“Are you ready for your pitch?” Hodges asked after a sip of his sweetened tea.
“More or less. I still need to make the slides look pretty, but my cousin Tessa said she’d help me with that.”
“Doesn’t matter how the slides look, Mikey, mate. Are you ready?”
I considered his question properly. “I think so. I’m nervous, but the idea’s good, and my plan is solid. I think you’ll like it.”
Hodges nodded. “Good. I can’t tell you who, obviously, but you know there are some other people presenting to us that day?”
I nodded.
“They’ll have good ideas, just like yours.”
“Yeah.”
“And they’ll have good presentations too.”
“Yeah.”
“Some might even be better.”
I rolled my eyes. “Great pep talk, mate.”
“I just want you to be prepared,” the weather-beaten farmer said. His eyes were earnest, almost like he cared. “I know you’ve been working hard on this, and I think it’ll be good for you to have your own thing, not just working for me or your dad. But we have to consider the reputation of the fund, not just the idea or business plan.” When he tipped his head down to eye me sternly, I immediately shrunk to about two feet tall. “You’re not doing yourself any favors by punching Oscar Wylie or getting arrested making out with girls on the side of the bloody road.”
Fucking Keri and his big fucking mouth.
“I didn’t get arrested.”
“You know what I mean.”
“And we didn’t make out.”
I didn’t make out with her mouth, anyway. Much.
Sharn came back into the kitchen and tutted at me. “Fornicating on the freeway, Mikey. Naughty boy.”
Sharn looked as if she wanted to swallow me, not her biscuits. It made me feel dirty and not in the good way. What had happened with Lyssa was private. Okay, I hadn’t chosen the most private place to get under her skirt, but good luck driving while Lyssa Luxe stared at your fingers like she was imagining fucking herself on them. I wasn’t made of fucking stone, was I?
It wasn’t new to have people talking about me like this, but didn’t they know I had changed? That I was NEW MIKE? And I didn’t like people talking about Lyssa at all. I owned my slut past, but this wasn’t hard when people celebrated me for it.
I shifted in my seat, feeling as if there were bees buzzing under my skin. The temptation to leap to my feet and cuss Hodges and Sharn out was strong. But it wouldn’t help. I stayed where I was and took another biscuit.
Hodges sighed. “Just mind your p’s and q’s in public, Mikey, mate, that’s all I’m saying.”
“Yeah, Mike,” Sharn chipped in. “Fool around with your houseguest all you want, just wait until you get home before you throw her over your shoulder and have your dirty, animal way with her.”
I tried to smile, but it was more of a grimace. It was one thing for Sharn to treat me like meat, because I was a sexy bag of beef, but it was beyond rude for her to be discussing Lyssa like this.
The bees buzzed faster around my head, making it hard to think.
“Righto,” I said, standing. I was trying to keep my shit together, trying to be cool, but it was agony. Was this how everyone else in the world felt when they resisted the urge to punch someone? It suuuuucked. “Thanks for the advice. You don’t need me for the rest of the afternoon, do you, Brent, mate?”
“Well …”
I answered my own question. “You’ll be fine. Thanks for a good season. I don’t plan to be back next year, but I’ll see you soon enough at the Association pitch. Sharn”—I gave her a thumbs-up—“It’s been real.”
Flooring my truck, I sped out of the Hodges’ driveway, not caring that my tires left divots. To be honest, I did it on purpose. The whole drive back into town, I muttered shit about overbearing rich dudes and their sad, horny wives.
