say, dropping back on the bed. “He’s this crazy confusion of dangerous and wonderful. I’ve never laughed so much with a man, Pop. He’s terribly funny and has the stupidest sense of humor. And buried under all that brawn is a nice guy, I think.”
Remembering back to his stories about his Grandma and the way he gives me room to breathe when he senses I’m a little overwhelmed, a softness eases through me.
“He can be sweet. Then he’s so filthy I get whiplash.” Wrapping my hand around the back of my neck, I work it back and forth. “Literally.”
“So? This seems like a good thing.”
“It’s not,” I sigh. “I tried to trust my gut with this one, but now I’m thinking maybe it was more my vagina than my stomach. It’s tricky.”
“Seems pretty cut and dried to me. You came five times. What’s there to overthink?”
“That it’s me, not you, Pop. I don’t keep doing the same thing over and over and over again.”
“I do if it’s worth it,” she laughs.
Standing, I walk to the desk my dad bought at a flea market when I was twelve. It’s inexpensive and we painted it white one summer and left it in the sun to dry. It ended up raining that night and the paint was technically ruined, but I loved the splatter marks, the little indentions in the surface and begged them to let me keep it as-is. They did.
Running my finger over the bumps, I listen to Finn and Branch’s voices trickling up from downstairs.
“It’s not worth it to me,” I admit. “I think the sex was so good because we both know where we stand. This is a weekend fluke, a romp in the final days of summer before we go back to reality and assume our real lives.”
“You don’t think you’ll see him once this weekend is over?”
I look at her. “I don’t want to see him once this weekend is over.” Dropping my hand from the desk, I shrug. “I want to get serious about things. I’ve done enough gambling with my happiness over the last few years to know I don’t win. Dating athletes is the biggest blackjack hand ever and the House doesn’t lose.”
“I can’t handle all this philosophy stuff,” she says, scrambling to her feet. “Subject change: Peck said to tell you he’s happy to get even but you have to show up.”
Poppy leads me downstairs, telling me about how much she loved Machlan and Crave and the backroads of Linton County.
