Good Game (The System, #1) (21)

***

“That was a solid eight out of ten. Not as good as Devil Nun 3 but definitely better than Devil Nun 4.” Jackson is all amped up as we exit the theatre.

The movie was awful. As it always is. I have no idea how they are still making movies. The whole franchise follows nuns in different parts of the world becoming possessed by the devil and then wreaking havoc until some group of people comes in to stop them. It’s quite literally same shit, different country. How each movie lasts almost three hours is beyond me.

I loop my arm around Jackson’s shoulders as I wheel him in the direction of the ice cream shop next door.

“Yes, yes. I’m glad you enjoyed it. Now you owe me an entire tub of brownie batter.”

The bell above the door chimes as we enter the shop. The AC is so strong inside that it gives me the chills. The store is empty save for the two employees who are chatting in the corner.

“I never said I’d buy you an entire tub.”

“You never said you wouldn’t either.” I grin at him.

Jackson gives me a side-eye expression, mouth flat. He shakes me off his shoulder and walks up to the counter.

“Two pints please. One brownie batter and one vanilla bean.”

I scowl at Jackson as I shift my helmet, which I’ve been carrying under my left arm, and place it on the counter next to him. One of the employees moves to begin packing a container while the other rings him up.

“A quart is only two dollars more.” I challenge him. I don’t really care about getting more ice cream. He already bought me three bags of chocolate pretzels for the movie. One for each hour. I just enjoy annoying him.

He hands his card over to the employee while looking me dead in the eye. “You’ll survive.”

Killjoy.

My phone goes off, and I pull it out to see a reminder from Sydney that my stream starts in a little over an hour. We’re only twenty minutes from home. Less for me technically since I rode here on my bike and can weave through the traffic. It leaves us plenty of time.

Jackson grabs the bag with the two pints of ice cream from the second employee, and we file out of the store toward the parking lot. We’re only twenty feet away from where Jackson parked when I see a white Mercedes Benz back out of its spot, right into the rear of Jackson’s army green Wrangler.

I stop and stare slack-jawed at the cars. Jackson, on the other hand, starts running, ice cream bag swinging in his hand. The driver hasn’t exited the vehicle. They haven’t driven off either.

I jog to catch up with Jackson, who is busy inspecting the back of his car. The Mercedes drives forward a few feet before the engine cuts off. The door opens, and when I see the woman step out, I almost drop my helmet.

Well, hello.

The evening sun casts the woman before me in an amber glow. The same woman who has been invading my thoughts for the last week. Stevie is wearing a short, flowy white dress with heels; her hair hangs in loose waves down her back. The innocent angel look is so at odds with the woman in the tight black dress who fisted my cock around hundreds of people.

Her expression is one of pure anxiety, caramel eyes spilling over with guilt.

“I am so sorry!”

Jackson looks back at her, and I see him do a double take before he folds his arms over his chest. The entire display makes him look like a giant, grumpy bear, and I see more fear leak into Stevie’s eyes. I weave behind Jackson to look at how much damage she could’ve caused.

Huh. Jackson’s Wrangler is perfectly fine. The Mercedes has a nasty dent in its trunk, though. It looks like she hit the tire on the back of the Jeep straight on. I spin back to Jackson and raise my brow at him.

“I’ll pay for any damages. I really didn’t mean to. I was just so distracted by some bad news, and I…” she trails off, bringing her hand up to her forehead. “Here let me grab my license.”

“It’s fine. You didn’t even damage it.”

Stevie isn’t listening to Jackson, though. She starts rummaging through her designer handbag, brows pinched. The entire thing drops out of her hands and spills onto the asphalt. She just stares at it, her shoulders slumping in defeat.

“How does this day just keep getting worse?”

My heart cracks at her small voice. I bend down, resting my helmet next to me while I collect the spilled items. How the hell does she have this much stuff in such a small bag?

Stevie crouches down next to me.

“Thank you.”

When her eyes meet mine, I see a split second of arousal seep in as she gives me a once over, her lips parting ever so slightly. But she is quick to school her features. We both reach for her sunglasses at the same time, and my hand brushes over hers. She stills before pulling her hand back.

“I’m Aleksander. The grump over there is Jackson.”

I hand her the sunglasses, and she gives me a small smile.

“I’m Stevie.”

“Well, Stevie. You really don’t have to worry about damage except to your own car. His is fine.”

“Seriously?” She looks at me with a wary expression before she picks up her handbag, stands, and moves to inspect the cars. She lets out a small groan when she sees her crushed trunk.

“At least it’s still drivable,” Jackson offers.

Stevie laughs, and a strange feeling of relief fills my veins.

“I suppose you’re right. Are you sure you don’t need me to give you my insurance or anything?”