Page 147 of Midnight Message

The scent of booze, people, and more booze accompanies the bad rock pumping through the speakers. Sabrina, Mitchell, and Joyce are easy enough to spot near the back of the bar, but the woman I’m really looking for? Not so much.

Where the hell is she?

Mitchell nods in greeting, and I loosely return it, looking for Mina.

And there she is. Every time I see her, it’s like time stands still. The tension unwinds from my muscles. She gives me a shy grin, like she knows she’s in trouble but has no plan on fixing it.

Her cropped mesh top sits a couple of inches above her belly button and shows off the three little incisions from the laparoscopic surgery she had a year and a half ago. I didn’t realize how much more energy she’d have once the endometriosis was removed.

All it took was an hour-long procedure, and her life turned around. She’s moving easier and isn’t in constant pain. She’s practicallyglowing.

There’s a flash of movement, and I have less than a second’s warning before Sabrina tries to tackle me with her bear hug. When that doesn’t work, she weakly buries her fist into my stomach.

“What was that for?” I hiss, holding her back by the shoulder before she can finish her attack combo by going for the family jewels.

“That’s for making Mitchell’s team lose!” She glares at me.

Mina gestures toward the Serpents’ and the Storms’ colors Sabrina is wearing. “Whose side are you on?”

She shrugs, grinning mischievously. “I forgave you two for dating behind my back, but I can’t forgive you for beating Mitchell’s team.”

I shake my head as I wrap my arm around Mina’s waist and tug her to my side. Before I can properly greet my wife, Ridge makes his grand entrance with a booming, “Hello,” just as he locks eyes with Joyce, who looks woefully unimpressed with his showstopping megawatt smile that usually makes every person pause to stare.

“Evenin’.” He lays his Southern twang on thick.

“I’m not the one.” A very single Joyce disregards him and goes back to giving Sabrina her full attention, and they continue their discussion about God knows what.

I’ve never seen the man sulk like an abandoned puppy before, but there’s a first for everything.

I lean down to rumble against Mina’s ear, “You made me a promise.”

“Did I?” She flutters her eyelashes up at me. “You’ll have to remind me. Short-term memory. You know how it is.”

I fish my phone out of my coat to show her our message thread—namely the picture she took of herself in the mirror, a jersey with my number hanging loose on her frame, and the bottom pulled up to show her lacy panties.

Mina: Win the game, and I’ll send you a video of me fucking myself wearing nothing but your number.

“I might be mistaken, but I believe we may have won.” I narrow my eyes at her.

“Did you? I wasn’t paying much attention.” She shrugs.

Mina is goading me to act out, and it’s working.

“You have three minutes to send it.”

“Or what?” she sasses back.

“Fall asleep and find out.”

The End.