Chapter 31 A House Full of Irreverent Senior Citizens
A House Full of Irreverent Senior Citizens
Wes
If someone had told me yesterday that I'd be spending my evening watching a dog puke up my used condom in front of a small room of people, I wouldn’t have believed them.
My night had taken a nosedive—from the fuck up with Luci, to Dixie gulping down the condom. Any trace of the relaxing, romantic evening I'd planned had gone up in smoke.
I sigh, my hands gripping the steering wheel. I might as well not bother trying to sleep. It was nearly four in the morning, and I needed to be up to work the cattle soon, anyway.
I ease the door closed behind me, trying to keep quiet so I don’t wake Pops. The second my boot scuffs across the tile, the kitchen light flicks on.
Pops is already dressed, his hair combed, and a sly smile spreads across his face. “You’re not just getting home now, are ya, Wes? It’s mighty late to be having a picnic.”
To hell with this damn tiny town and all the gossiping busybodies that kept Pops informed on what I was doing in my personal life. I should have known Mrs. Mackey would immediately tell Pops about my plans for the evening.
I scrub a hand over my face and study the ceiling, searching for a way to get out of talking to Pops about what is happening between me and Sawyer.
The man was way more curious about it than he should be.
Pops sidles up to the counter to start a pot of coffee, giving me a little time to get my bearings.
“We had to take Dixie to the vet. She ate something she shouldn’t have.”
“Uh oh. What did that dog get into this time?”
“Just something she found digging through the trash can,” I answer, hoping that doctor-patient confidentiality went for veterinarians, too.
When I had shown up with Sawyer, Dr. Dillard had glared at me over the tops of his spectacles which had slid down his nose as if I was the one to blame for bringing him into the office in the middle of the night, not the dog that had dug through the trash can.
Once Dixie had finally expelled the condom, Dr. Dillard had skewered me with a knowing look and had shaken his head in disappointment.
My cheeks had gone as red as Sawyer’s under his scrutinizing gaze, and I’d wanted to get out of there immediately.
I’d quickly insisted on paying the vet bill and several hundred dollars poorer, I’d driven Sawyer and Dixie back home.
The smell of coffee fills the little kitchen as the black nectar of the gods trickles into the pot.
“And that vet visit took all night, huh?” he asks, a near giddy look on his face.
I give him an impassive glare. “I had to chase down a horse before that.”
“Is that what you kids are callin’ it these days?” He had a shit-eating grin on his face as he poured himself a cup of coffee.
I groan. “It’s too early for this shit, Pops.” I snag a cup from the dish rack and fill it up to the brim.
He chuckles at my expense. “I’m glad you two had a good time.”
I gape at him. “Does any of what I just said sound fun to you?”
“I can read between the lines well enough. You think I don’t know what you two kids are gettin’ up to? You think the entire town hasn’t told me about you two making goo-goo eyes at each other at Herds and kissin’ in the corn maze at Fall Fest?”
This fucking town.
“Can we not talk about this before I’ve even had my coffee?” I grumble.
He shrugs and relaxes back in his seat. The chair groans as he shifts his weight. “Well, alright, but only because I’ve got somethin’ more important to talk to you about than you and Sawyer doin' the horizontal tango.”
“Jesus Christ, Pops,” I mutter.
He laughs at what I’m sure is a horrified look on my face. My cheeks heat and I hide by taking another long gulp of coffee. I arch my brow, signaling him to continue.
“We need a couple more people for the pitch tournament tomorrow night. Helen and Kenny won’t be able to make it. Their grandkids have a school program that night, so now we're short two players. I told Barb Mackey I’d bring you along to play.”
I blink at him. “What?”
His grin widens. “She also told me to remind you that you promised her you’d come play one of these nights. And,” he adds with a knowing look, “she wanted me to mention that she put a lot of effort into that picnic basket she made for you.”
His smile is impish. Damn him. He knows I hate disappointing people, and he’s not above using it against me.
I sigh, resigned. “Fine. I’ll be there.”
“Good. You’ll need a partner.”
I give him a flat look. “I thought you’d be my partner.”
“Oh, no, no no. Harold is always my partner.”
“Fine, I’ll ask Tripp.”
He waves me off. “Oh, he already mentioned he’s busy. You could ask Sawyer,” he suggests.
I fix him with a bland stare. “You think I don’t know what you’re trying to do?”
“Find a team to replace Helen and Kenny for the night?” he asks in feigned innocence.
“I’m onto you, old man. We aren’t going to be entertainment and fodder for gossip with your friends.”
