Page 54 of Second Go-Round
I hummed my agreement around my mouthful of boring lunch. Calorie counting sucked ass, but everything had since that night. Shoving aside thoughts of Jarod, his bare cock throbbing, releasing inside me, and the desire to burrow inside his heart, I focused on the present.
“That place has been packed every time I’ve been there,” I said as Dad settled into the chair beside me with his cold pastrami sandwich.
“Hopefully, they’ll find something to lead them to whoever is causing this mess.”
The reporter went on to state how the threats didn’t seem to be making much impact on Boston’s nightlife. Businesses stayed open, and customers continued to spend their money, looking for an escape from the day jobs and responsibilities of life.
“I think it would be best if you stayed away from the bars and dance clubs for a while,” Dad said, concern lacing each word. He smiled, the skin crinkling at the corners of his eyes. “I wouldn’t know what to do without my little girl.”
I grabbed his hand and squeezed, my throat tightening. “Love you, Daddy.”
“Love you too, kiddo.”
The news anchor moved on to the next pile of shit, and I dug back into my salad.
“Who are you taking with you to the game on Sunday since I can’t go?” Dad asked a few minutes later.
“I have a couple of people I could call.”
“Just be careful and go straight home afterward,” he suggested.
I nodded, having every intention of foregoing my usual barhopping downtown after games. “Promise, Daddy. So, what’s the latest on that book of business you bid on last week?”
“I’m hoping to hear today. Zimmerman Insurance is a small entity, but they’ve been around for over fifty years.”
He continued chatting, and my mind wandered to the unrelated Zimmerman haunting my dreams—while sleeping and awake. I hadn’t gone out with anyone since him. Hadn’t even logged into the three dating sites I used to find my sure-to-disappoint hookups.
Jessie had insisted I give Jarod a chance to break my shitty record, but I refused to bend. All the toys I kept in my bed stand had gotten a good workout over the last couple of weeks, but I’d been left unsatisfied and unable to get out of my depressive funk.
My life sucked ass, pure and simple.
Hot fudge, I thought, swallowing down my last bite of gag-worthy lunch. Over three scoops of moose tracks. Yeah, that would work to get me out of my head a little, but it would also slap another five pounds on my hips.
I snapped the lid on my empty container and pushed back my chair at the same time Dad did. Heading to my desk, I hoped no disgruntled customers walked through our door. Bitch mode was proving harder and harder to turn off.
My bad mood lasted throughout the day, all through Saturday, and reached breaking point Sunday morning when I got a call from my friend who had agreed to go to the game with me.
She hacked up a lung while telling me she’d been running a fever for a few hours.
I heaved a sigh and glanced at the clock. It was eight in the morning with plenty of hours left before kickoff, but who the hell would be available last minute to use my extra ticket? The other handful of friends and acquaintances outside of work I’d contacted hadn’t been available.
The two co-workers who loved football had plans, they told me when I reached out. Expecting another big fat no, I called Jessie who could care less about men smashing into each other on the gridiron.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “but—”
“Come on,” I all but whined. “Reid can stay with Cassie. Take a few hours for yourself and enjoy a girl’s day out.”
“She climbed into bed with us last night, and I hardly slept.” I could make out the crack in Jessie’s jaw—she must have yawned. “I can barely keep my eyes open, and it isn’t even nine yet.”
“Shit.” I sighed, wracking my brain for who to call next. I was fresh out of friends worth poking.
“You could try Jarod,” Jessie suggested, an all-too-obvious smile in her voice.
“Hardy-har.” I pinched the bridge of my nose.
“I’m serious.”
“I’ll bet you are, but no.”
