Page 11 of Ball Buster

I only hope the bugs aren’t a nuisance. Mosquitoes seem to treat my blood like the sweetest nectar. Daylight is fading anyhow. Making myself comfortable on the futon is the better option. I open up the romance I bought then snort when I realize it’s a motorcycle romance. I must’ve subconsciously been drawn to it. One minute I’m sucked deep into this love story about a girl in love with a man who is too old for her. A biker who at one point dated her own mother. And the next I’m waking up to a scratching sound.

I wipe the crusted drool from the side of my mouth. My novel hits the floor as I sit up, rubbing at my eyes with a heavy yawn. I blink as something fuzzy perched on the coffee table comes into focus. Is that a cat? I blink and rub at my eyes again when horror strikes me deep in the gut. I scream so loud I’m sure they’ve heard me in town as the scary little bastard makes a sound that’s a cross between a hiss and a purr.

The trailer door bursts open revealing a shirtless Solo who I may add looks simply delicious. “What’s wrong?” He looks around as confusion crosses his brows.

“There’s a god damn raccoon on the coffee table,” I shriek and the furball repeats the noise as though he’s arguing with me.

“Fuck. Did I forget to tell you about Tater?”

“Tater?”

“Yeah. Les’s dog.”

“That no dog.”

“Shh. Don’t let Tater hear you.”

“He doesn’t understand me and what the fuck? Les had a pet raccoon?”

“He’s harmless. He’s been hanging around since he was a baby. Les domesticated him.”

“You can’t keep wild animals as pets.”

Solo shrugs at me and the “dog” in question scratches at the table again.

“He’s hungry. Must’ve noticed someone in the trailer and thought his ol’ buddy was back. Two of them had breakfast together nearly every morning.”

“You think you could um get him his breakfast elsewhere and put on a shirt.” I make the mistake of checking him out again and notice he’s also not wearing any pants. “And pants.”

He grins big like he enjoys embarrassing me.Jerk.

“I could but I like the way you’re currently blushing when you look at me.”

“As if. That’s gross.”

“Babe,” he leads off with that stupid word again, “think we both know you’re into me. Got a crush on me.”

“In your dreams.”

The raccoon tilts his head from side to side as though he’s invested in our spat.

“Just get Tater his breakfast.”

“C’mon, buddy,” he coaxes, and the trash bandit listens. The two of them leave and I let out a groan.

I didn’t finish the laundry last night and I never got that shower I desperately need. I was too wrapped up reading about Wylla Mae and Easton Reed and their forbidden love.

I wish I had a love that epic.

It seems to only exist in books.

The laundry will have to wait until later. I’m desperate for coffee and a shower.

A quick glance at the clock has me rushing to get my ass in gear. Solo said the bar opens at ten. I’m curious to see how many employees there are and if the place is bleeding money like he claims.

I didn’t have time for coffee and hope there’s a pot somewhere at the bar. I mean coffee is good for sobering people up. Why does a bar open at ten in the morning? Surely people at least wait till noon before they start getting hammered.

When I arrive at the bar again there’s only Solo’s motorcycle in the lot and my car. I was hoping we’d have the buffer of a waitress or something but with it being early on a Monday I suppose there isn’t a need to pay someone to stand around staring at empty seats. I’m not ready to start sparring with Solo yet so I pull the book I started on last night out of my purse and decide to read a chapter or maybe two before I exit my car.

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