“Kiss my feet and say the Saints are the best team ever,” Remy tells Garrett.
Garrett curses but he gets on his knees and follows Remy’s orders before he tells him, “You’re gonna regret it if you keep on, dick.”
“Yeah, whatever. I have a football match to get back to before Coach benches me next week.” Remy takes off jogging. “We might be able to make it back before halftime.”
Brooke tells Micah, “I need to go back too.”
He says, “Go ahead. Then you’re all mine when it’s over.”
“Just fucking fabulous.”
When they both leave, Luca and I are the only two remaining. I’m with Brooke. This is going to be horrible. He’s in control. What will he ask of me? What will he take just because he can?
When I finally look at him, his eyes drop to the number on my chest as he demands, “Take it off. Now.”
I lift the jersey off over my head, dropping it at his feet. “What next, Master?”
“Don’t wear it again,” he states.
“You have the power to dictate that for the next twenty-four hours, then it’s up to me.”
There’s a smirk peeking at the corner of his mouth. “You already know you belong to me. Or do I need to remind you?”
“Is this what we’re doing until tomorrow, or can I go home now?”
“Follow me,” he commands. Regrettably, I walk behind him.
When we get to his car, he instructs me to get in.
“What about my car?”
He’s already climbing into the driver’s seat when he informs me, “I’ll send someone to come and get it later.”
I drop into the passenger side. Just because I have to listen doesn’t mean I can’t ask questions, although he doesn’t have to answer. “Where are we going?”
Thankfully, he does. “Dinner.”
“With Daddy since it went so well last time?”
He glares over at me. Maybe I should’ve kept that jab to myself. I’m just so angry that I have toobeythe dickhead no matter what.
Luca finally answers, “No. We’re going out.”
I pull at the tank that I was wearing under the jersey. “Can I get a shirt first?”
“You don’t need it.”
“Guess it’s not a fancy place then.” I don’t even care. I’m starving and was too nervous to eat before going to the field and facing all my old friends and Everett. Fuck. His football game.
Pulling out my phone, I message Everett.
Ivy: I’m sorry something came up, but I promise I’ll be there next week.
Unless the Decider elects to screw up that night too. Hopefully not. After this, we have three left, then we’re free. I drop the phone on my thigh and rest my head against the seat, taking in a deep breath at the thought of being done. I can’t freaking wait.
Once we pull into the gravel lot, I realize it’s not a fancy restaurant but an old yellow building, the worn sign reading Cracked Pirogue Café. I’d expected him to pick a place where there would be a valet and food that costs more than it was worth, not something that looks cozy and welcoming.
We walk in and find an open booth towards the back. There’s lots of commotion and chatter around us, but it still feels comfortable. “How’d you find this place?”
