Page 78 of Beg Me

“That’s my friend. I knew you’d fuck him and make a mess of it that way, but did you have to bring him into this juvenile pickleball bullshit? It’s embarrassing, Markie.”

I embarrass you? You asshole!

Tears cloud my eyes. What the actual fuck? There’s too much packed into one statement that I don’t even know where to begin to pick that apart.

All I know is that it hurts.

“I gotta go.” The words scoot around the lump of emotion in my throat. Then I end the call before he can say anything else.

I pop open my trunk and yank out my bag, avoiding eye contact with Jory.

“Who the fuck was that?” he asks, his tone sharp.

“It’s fine,” I say, sniffling and heading toward the court.

He stays a couple of steps behind me like he might have to pivot and head to his car to go commit an act of violence. And as much as I appreciate that, as much as I’d love to fold myself onto his lap, I can’t even look at him, or I’ll cry. And I’ll be damned if I let him see me cry.

“That’s not the question that I asked you,” he says.

“Well, that’s the answer you got.”

“Markie …”

I open the gate and toss my bag on the bench. I hate being obtuse with him, but he doesn’t need to be brought into this. He’s Miles’s friend, after all, and staying in his house. We’re having a sibling quarrel, and it doesn’t involve him.

It shouldn’t involve him.

Besides, I don’t think I can recount what my brother said to me. I can’t look Jory in the face and tell him that Miles said I’m embarrassing and messy, and he apparently thinks I just fuck anyone I come into contact with. How humiliating.

I busy myself with my bag, digging through my stuff. Thankfully, it’s a bit of a clusterfuck, and sorting through the balls, towels, and empty water bottles gives me a moment to clear my head. Miles is just a dickhead. I’m here now, with Jory, and that’s all that matters.

Take a breath, Markie.

I do, and blow it out slowly, allowing my heartbeat to settle.

“Did you bring the paddle you took home the other day, or do you need one of mine?” I ask, digging through my stuff.

“I need you to answer my question.”

Steeling myself against my emotions, I turn toward him. The concern in his beautiful face is enough to break me, but I keep it together. Barely.

“Not now.” I hold his gaze long enough for him to see that I’m okay. Maybe then he’ll let it go. “Can we just play? I need to hit something hard.”

“And you didn’t even make a sexual joke. This must be bad.”

The laugh that erupts from my belly feels good, and the tension on my shoulders crumbles—at least a bit.

He pulls me into a hug before I can stop him, nestling his face against the top of my head.

My eyes flutter closed as I breathe him in, letting the scent of his cologne and soap and sweat recenter me. The mix is a magic balm. It’s almost impossible to feel like anything is too bad when Jory’s arms are around me.

“You’re okay?” he whispers.

“I’m fine. Better now.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” He kisses my forehead and then lets me go. “I have a problem, though.”

I pull back, looking up at him. A hundred thoughts zoom through my mind, everything from maybe Miles called him with similar accusations today, or something happened to Gus, or that he forgot his paddle. “What is it?”