They’re also destroying us in ladder ball.
“You’re tolerable,” I say as I toss a ball as well, which whacks Jim in the shin. “Sorry,” I call out. He just waves in response. Third time I’ve done that—you’d think he’d have faster reflexes by now.
“I’m more than tolerable.” She whips her arm back and flings a ball. “Tallyho.” It wallops Yolanda in the arm. “Oof, sorry, Yolly!” Bonnie calls out. “They must think we’re aiming for them.”
“I did on the last one,” I admit. “Wanted to see if he would move.”
Bonnie chuckles and grabs my arm. “I just aimed at Yolly. Thought maybe if I aimed at her rather than at the ladder, I would hit the ladder. Didn’t work.”
“Solid logic, though.”
“Thank you.”
From across the court, Jim says, “I think we’re going to call it a night.”
“Ahh, well, make sure you ice that welt.” Bonnie waves. “Enjoy Corsekelly, and stop in the coffee shop for subpar coffee tomorrow morning.”
They take off and Bonnie sighs, leaning against me.
“I think I should get home too,” I say, my brain feeling sluggish, the effects of way too much beer.
“Me too.” Bonnie wobbles as she starts to walk away. “Hey, where did Dakota and Isla go?” I glance over at their table, which is now vacant. Hell, almost the entire pub is vacant. When did that happen? She reaches for her phone and scans a text. “Oh, they went for a walk. Gah, do you think they’re holding hands? Oh my God, what if they kiss?” She grabs my shirt and shakes me. “Do you think they’ll kiss?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “Maybe?”
“Oh, what I wouldn’t give to see that. Dakota has the softest lips—she is constantly moisturizing them. I bet Isla will be immediately delighted by them. And the passion behind the kiss—think there’ll be passion?”
I shrug. “Maybe?”
“Ugh, you’re so . . . boring.”
“Is that so?” I hold her up by her arm and guide her away from the pub and toward her cottage. “If I’m so boring, then how the hell did I entertain you all night?”
“Duh, I entertained you.”
“You wish. I was entertained because I entertained you.”
Her nose scrunches up. “That makes no sense.”
“Sounded right in my head.”
She glances around, seeming to catch up to the fact that we’re walking. “Where are you taking me?”
“To the cottage, where else?”
“You could be taking me to your sex dungeon.”
“Nah, you’re not sex-dungeon material.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Her voice rises in defense. “You saw me stroking that triangle. I was really good at it.”
“Really good is a stretch.”
“As if your finger digging was any good.”
“I wasn’t digging. Jesus.”
She stumbles over a rock when we get to the driveway, and I hold her up. Seems like I’ve been doing a lot of that lately. “Why are you taking me to the cottage? I wasn’t done drinking.”
“You were done. Just seconds ago you said you should go home.”
“Who made you the boss?”
“God?” I ask, really unsure who made me the boss at this point.
“Oh no, there is no way God would make you the boss.”
“Do you like to disagree with me just to fight?”
“No.” She smirks just as we reach the cottage.
That smirk is dangerous.
That single smirk could make me do something stupid.
Something really stupid . . . like kiss her. Because she’s the kind of girl who can dig under your skin, make you want more, and I’m not sure I’m mentally ready for that kind of battle.
So, to avoid any poor decisions, I throw the door open and push her inside. “There. Now, good night.”
I’m turning to walk away when she calls out, “The minute you’re gone, I’m going back to the pub.”
I pause, and my back stiffens as I turn around to face her. “The hell you are . . .”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
BONNIE
Beers consumed: Feels like at least twenty-five.
Days since last male-induced orgasm: Who’s counting anymore?
Hairy chests hand is playing with: One.
Uhh . . . why is my hand on a hairy chest?
What is that delightful smell?
Why am I so warm?