Page 205 of Just for the Plot

She smirks at me. “Answer the question.”

I just shrug, feeling stupid.

“Bennett.” She toes my shin gently. “Tell me.”

“No, you’re going to think I’m some obsessed loser.”

“I already think that, so it’s fine.” My expression falls flat, which makes her cackle. “I’m kidding. Seriously, just tell me. Does it have to do with how much you crushed on me?”

“Yeah,” I answer.

“Okay, I find that hot. You know I thrive off the possession you demand of me. So just tell me.”

I take a bite of my quiche and then wash it down with my drink. When I set the cup back on the table, I twirl it and stare over at Bower. After a few seconds, I say, “I never wanted anyone else to taste or feel my cum inside them. I only ever wanted you. I wanted you sucking it down and filling you up. That way, I could truly claim you as mine.”

She sets her fork down and picks up her napkin. She dabs at her mouth and then lets out a deep breath while staring down at her quiche. “Good God,” she mutters and then looks up at me. “Nope, this is not a safe space. I’m so turned on right now I’m about to climb over this table and hump your face.”

I lean back in my chair and gesture to my lap. “Have at it, babe. Fucking have at it.”

“What do you think?” I ask Gretchen as I show her around the clubhouse.

Bower wasn’t able to come to look at the space because she had to help Adalade get ready for a dinner party she’s hosting, that she just sprang out of nowhere, one that is about to take up a lot of Bower’s time, something I’m concerned about. The moment she told me, I could see her stress level rise, and it made me nervous. With the book club, setting up her book truck, and now the book club event, I can see her calculating her time in a day, and I know she’s going to have some late nights.

So I told her I’d walk Gretchen through the clubhouse and report back.

“It’s not great,” Gretchen says, taking in the space.

A bar’s in the middle of the room, making it the center point of the space, which is quite gaudy and gives off more of a sports bar feel rather than an intimate book club space. The walls are white with pictures of past and present players hanging all around, and the high-tops and chairs fitted in the space have seen better days with their chipped and scratched-up wood that not even a black tablecloth can hide.

Yeah, I can admit it’s not great either. For some reason, I thought it would be better than this.

“Fuck, what are we going to do?” I ask, dragging my hand over my face. “Bower doesn’t have time to look for another venue.”

“What do you mean she doesn’t have time?” Gretchen asks, looking none too pleased. “I thought she said she could handle this.”

“She can,” I say in her defense. “But her boss just sprang a new event on her, so she has a lot going on.” I look around the room, thinking about what the hell I can do. We have a game tonight that if we win, we win the wild card and go to the playoffs, so my mind is elsewhere.

“She said she could handle it.”

I feel my mood shift from attempting to be helpful to downright angry. “And I told you a new project she’s in charge of popped up. She’s handling everything else. Help me the fuck out with the venue. You’re the one pushing this. You’re the one needing to help with public relations.”

“To an extent,” she says, looking just as tired as I feel.

“Well, what the hell am I supposed to do?” I gesture to the space. “Hold the event here? It looks like a shit pit. No one is going to want to come back. There’s nothing intimate and cozy about this at all. And you’re the one who said capitalize while you’re trending. So fucking help out.”

She folds her arms over her chest, staring me down, clearly not affected at all by my outburst. Then again, I’m not surprised. “I’m doing you a favor by allowing this side project, Bennett. We don’t have to do it, and we can just up your time at the zoo since your season is almost over. I was trying to get you involved in another PR project to appease you.”

“Jesus Christ,” I say. “It seemed like you helped Graydon out a lot. Why not me?”

“Maple did all that work when it came to him, and so did he, on his own time. I just approved. If you can’t handle—”

“We can handle it,” I say, even though a small part of me worries that we can’t.

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes, we’ll be fine,” I answer as I start to move away.

“Okay, but do it right. Don’t make me regret approving this. Do not harm the hard work and progress you’ve already made,” she calls out as I move away from her and head to the elevator bank.