Page 22 of Biggest Player (Not Yours #2)

Boom, internet-troll gold.

And there goes the guilt that keeps punching me in the gut, reminding me what a fucking douchebag I’m being.

I nudge the feelings away and instead grin back at my friends, arm still around Margot, pleased as punch to be standing with her tonight.

“You guys want to come out and grab something with us?” I ask Kendrick and Dominic. They both shake their heads.

“Nah, bro. I’m hitting the gym tomorrow with my sister. She gets my ass up at five,” Kendrick says.

“Tomorrow is Saturday,” I point out, horrified at the idea of waking up at five o’clock to exercise when I’d rather be sleeping. Or fucking.

“She don’t care what day it is.”

I rack my brain. His sister is younger, in college, and if my memory serves me correctly, he is her legal guardian.

“She still living with you?”

“Yeah, when she’s not in school. Total pain in my ass.”

“Aww,” Margot chimes in. “It’s sweet, though, that you let her boss you around. I love it when younger sisters do that.”

He shrugs. “Have to be in the gym anyway, might as well get it over with.”

Dominic nods. “I stopped drinking, so I’m gonna head home.”

Kendrick smacks him. “Don’t lie, bro—you’re going home to watch Love Is Blind .”

“So?”

“So. Don’t act like an angel when you just wanna be in bed by eight.”

I understand his wanting to be home, where it’s quiet. I’m the same most nights, but usually only get that way during the season. Our season hasn’t started yet, so I can go crazy and stay out until ten! Ha.

We give one another hugs, say our goodbyes to everyone else. Darkness has arrived by the time Margot and I step outside; it’s a stark contrast to how bright it was when we arrived.

“Feel like going out?” I ask, ’cause I’m still hungry and getting hungrier by the second.

“It seems like all we do is eat when we’re together,” she says sheepishly. “When you’re not busy scheming to ruin dates, or breaking things inside my house.”

“I broke one thing! And I don’t even think it was my fault—your pipes were fucked before I even got there. Plus, I’m not a toolman.” I could go on defending myself against her accusations.

Is she going to bring this up for the rest of our lives?

Probably.

She’s a shithead.

Margot rolls her eyes but can’t hide her smile. “What did you have in mind for food? Nothing fancy, I hope. I’m dressed for flirting, not a nice steak house.”

I have her covered because I’m not in the mood for fancy either. Hardly ever am—not when a juicy burger is the cure for most ailments. Or dessert, which is even better. Carrie is the only one keeping me honest. And healthy.

“There’s this new place I saw on Instagram with the craziest shit,” I say, pointing in a vague direction of the restaurant since we’re already in the downtown area. “They have these insane milkshakes. You won’t believe what they stick on top of them.”

She raises her eyebrows to tease me. “Burgers?”

Dammit, how did she know? She ruined the surprise.

“Yes, but not just burgers. Also doughnuts, cookies, pretzels—pretty much everything.” Rubber ducks. Candy. Entire pieces of cake.

All depends on which shake you order.

I want one so bad.

“I’ve seen those.” Her eyes widen in horror. “They look like a literal heart attack in a glass.”

“Yeah, but they also look fucking delicious.” I grab her hand and begin pulling her along. She laughs again, her giggle easily becoming one of my favorite sounds. “There’s only one way to find out.”

If we can find the place.

With my free hand, I pull up the walking directions, relieved to discover it’s not that far from where we’re standing, only three city blocks.

Win!

We walk the few blocks, sidewalks still bustling, the neon lights of the Sugar Ice Cream Shack beckoning.

“Shoot.” Margot groans as we approach. “There’s a line.”

Pfft, please. “This is where it comes in handy to be a douchey football player.”

The dude at the door spots me when I approach him. I understand his silent message: “You guys want me to let you in?”

I nod, giving Margot a tug. “Come on.”

“What are we doing?” She is frantically looking around, hissing, “We can’t skip all these people! I won’t be able to look anyone in the eye.”

We can and we do.

Damn right, we skip the line.

Once we’re inside, seated comfortably in a corner booth near a bright, candy-covered bar—one that serves alcohol, of course—we pass the time waiting for our server by people watching, making up ridiculous backstories for everyone around us.

