Page 111 of Story of My Life
The boy mayor stood on my doorstep, phone to his ear. He grinned and hung up. “I came to personally escort you to bingo. And I see maybe I should have called ahead.”
My hand floated to my head, where I found a snarl of air-dried hair. My eyes felt gritty, my skin sticky. “What time is it?” I asked, squinting at the sunlight like a vampire just exiting her coffin.
“Just after one. On Sunday,” he added helpfully.
I’d stayed up writing all night. Because I was inspired.
“Holy shit,” I breathed. “I need to go check something. Uh, you can come in or whatever.” I left the door open and jog-shuffled my way to my office.
I jiggled the mouse and woke up my screen. “Holy shit!” I screeched.
“Everything okay?” Darius called. “Can I fix something or call someone?”
I jogged back into the hall and jubilantly slapped the kid in the shoulder. “I wrote ten thousand words! In one night!” I jumped up and down in an awkward victory dance.
“That sounds like a lot,” he said, gamely jumping with me.
“It is!” I said, pogoing around with him in a circle.
Campbell Bishop, the grumpy bastard, was my lucky charm. Gosh. What would happen to my writing if I slept with him? I stopped jumping. One kiss from the man had me marathoning scenes like I was Brandon Sanderson with a secret project. If I had sex with Cam, I might start sneezing out series. Or, more likely, die from too many powerful orgasms.
“So, bingo. Do you want to change before we go?” Darius asked hopefully.
“Okay. I’m confused,”I admitted. “Since when does bingo have spectators? And teams?”
We were sitting on the lakefront bleachers under a large white tent that flapped enthusiastically in the summer breeze. Before us, the pickleball courts had been transformed into some kind of bingo hall with folding tables and chairs.
Teams in matching T-shirts appeared to be actually warming up on the court, while most of the rest of Story Lake’s citizens filled in the bleachers.
“You’re thinking of regular bingo. This is ultimate bingo,” Darius said. “We invented it.”
“Of course you did.” I took a bite of the hot dog I’d purchased from Quaid, a tan, barrel-chested surfer type who had set up a grill and a cooler in the parking lot. The parking lot where Cam and I had gotten nearly naked last night.
Speaking of nearly naked Cam…
All three Bishop brothers strolled up to the edge of the pickleball courts. Shirtless. Their faces and chests were painted blue. With white letters that spelled outBI-SH-OP.Laura’s gigantic dog, Melvin, wore a blue Bishop T-shirt. I assumed they were fans of Pep and Laura’s team, All About That Bass—bassas infish, not the musical instrument.
Cam’s gaze landed on me, and he gave me the cool-guy nod.
I raised my hand for an awkward wave. Then glanced around me. He could have been nodding at anyone. It probably wasn’t me. Right? Unless he was still playing book boyfriend. In which case, I entertained dueling fantasies of Cam taking my clothes off to do very naughty things to me and then me writing all about it. My heart tripped over itself, reminding me that evenmild flirtation made me feel like I had gone from a dead stop to hitting triple digits on the autobahn of physical attraction.
I wasn’t ready for Campbell Bishop. I couldn’t handle Campbell Bishop. But part of me was really enthusiastic about trying.
I dragged my eyeballs away from the topless trio and pretended to be fascinated with the game that hadn’t begun yet.
“So what do the teams do?” I asked, watching as Laura wheeled up to a spot at one of the tables and Pep began massaging her shoulders like a boxing coach. Behind them, Laura’s three kids huddled up as if they were discussing strategy.
I’d played drag queen bingo on multiple occasions, but that hadn’t required team uniforms…or a row of spectators holding metal trash can lids.
“It’s kind of easier to explain as we go. There’s quite a bit of town history and local lore mixed in,” Darius explained.
“What part of town lore are the trash can lids?”
“Those are what we call the Sanitation Supervisors. They determine each team’s trash-talk bonus ranking. They also oversee cleanup after each match,” he said as if that made any sense whatsoever.
“Uh-huh. That doesn’t sound weird at all.” To be sure, I pinched myself in the arm. “Huh. Nope. I’m definitely awake, and this is actually happening.”
The man on Darius’s other side caught his attention with a question about the Labor Day trash pickup schedule, so I went back to staring at Cam’s muscular form.
