Page 112 of Beg Me

He wraps me up in his arms and kisses my forehead. “I love you, Markie. I’m going to be honest and tell you that I don’t know what this looks like. I don’t know how we make it work—only that we will. We have to, babe. If that’s what losing you feels like, I can’t do it again.” He grins, swiping the wetness from my cheeks with his thumbs. “And I’m pretty sure Gus would never speak to me again, either.”

“I love you,” I say, laughing through my tears. “I love you so much.”

“Then never send a text like you sent me a little bit ago again.” He groans. “That about killed me.”

“Why didn’t you call?”

He lets me go and smacks my ass. “Because you turned your phone off. Now get dressed. We have a pickleball tournament to win.”

CHAPTER

THIRTY-ONE

Markie

“Grab the wheel,” Jory says as we head toward the park.

“What?”

“Hold the wheel. I need to change my shirt.”

He grips the edge of his shirt, so I lean over and hold the steering wheel so that we don’t crash.

“I cried myself to sleep last night,” I say, making sure we don’t hit a pothole in the road. “And now you’re literally shirtless beside me after telling me that you love me. I don’t know what kind of restraint you think I have, but you’re wrong.”

He kisses me quickly as he twists toward the back seat. “Wanna talk about restraint?” He sits facing forward, slides on a clean shirt, then returns to steering. “I walked into your house and saw you with my shirt bunched up at the top of your ass cheeks and I managed to stay focused and not fuck you on the kitchen table.”

“Sounds like we’re even then.”

We exchange a smile as he pilots the car into one of the last parking spots near the courts.

“Let’s go kick some ass,” Jory says, kissing me quickly before we hop out of the car. He grabs our bags and then we make a dash for Court 3.

The crowd gathered around for our match turns as we jog toward them.

“There they are!” a voice says from somewhere in the mass of people.

I wave at George Mathers, and the relief on his face is evident.

Jory holds the gate open and we step onto the court.

The electricity in the park is almost alive, buzzing through the townspeople lined up on bleachers and lawn chairs surrounding the courts. We place our stuff on the bench, still wet from the rain this morning, and take out our paddles. Our opponents stare us down from the other side of the court.

They clearly don’t know me. Intimidation never works.

“You ready?” Jory asks, smiling at me.

“I was born ready.”

“Did you see your friends over there?”

Huh? “No. Where?”

“Behind us. Top row.”

I turn, scanning the audience for them. Finally, at the very end, I spot them all. Audrey and Brooks, Gray and Astrid, Gianna and Drake, and Mira and Hartley. Nettie sits beside one of the guys from the wedding, and when she and I make eye contact, she winks.

My heart swells as they all wave—showcasing the shirts Gianna made them all—and pink and white pompoms shake in Audrey and Mira’s hands.