“See that guy with the man bun? Definitely a secret agent.” Margot is nodding toward a tall, muscular guy with a suspiciously serious expression who’s scrunched at a table with two teenagers, one boy and one girl, both of them ignoring him and playing on their phones.

For a man surrounded by ice cream and doughnuts, he sure looks miserable.

“How can he be a secret agent when he’s in here eating ice cream?” I don’t love that theory; it makes no sense. “I was thinking he’s the type of guy that owns his own gym and doubles as a bodyguard on the weekends.”

“You think he’s that girl’s bodyguard? Could be.” She shrugs. “Although he’s probably a single dad, and this is his weekend with the kids, and he’s trying to spend time with them, but they’d rather just play on their phones.”

That was going to be my next guess.

“What are you getting?” I ask her, plucking up a menu and opening it. It’s absurdly oversize, and we laugh as we try to hold them up and read at the same time, laminated pages bumping and making it difficult.

“I feel like I need a map to navigate this thing.” She peeks over the top at me. “It’s gargantuan.”

“Just close your eyes and point,” I suggest. “What’s the worst thing that could happen?”

“Why do I get the feeling that you say that a lot?”

“’Cause I say that a lot?” I laugh. “It only fails me fifty percent of the time.”

When the server comes to take our order, we both opt for the most ridiculous milkshakes on the menu. They’re not cheap, and ordinarily the price tag might make me cringe, but how can anything topped with an entire slice of cheesecake be a bad investment?

Mine? Has a mini doughnut tower precariously perched on top.

In short order both desserts are plopped down in front of us. We stare.

“That looks absolutely ... revolting,” she says, looking from mine to hers to mine. “Seriously. Who came up with this? It’s nonsense! This must weigh at least five pounds!”

I steal a cookie from the side of her glass and pop it in my mouth before she can scold me.

“This is ... wow.” She’s eyeballing her own concoction. “I have no idea how to start eating this.”

There are spoons in a cup holder on the table, and I hand her one, also taking one for myself, plus a half-dozen napkins.

We’re going to need them.

“Epic, isn’t it?” I say, tentatively sipping my milkshake while trying not to topple the doughnuts.

I love how it looks. So fucking cool. “Do you mind if I take a picture before we eat these?”

Margot rolls her eyes but pushes her glass toward mine so I can snap a photo with my phone.

“Are you going to look at that later?” she teases.

“I might.”

She sticks her tongue out at me before plucking a piece of cheesecake off her glass, then taking a careful bite.

“Oh my God, yum.”

“Good?”

She moans. “I was wrong. This might be worth a sugar coma.”

“Told you,” I say smugly, chewing thoughtfully. “I have excellent taste.”

“That’s what they should name this place. Sugar Coma,” she suggests, sucking ice cream through the shake’s blue straw, then forking the cheesecake balanced on top.

Soon we’re both clutching our guts and moaning, leaning back against the seats. Stuffed.

“I can’t take it anymore,” she complains.

“Neither can I—and I can usually eat until it’s gone.”

We sit in silence for a bit.

“Hey,” I say after a time. “Thanks for coming out with me. I know we didn’t get to spend any actual time together at the signing, but I really liked having you there with me.”

“You’re welcome.” Margot lifts her spoon and licks it. “You’re lucky I like food.”

“Just the food?”

She looks at me, her expression softening. “No, not just the food. You know it’s the company I like even better.”

Seriously, the old Dex—the Dex of last week—would have gagged hearing a compliment like that and might have laughed at her. This new Dex is eating her words right up the same way I was lapping up this ice cream.

“Good to know. Because I was thinking ... maybe next time, we could do something different.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Something crazy. Something we’ve never done before.”

She tilts her head, considering. “Like skydiving?”

“Jeez, dear God, no.” I laugh. “Not that crazy. But we’ll figure something out.” I pause. “Maybe next time we can do something with Wyatt?”

I’m feeling her out, gauging whether or not she wants to reintroduce me to her daughter—for real this time. Even though I’ve met Wyatt already, it was in the most unconventional circumstances. I’d rather do it properly.

“I don’t think I want ‘something crazy’ and ‘maybe we can do it with Wyatt’ in the same sentence.” She laughs. “But I get what you’re saying.”

This perks me up. “Is that a yes?”

Margot leans over and kisses me on the lips. “No. But I’ll think about it.”