Page 32 of Unexpected Shot
CHAPTER 8
BEAU
“Whoa! Easy there! What did the dough do to you?”
Maddox’s voice startles me. I’ve been alone in the kitchen at Sugar and Sweets getting everything ready for tonight’s meeting of the Poker Club. The rest of the guys were running late, so I started working out my dough.
Also known as the best stress reliever I’ve ever found.
There are so many ways I enjoy burning away frustration and, occasionally, anger. As a professional athlete, and someone who’s always enjoyed working out, I’ve tended to stick to more physical outlets than mental ones.
More often than not, because it can double as practice, I’ll get a bucket of balls from the driving range and hit the shit out of my driver, punishing a golf ball and a club head for whatever is gnawing at me at that particular time. If that fails, there’s always going a few rounds with a heavy bag. Or going for a long run. If I really want to punish myself, I’ll add one of those god-forsaken running vests.
Those have been pretty effective for most of my adult years. But over the past few years, I’ve noticed those old reliables starting to get old. Stale. I knew I needed something new.Something to work out my anger that would challenge me in a way I’d never been challenged before.
Enter sourdough into the chat.
Yes, sourdough. To bake bread with.
It’s fucking amazing.
Apparently so amazing that I can get completely lost in the motions, making me not realize I now have an audience of my three best friends—well, two best friends and Maddox—who are staring at me like they need to stage an intervention.
“The dough didn’t do anything,” I say with a grunt.
“Keep telling yourself that,” Theo says, grabbing the apron I laid out for him on the counter. “Because what I’m seeing is the most aggressive stretch and fold in the history of sourdough.”
“It’s not that aggressive,” I defend. Except my words fall flat because I fold it over so far the dough breaks off.
“Well, then something did,” Theo says.
“Or someone…”
Asher Reed usually doesn’t say much. It’s what I like about him. Our resident hockey player comes to Poker Club, grabs his apron, and typically whips up whatever he’s making for his daughter that week. He minds his business, doesn’t ask a ton of questions, and keeps his comments to a minimum.
Except tonight, apparently.
“Don’t you have sugar cookies to make?” I say before slamming the prepped dough into a basket to proof. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“He might not, but I do,” Maddox says smugly. “I believe her name starts with ‘Sh’ and ends with ‘elby.’”
“Fuck you, Gallagher,” I say in a huff, which only makes my likely future brother-in-law laugh even harder. “Wait. How do you know that?”
“I live with your sister, who is Shelby’s best friend. If you think there are any secrets in my house, you’re mistaken—even when it involves you.”
“Is it too late to uninvite you to this?” I ask. “I liked it better when it was just the three of us.”
“Nope! Stuck with me.”
Maddox laughs as he heads into the walk-in cooler, leaving me with a confused Asher and Theo.
“Want to fill us in?” Theo asks. “I have a feeling this is more than just your normal—and now weekly—‘I hate Shelby’ story.”
“It’s so much more,” I say. “It’s my worst nightmare.”
In the craziness of this week, I realize I never told two of my best friends everything that’s happened. So I do. I tell them about Ethan forcing us to play together. How I need to put on a good face and get back in the good graces of the tournaments. And how I need to figure out a way to make it through a weekend with Shelby.
“A whole weekend!” Theo exclaims, nearly falling off his stool laughing. “You two can’t handle a dinner together at a public place.”
