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I don’t feel clever. After all, this is a fundraiser to help the department in case we go to state. Awfully presumptuous of them to assume when it’s not even playoffs yet, but I’m sure they’ll find something else to do with the money if we don’t make it all the way.
Otis gives me another warning along with a two-second window to have my “rear end” out the door and on the way to Crescent Fleur. You’d think they’d hold it somewhere like Saint Juliet and save the money on the fancy country club. But if I had to guess, Coach has some buddy that loans him the place for free due to either friendship, a kickback, or blackmail. Or it could even be all of the above with that family.
Regrettably, I have to keep my word to Otis. So I’m out the door and arrive at Crescent Fleur before the event starts. There’s a sign for free valet, but I opt to park my own vehicle mainly so I can keep the keys in my pocket, because I might’ve promised to show, but that doesn’t mean I have to stay all night. Not that it matters, because Morgan can do damage in a split second. Glancing around the jam-packed room, I wonder if she’d actually burn the place down with everyone in it. My swift conclusion is a yes.
When I spot her across the room, I can’t help but take in the tight black dress she’s wearing. Yes. It looks sexy on her. But I really want to know why she didn’t have to wear some stupid costume like she is making everyone else.
“Cade,” Iron Man shouts as he takes his mask off to reveal Neil. “You’re at the table with us.” He points to the front of the room against the side wall where Savannah, Ava, and Topher are all sitting. What concerns me are the other five empty chairs around the table and who will be assigned to those.
As I follow behind Neil, Morgan gives me a cunning smirk along with a wink. Fuck. She has ignored me up until now, which means she plans to make my night a living hell. Maybe she has another sex tape or something planned. Who the fuck knows? And for once, I don’t worry. It’s Morgan. There’s no stopping her. Just rolling with the punches and getting back up to run as far away from her as possible before the next.
And sure enough, she sits across from me at the oversize round table, a dickhead next to her that I recognize as the bartender for this place… Asher or Ashton or some shit, I think. Doesn’t matter. Should be named Morgan’s Little Bitch for the Night. Better him than me even if the thought of him touching her makes me want to break his neck. I have to get over it. I have to get over her, past her.
Fuck. This tie is getting tighter by the second. Reaching up, I grip the knot and loosen it. “Why didn’t you wear a costume?” Savannah asks me.
“I did,” I say, flagging the waiter down that’s passing out drinks but I don’t think he sees me. “Clark Kent.”
“Ah.” Savannah exclaims with recognition. “You forgot your glasses.”
“And his cape,” Morgan adds with a snicker as I stand from the chair.
Stopping, I turn back to the table and lean towards her. “I’ll just borrow your bitch cape.”
Ash-whoever goes to say something and tries to stand, but Morgan stops him. And it throws me the fuck off. Wasn’t that her goal? To get him here to dangle in front of me, get me and him fighting so she can sit back and watch? I’m confused as fuck. And even more so when she says, “Let’s remember why we’re here.”
What the fuck does she mean by that? I don’t even know why I’m here. The best reason I have is to protect Neil from getting sent to prison for murder. Morgan doesn’t care about anyone but herself. So, why is she here? And why doesn’t she want to cause a scene?
I keep my eye on her for a few more seconds before I take a step back and walk over to the bar. The damn dude with drinks is nowhere to be found but I don’t want water anyways.
Pulling out my wallet, I ask for a whiskey neat.
“It’s open bar, but I can’t serve you liquor.” The guy looks at me nervously.
“Hate for you to forget it on the counter within reach so I could serve myself.”
The dude gives me a knowingly stare. “That would get me in trouble too.”
Fuck. I’m no better than Morgan. “And so will that joint I saw you not-so-discreetly put in your pocket a few minutes ago.”
About three seconds later, he sets the bottle just on the other side of the bar and hurries away. Reaching over, I grab it and fill up the tumbler before downing it. I’m going to need more than liquid courage to get me through the night. And I can’t even rely on it because I have to drive, and I really need to keep my wits about me with the antihero in the room.
I slide onto the barstool and shift enough to the side to get a view of the room. Everyone is chatting, having a great time, until the music shuts off and Morgan takes the stage.
Here we go, ladies and gents. The wildebeest has taken the reins.
She goes into a friendly (in other words, completely fake) introduction and welcomes everyone to the event. I zone out for a while until I hear her clear her throat. “We have plenty of items to auction off tonight but there’s a special one that will be last on the list. It’s a big one that takes the cake. The mother of all gifts.”
My heart sinks at the words. And when I see the person Morgan is waving to, I lose my breath. Walking towards the table that I should be sitting at, I think someone punched me in the stomach even though no one is near me. Because the person I’m looking at… the person smiling back at me… is my mother.
