Not great for my game, but fuck it.
I’m not the guy on the team leading the charges to our two victories so far. Since the Pounders invaded my space to help me set up my favorite pinball machine and feed me and commiserate on how much it sucks when women dump us, things have changed.
We all acknowledge I’m a bloody old fucker who’s better for presence than plays.
And for ticket sales.
Doesn’t matter how I play, so I’m eating whatever the hell I want.
“Oh, he’s going for the lemon, Odette,” a familiar voice whispers behind me in the line at Freckle Cookies. “Lemon is a particular stage of heartbreak, isn’t it?”
My shoulders twitch.
Clearly my face does too because the teenager working behind the counter blanches. “I—I can get you a different one. This one isn’t perfectly round. Do you want one that’s more perfectly round?”
“That one’s fine,” I mutter. “Add in one of those caramel apple ones. I don’t give a shi—I don’t care how round it is.”
The caramel apple cookies are responsible for a little love handle I found on my left hip this morning.
No regrets.
It’s part of my process.
And who cares if I get a little love handle?
Rugby doesn’t. Women don’t. Sweet Pea doesn’t.
Even if she’s giving me the same exasperated eye roll she’s given me every day for the past three weeks.
Unblock Goldie from Instagram, dumbass.
That’s what that eye roll says.
I scowl at her.
She growls back at me.
“I didn’t take him for a caramel apple kind,” Odette says.
My shoulders twitch again.
“Maybe it’s for a new lady friend,” Evelyn says.
Awesome.
All three of them.
And the teenager behind the counter is looking at me like she pities any lady friend stupid enough to get involved with me.
“It’s not for a new lady friend,” Odette says. “Look at him. He’s still regretting all of his life decisions. If itisa new lady friend, it’s not serious.”
“Should we write an obituary for his love life?” Evelyn murmurs.
I look over my shoulder. “I can fucking hear you.”
The three senior citizens smile at me.
“We know, honey,” Evelyn says. “That was the point.”
