Page 50 of Gross Misconduct

“Those peanuts are unshelled. They’re much denser in weight.” Charlie takes the dish from him and massages his back. “Physical therapy is going great. Mitch is making progress. We’re taking walks. He’s going to be back on his feet in no time, so long as he follows the doctor’s orders. No lifting heavy objects.” Charlie points his accusatory eyebrows his husband’s way.

“I didn’t know I married a drill sergeant.”

“You love it.” Charlie gets on his tiptoes to give his husband a kiss.

Mitch and Charlie have a sizable age gap between them. Charlie used to date Mitch’s daughter in college. But they work. They are totally in love. When I see them, I can’t help but think of Jack. And kissing him.

Or not kissing him.

He is testing all of my willpower. Finding out that he’s Ted Gross’s son has made my attraction to him even more fraught.

“Okay, I have to go.” Tanner stands up and finishes his drink. “My mom needs to get home in time to watch60 Minutes.”

Tanner better thank his lucky stars that his mom is still alive and able to babysit his kids. Carmen and I never had that opportunity, and babysitters in Sourwood aren’t cheap.

Eventually, the guys start to go home. I should join them. While I loved celebrating the victory with my team, it felt unearned. I barely contributed. I still haven’t gotten my groove back.

I say my goodbyes. Bill walks me to the door.

“Good game,” he says.

“Bill, don’t bullshit me. I was the weak link on the ice today.”

He seesaws his head, being careful with his following words. “You’re still finding your mojo.”

“Hopefully it shows up soon.”

“It will.” Bill gives me a no-nonsense stare. “It will. You have all the tools. You just gotta remember to use them.”

The advice is a bit confusing, but so is playing with lost mojo. Too bad I can’t travel back to the 1960s to get it back from Dr. Evil.

I stroll through downtown Sourwood, breathing in the night air. It’s nice to be outside in the quiet after being crammed into a loud bar. Moonlight makes everything prettier.

I always park in the same spot in the alley between the bookstore and kids’ shoe store. It’s quiet, close, and nobody thinks to park here.

Yet when I turn the corner into the alley, I find that I’m not alone. A man stands next to my truck, his back to me.

“Can I help you?” I ask.

“Shit,” he whispers, but he doesn’t move. Between his legs, I see a line of piss trickle down my driver’s side car door.

“What the hell are you doing? There’s a public restroom down the street,” I tell the man, even though we both know it’s too late for that.

You don’t take a whiz on someone’s car. Save that shit for the sides of buildings.

He says nothing, probably too embarrassed, his frame shrouded in moonlight.

“Stop!” I yell.

He ignores me. The trickle speaks for itself.

I get closer, ready to hurl him onto the main sidewalk. A streak of light from the nearby lamppost provides some illumination. His features come into focus as I approach.

Blond hair, broad shoulders, bubbly ass.

“Jack?” I ask, horrified. “What the fuck are you doing?”

17

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