Page 12 of Small Town Frenzy
I head to the truck, wondering what mess I’ve gotten myself into by coming back here. Who would have ever guessed?
Of all the people in this vast world I could have hooked up with, it had to be Cricket Dover . . .
Fuck me.
CHAPTER 5
Griffin
“Didyou know the Dover family owns the Armadillos?” I scratch my arm, still agitated from my earlier encounter with Cricket.
“Yes,” my sister replies from the kitchen in front of me. “Everyone knows that.”
“I didn’t.” Christine looks back at me over her shoulder, and her pointed glare and casual shrug kind of say what she’s thinking without saying a word. Sitting on a barstool, I chuckle, shaking my head. “I’m a little out of the loop on the goings-on around small-town gossip in Texas.”
“That’s not even gossip. That’s old news.”
Old news . . .like how Cricket Dover is the operations manager of the entire outfit, and everyone in a hundred-mile vicinity apparently already knows? Or is it old news that I slept with the woman before being aware of who she was or her connection to the Greenes, which goes back generations? Both those stories have run their course. Let’shope that they stay in the past and don’t make fresh news across the grapevines.
Her being a Dover bothers me. I didn’t think it did other than regarding not knowing her role out at the stadium, accusing her of stalking me, and thinking she was trying to kill me at the first confrontation. Mistakes happen. Assumptions get made. If someone acts like a fan, they usually are.
I slept with her. None the wiser, but I didn’t expect it to come back and haunt me. Would I not have gone back to the hotel with her if I had known? I smirk, knowing I would have. So this leaves us where we are—caught in an uncomfortable situation. Nothing more. Nothing less. Though I still dream about her perfect tits some nights.
My sister brings a glass of iced tea and sets it in front of me. “Just found out?”
“Found out today in not the best of ways either.”
She’s struggling to hide her smirk. “That sounds like a good story.”
Twisting the glass on the counter, I reply, “I accidentally thought one of the Dovers was a fan.”
“Oh.” The cringe that drags the left side of her mouth down is how I feel on the inside, especially now thinking back on it. “And how did that work out for you?”
“Unsurprisingly, not well.”
Her ponytail swings wildly as she starts laughing. The added clap wasn’t necessary, in my opinion. “Glad I’m so entertaining to ya, sis.”
“It’s just funny.” She still laughs under her breath. “The Dovers own pretty much everything in Dover County at this point, especially the fancy places. The winery. The stadium. The restaurant on Dover Creek near downtown. They’re old Texas money. That wealth has traveled through generations and stayed in the family.”
Thinking about the very ranch we’re on right now, I ask, “Does that make us new money? Because we sure as shit weren’t born with silver spoons in our mouths.”
“Only to the Dovers, I suppose, and their fancy friends.” Her laughter lightens as she busies herself in the kitchen again. I haven’t fully cooled down from the walk down to their house on the lower part of the property, so I take the opportunity to drink some tea.
“Only the Dovers” echoes, the words rolling around until Cricket’s face comes to mind again. I don’t know why, but she’s gotten under my skin. Was it because she was so smug with Coach around? I assume she really felt like she pulled one over on me by not introducing herself from the get-go. What was that about anyway? It’s almost like she didn’t want me to know who she was. Or should I say, who shereallywas, since we’ve done way more than just met yesterday.
I remember her looking so fucking sexy lying in that bed with my hat on . . .
“You forget something, cowboy?”
“What’s that, babe?”
“Your hat.”
“You keep it. A little something to remember me by.”
“I don’t need a hat to remember you.”
She had no problem forgetting who I was when I left . . .
