Page 117 of Dream Chaser
“She’s a keeper.” Grand winks.
“You settled down?” Lissette laughs then she slaps down a card. “Boom, and that, sugar, is how you clear a build pileandruin a man’s fragile ego in one move.”
Miss Dottie cackles behind her cup of sweet tea like it’s gospel. “You better hope the league don’t callherup, Griffon. She’s worse than those Philly boys.”
I grunt and try to play a nine from my hand, but there’s nowhere to put it, and I’ve got no way to block her next play.
Grand fans herself with her discard pile like a blackjack dealer who knows she’s about to winagain.
“You know what your problem is, Griffon?” she says sweetly, sliding another card down with the smug precision of a sniper. “You treat your love life like this game. But now you’re holding a good hand, and if you hold it too long, you’re taking unnecessary risks.”
Miss Lissette mmmhmms like she’s the soundtrack to my humiliation. “He hoarding a queen?”
I blink. “Jesus.”
“Mouth,” all three of them say at the same time.
I lift my hands in surrender. “All right, all right. I get it.”
She narrows her eyes and drops a queen on the pile like she’s dropping facts. “Do you? ’Cause you got a girl now, and if you don’t start playing your cards, someone else is gonna flip the deck and sweep her off the damn table.”
Miss Lissette leans forward like a conspirator. “Or worse—she’ll reshuffle herself and decide she’s better off playing solo.”
I sigh and drop my nine in defeat. “I liked it better when we just played Rummy.”
Grand gives me a sugar-sweet smile. “Rummy don’t call you on your shit. Spite and Malice builds character.”
Miss Lissette sips her tea. “And, apparently, exposes all your relationship flaws. Now let me see that queen.”
Day nine, my morning post is a bathroom mirror pic, shaving for the first time since … well, fuck, I don’t even remember. Caption:Clean cuts. New start.
Iz postsa side view of a desk and laptop screen, which shows some sort of design that I assume is for Knights merch. Caption:Branding is just flirting with fonts.
It’s raining again, so Grand and I watch her shows and just chill.
As the sun sets, we take a drive down to the marina, park in front of our slip and the boat, which we still haven’t had a chance to take out and do some fishing.
I snap a pic of the rain pouring down, which masks the boat enough so it’s not recognizable. I don’t want anyone fucking with it. Caption:And they live another day.With a fishing hook emoji.
Iz’s post is an image of a cracked ceramic mug filled with paintbrushes. Caption:Some things are more useful after they break.
Grand leans over and looks at my screen. “Ain’t that the truth.”
“What do you think she’s saying?” I ask, a game we’ve been playing most every damn night.
“You know damn well what she’s saying, and if you don’t do something about it …” She shakes her tiny fist at me.
Day ten, I’m sitting at the table, watching Grand play in her flowers on the porch, bent over a play book, drinking a protein shake because my appetite sucks, but there’s no way I’m not keeping up with my protein intake, because contrary to what people may believe, abs are built in the kitchen, and Izzy Ross is a big fan of my abs.
My notification goes off, and I immediately swipe to open it.
Iz posted a close-up of her hands in soil, palm up, with seeds scattered across her palm. Caption:Every season starts with dirt.
I snap a shitty picture of my playbook, protein shake beside it, and post it. Caption:Don’t forget what got you here.
By day eleven, I’m desperate enough for her to message me, so when I cash in that winning chip, she’s got no choice but to do as I ask. So, what do I do? I post a selfie from my bed, with bedhead, eyes half-closed. Caption:Rest days matter.
Takes Iz a half-hour before she posts, but she does. It’s a photo of Wile sprawled across her lap like a giant heating pad. Caption:Some coworkers take advantage of their benefits package.
