Page 114 of Beg Me

He catches George’s toss. “Stop thinking about my dick and pay attention.”

“Never thought I’d hear you say that,” I say, giggling. “Let’s win this and go home.”

We score the next seven points with little effort. Darrin and Jill manage to put two points on the board, but they never stood a chance.

While I generally enjoy a more competitive game, after last night, it’s fun to relax a little. My friends cheering us on, the warm sun on our faces, and the spirit of the Sugar Days Festival buzzing around us—it’s exactly what my soul needed. And with Jory beside me, I couldn’t ask for anything more.

“We need one more,” Jory says. “You ready?”

“Yup.” I grin, leaning closer. “Darrin is creeping toward the center line. That sideline is wide open.”

“You got it, boss.”

Jill drops the ball and fires a serve my way. It’s shallow, like ninety percent of her serves today. I handle it easily, dropping a lob over the net. Don’t crowd the kitchen, Jill. Darrin poaches it, almost knocking her over, and sends it ripping toward Jory.

He drives it down the sideline, but Darrin somehow gets ahold of it, and the pace changes instantly.

I adjust. But, when I plant my foot to pivot, my sneaker lands in a puddle of water.

I gasp, realizing what’s happening way faster than I can stop it.

Panic bolts through my veins as I try to stay on my feet, but my foot slides. Knee twists. Ankle pops.

And then I’m falling, the court rushing toward me.

I hit the asphalt hard.

“Ah,” I yell, dropping my paddle to the sound of the audience gasping. Fire shoots through my calf and foot just as Jory reaches me.

“Hey,” he says, kneeling beside me. “What happened?”

“Water. I think.” I moan, wanting to hold my ankle but also not wanting to touch it. “Oh, my gosh, this hurts.”

Tears fill my eyes—red hot. They burn my cheeks as they drip onto them.

“Let me look,” Jory says gently.

“Please, don’t touch it.”

I tremble from the pain, looking at the sky and wishing I could redo the last two minutes.

“Babe, it’s really swollen,” Jory says, just as Mira reaches my side. “I think we need to get you to a doctor.”

“Markie, are you okay?” she asks, squatting next to me. “Oh, that doesn’t look good.”

“It hurts so bad—ugh,” I say, hissing a breath. “I can’t walk on it. There’s no way.”

Mira and Jory say something, but I can’t hear them over the roar of blood across my eardrums.

“I’ll talk to George,” Mira says.

I blink back tears as I peer up at Jory. “All of that driving last night for nothing.”

“For nothing?” He shakes his head softly. “It was never about this tournament for me, Markie. It was just about showing up for you.”

He kisses my forehead as a medic arrives to look at my foot.

I groan as the woman tries to move it.