Page 86 of Score on You

“Really?” Excitement raises Sydney’s tone several octaves.

“Yep, we’ll get them taken care of. Doing the dishes is very important.” Harper puckers her lips at Jake.

The little girl spins on her heel to address us like an adoring audience. “Mommy and Daddy do the dishes a lot. Like all the time. Especially after I go to bed. Not sure why there are still plates and cups by the sink when I wake up in the morning.”

Joy snickers. “They take their time on certain platters. Those big ones are tricky. You have to scrub really hard to get them clean.”

“Daddy does best on those tough-to-reach stains. Really gets after it.” Harper wiggles her brows.

“Dirtier the better,” Jake says.

“Adults are weird,” Syd grumbles.

“Yeah, kid.” Drake appears perplexed while trying to follow their exchange. “But only certain ones.”

Harper ignores him, turning her attention to Callie and me. “Have you started on any small plates? Maybe just spoons? Forks are fun. Especially in the afternoon.”

“Pairs well with a nap,” Jake offers.

Her eyes sparkle. “Oooooh, yes. Lay them all out on the counter. A nice kitchen is essential.”

“You have to watch how hard you bang the pots together or you’ll be eating for two.” Joy pats her belly.

“Food for thought.” Harper taps her temple. “Toodles.”

But it’s never that simple to part ways. Our group disperses in an extension pack of Minnesota goodbyes. The crude humor mixed in makes the long-winded farewells somewhat tolerable. Drake is last to amble off, leaving me on the bench with Callie.

“Why do they care so much about dishes? I’m confused.” A furrow creases her forehead.

“They’re talking about sex,” I rasp.

“Oh! How sneaky.”

“Very.”

Her eyes trail after our friends as if she wants to chastise them. Before she can make good on that plan, a different idea seems to distract her. “Should we… um, do the dishes?”

“Not yet, sweetness.” I chuckle and skim my fingers along her sides. “But we can definitely do a pre-rinse and soak cycle.”

I pause just outside the entrance. An invisible band cinches around my ribs, making it difficult to take a decent breath. Familiar nerves join forces with doubt. The latter is what plagues me.

This is a bold move. Probably too fast and forward, considering the panic ready to send me skittering back home. But I’m supposed to be brave. Take chances. Discover the unknown. Become the best version of myself. That’s the entire point.

Music thumps from inside as I gather my scattered courage. It’s just like every other time I’ve stopped by. But the encouragement is a farce. I rub my clammy palms along the silky fabric hugging my curves. A downward glance confirms I’m still securely fastened in this impulsive purchase. All that’s left to do is… leap.

I bounce on the balls of my feet in preparation. Fellow pedestrians send me curious looks, which does little for myconfidence. Their interest is warranted. I’m loitering on the curb while giving myself a pep talk. That’s my final cue.

Unfiltered noise greets me when I yank open the door. Too many voices compete against the country song currently playing. I blink at the busy scene. How silly of me to assume a Wednesday evening would be less popular at the infamous cock den. Before regret can sink its claws into my guts, a shrill call freezes me on the spot.

The loud wolf whistle rips across the room. An abrupt quiet descends on the throng as all eyes shift to Harper. When people realize she’s staring at me, they’re quick to follow her lead. The urge to duck and cover trembles my knees. Instead, I square my shoulders and creep forward into the crowded space.

My heart races faster with each step I take. The attention I’m receiving is impossible to miss. Gazes skim over my face to concentrate on my chest. I focus on Harper, ignoring those hovering in my peripheral. A direct path to the rail forms as people move aside. The impulse to curl into myself clenches my muscles but I won’t surrender. I’m not weak.

There’s a riot in my flexed stomach as I approach the bar. Every stool is occupied. An awkward pause rattles me as I decide where to stand. I scoot into the gap between two seats and wave at my friend.

“Holy shit, babes.” Harper’s mouth hangs wide open. “You actually went through with it.”

I fidget with the hem that ends at mid-thigh. “Did you doubt me?”

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