“Of course not,” he mutters. His mustache twitches mischievously, and I roll my eyes toward the ceiling.
Me and Sawyer will be the talk of the town if we show up to the pitch tournament together, but that bothers me less than I thought it would. So, despite what I said to Pops, I pull out my phone as I stomp up the steps to the only room in this house with a single bar of service and message Sawyer.
Are you any good at pitch?
Pops insisted I pick up Sawyer while he drove himself to the Mackeys’ place for the weekly pitch tournament. I haven’t been able to drive the old Chevy without remembering exactly how Sawyer looked sprawled across the front seat with my fingers buried inside of her while she panted my name.
Seeing her in that front seat again had my dick getting entirely too excited before playing pitch with a house full of irreverent senior citizens.
I hold the door open to the ranch-style, and Sawyer smirks at me as she walks in. The sound of chattering halts as soon as we step through the doorway and all eyes are on us.
I lift a hand and wave awkwardly. “Hey guys, Pops said Mrs. Mackey was baking, so we came to crash the party.”
A few people chuckle and Mrs. Mackey bustles into the room with a full smile. “I made some more of those pumpkin bars, just for you, dear,” she says, ushering us to a small closet where we can hang our coats. “We’re just about ready to play.”
I try my best not to think about the mixture of Sawyer and pumpkin bar that was on my tongue two nights ago.
"Thanks, Mrs. Mackey," Sawyer croaks out.
There are three tables set up. One in the kitchen, a card table in the living room, and a third in the dining room.
The Mackeys and the Johnsons are sitting at the kitchen table.
Pops and his partner Harold are at the table in the dining room with the Clausens, which leaves Bob and Linda Andreasen at the table in the living room, waiting for Sawyer and me to sit down and play.
“You do remember how to play, don’t ya?” Mr. Mackey asks from his spot at the kitchen table.
Pops scoffs from the dining room. “He remembers how to play, Hank.”
“We’ll find out, won’t we?” Bob says with a broad smile.
“Grab a drink, you two,” Mrs. Mackey orders with a quick gesture toward a big cooler before she sits back down to peek at her cards.
“I’ll get the drinks. You make sure Bob and Linda aren’t stacking the deck over there,” I mutter in Sawyer’s ear.
“Just get me something caffeinated. I’m still not recovered from the other night,” she says under her breath.
I give myself a mental pat on the back for that and stoop down to grab us both a pop from the cooler before taking my seat.
“Wes, it’s so good to have you back here. You and Sawyer are just so sweet together. You’d make such beautiful babies,” Linda gushes the second I sit down.
Sawyer shoots me a wide-eyed look, and I glance at Pops in the dining room, his cards hiding his face as his shoulders shake with quiet laughter. I’m certain he somehow set it up so that I’m at Linda’s table on purpose. She’s the biggest gossip in Cottonwood Creek.
“Linda,” Bob snaps as he deals out the cards.
I clear my throat uncomfortably. “Uh, I don’t think we’re quite to the point of having babies, Mrs. Andreasen.”
She waves me off as she looks at the cards in her hand. “Well, from what Darlene told me, it looked like you two were well on your way when you were coming out of the corn maze at Fall Fest.”
Sawyer chokes on her drink, red creeping up her neck. I glance heavenward and pray for patience before I say, “I bid six.”
We end up beating the Andreasens as we fend off a million questions about how many kids we want and the pros and cons of having a spring wedding.
Once all the tables are finished with their first games, we move up to the table in the dining room where Pops and Harold are still seated, and Mrs. Mackey brings out the pumpkin bars, eliciting moans of delight from everyone.
When I sit between Harold and Pops, Harold holds out his hand to his friend. “You owe me $5. I told you they’d beat Bob and Linda.”
“I should have known better than to make that bet,” Pops mumbles, withdrawing his wallet and placing a wrinkled five-dollar bill in Harold’s hand.
“Betting against me, Pops?” Sawyer asks in mock hurt.
Pops’ mustache twitches as he jabs his thumb in my direction. “Not you. I thought Linda’s incessant chatter might throw this one off his game.”
“I don’t think she stopped talking long enough to even look at her cards. Poor Bob was playing on his own,” Sawyer replies.
“She all but had our wedding date set and our future children named,” I gripe.
“Linda means well. She just gets a little ahead of herself,” Pops says, dealing out a hand to start the game.
“A little?”
He shrugs. “We’re old. This is the stuff we live for.”
“What stuff?”