Page 90 of Opening Strain

“I don’t know of any.”

The Asshole strolls into the room. “Any what?”

“Restaurants around here with a back entrance,” Jenna oh-so-helpfully supplies.

I don’t want to be beholden to this annoying gnat. He works for Jenna, gets to see her every day. Holding up my phone, I announce, “Let me text King.” If anyone in this town would know of secret entrances, it would be Braxton Hunte’s son.

“Good luck,” he mutters. He turns to Jenna. “This is Aroostook, not swanky Manhattan.”

Please let them be wrong. I want to take her out to commemorateher third bank loan. King has to come through. Which he does. I read his text aloud, “King recommends this place called The Dancing Goats. Do you know it?”

“Who doesn’t,” Jenna replies. All Austin does is whistle.

“I’ll take that as it’s good. Let me make a reservation.”

“For after your second PT session tonight,” Jenna adds.

“Will it include those skater steps?” If it does, I may have to rethink dinner.

She smiles. “We’ll see.” Turning her body toward Austin, she says, “Thanks so much for all your help this afternoon. Running Bennett through his paces can be difficult, and I appreciate it.”

“Enough to let me run your next clinic? You’ve said so yourself, the clients love me and flourish under my therapy.”

My fingers form a fist. Seriously? Have I been wrong about him? Does he want Jenna as his girlfriend or merely for a promotion? Whatever. Neither will happen if I have anything to say about it.

“I’m not sure, Austin. I need to talk with Courtney and Felipe.” Jenna glances at me and adds, “They run my first two clinics. I was thinking you’d take over the sixth location. Give you more time to make bigger inroads in the community. You know how both of them do outreach with the locals, which benefits the clinics.”

Gotta hand it to him. The Asshole doesn’t take “no” lying down. “I’ll be here when you’re ready to call me up. I promise never to let you down.”

“Appreciate it.”

Christ. Could this guy suck up anymore? I focus on making a reservation at The Dancing Goats. I hold up my cell. “There. The restaurant will be expecting us at seven p.m. tonight. Maybe I could interest you in an arcade game before my next session?”

A tiny smile dances around her lips, and she turns back to the Asshole. “Thanks for all your help today, Austin. I plan on being back at the clinic in a couple of days.”

Dismissed.

I hide my smirk as I turn toward the games, approaching DonkeyKong. It’s a good game, just not as good as Asteroids Deluxe, but soon I’m immersed.

Two games later, Jenna finally shows up. I don’t ask about the Asshole—don’t care. Instead, I kill another Beespy before I’m hit with shrapnel and the game’s over. I claim a spot on the leaderboard—right behind Jenna.

“Benjamin Howell?”

“Ever since I was a kid, I’ve always been him when I play arcade games.” I shrug. “Howell for Thurston Howell, III ofGilligan’s Islandfame.”

Her head bobs. “Benjamin?”

“Honestly, it was the first B-name that came to mind.” I chuckle.

“You’re something else,” she shakes her head.

I don’t know whether that’s good or bad, so I keep my mouth shut on the alias front. “Want to play a game? I could switch over to Asteroids Deluxe.”

“Sounds good.” I switch places with her, and we play our respective games, pings and zaps and our own exclamations providing the soundtrack.

I walk away first and lean against the wall, admiring the view. Jenna’s taken off the blazer and is barefoot. The image of bending her over one of these games grows stronger. Or even the pool table in the corner of the basement I didn’t notice before. I circle behind her, enjoying how her ass flexes with her movements. Damn.

“Ah, rats!” She steps back. “I was robbed.”

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