Page 65 of Stealing Second

I’m a bit shocked to see it’s not Fawna, but Dromida. She’s usually the cool, calm, and collected one who hangs in the back.

* * *

“Spill the tea,” Francesca says as we stand in line to get—hell, I don’t know what they’re getting. I don’t need anything, not when Chloe has her mom bag, full of everything under the sun.

“I need more information in order to properly answer?—”

“Hot Neighbor, Gym Bro, Roman fucking Hart,” she says with urgency.

A girl in line in front of us turns around and groans. “Oh my God, isn’t he sexy as fuck?”

The brunette with her leans in—okay, more accurately sways—as she makes a lewd gesture toward her crotch. I will admit, if it were one of my girls, I’d laugh, but she’s not. And she’s talking about the guy who’s living in my head—and, no, it’s not rent-free because he’s totally earned that spot.

“Did you see how he moves? What he’s packing? That man has an anaconda in his pants.”

“Wow, you’re definitely someone he’d want to bring home to meet his mother,” comes from behind us.

“Right?” I snort and look back to see which one of my girls said that, but it’s not one of them.

It’s Jillian, his sister.

“Basic bitch say what?” the intoxicated one slurs.

I see Francesca drop three inches as she bends down and starts removing her shoes—yes, she’s wearing heels to a baseball game.

“Oh no, she didn’t. One of you’d better hold my pumps.”

“I’ve been called worse by better,” Jillian taunts.

“I’ll need receipts as confirmation,” another female says, but I don’t know which because I’m focused on making sure Francesca is not advancing.

“Put your fucking shoes back on!” Dromida yells at her. “Do you know the kind of foot fungus you’ll get in a place like this with thirsty trash like that walking around with their dripping, diseased snatches?”

My eyes catch Jillian’s, and we both bust up laughing.

Then … all hell breaks loose.

* * *

“Take your hands off of me! They attacked us, you fucking moron!” Francesca screams at one of the security officers.

“I don’t think that’s helping,” I snarl as we’re ushered down a hall.

“Ding, ding, ding.” Another officer chuckles. “They left without a fight.”

He’s not wrong.

“And they shouldn’t have been allowed until the real cops arrived to arrest them for attacking us!”

“Oh my God, are we going to jail?” Fawna cries.

“You’re going to the drunk tank,” another officer grouses.

“Unlawfully detaining us? The owners of this facility won’t like the lawsuit I slap on them because of you.” Francesca threatens—again.

“I thought you were related to the owners, and this one is a sister to one of the Jags.”

“Roman Hart,” Jillian states as she lifts her shirt to wipe blood from under her nose. “My brother.”

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