Page 97 of Beg Me

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.”