Mercy (Salacious Players Club, #4)(58)

“Yes. But she’s been really moody lately. I think she started seeing that boy from the D&D club, and it’s been rocky.”

That little fucker.

“All right, I’m coming over.”

“Don’t bother. It’s too late, Beau.”

“Fine, then I’m calling her.” Without waiting for an answer, I hit End Call and immediately find Sophie’s contact in my phone. Before calling her, I glance up at Maggie.

“Is she okay?” she whispers.

“Yeah, I just…fucked up.”

Her brow furrows as the call starts to go through to Sophie. It only rings twice before her sniffly voice picks up on the other end. “What?” she says as a greeting, but not a warm one.

“Hey, kid, I’m sorry. I was just busy today.”

“Forget about it. I don’t care,” she mumbles in reply.

“Let’s go to D&D now. I’m ready.”

“It’s almost over by now, Beau. It’s too late.”

“Then let’s go get ice cream or something. Come on. We haven’t hung out in a long time.” I’m frantically pulling my clothes on as I talk.

“I’m not in the mood,” she mutters quietly.

“I don’t care. I’ll be there in fifteen. Be ready.” With that, I hang up, and rush toward the door.

Maggie is sitting on the bed as she watches me. Before leaving, I spin and look at her. She’s staring at me with a tense, uncomfortable-looking smile.

“I’m sorry. I have to—"

“Go,” she replies.

“Come with me,” I say before really thinking about it.

She tilts her head. “We can’t be seen together like that, Beau. Charlie would know and then your dad would know.”

Fuck, she’s right. God, I hate this. Maggie is not some dirty secret, and I don’t give a shit about my dad knowing anymore, but I still can’t seem to work up the guts to let it out of the bag just yet.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble again.

“Don’t be. Just go.”

Before I can leave, I rush back to the bed and plant a kiss on her lips, pulling her close and feeling her hum against my chest.

Then, I run down to my car and leave.





Sophie is standing outside and I can tell by her posture that she’s in a bad mood. Her shoulders are slumped and her hands are tucked inside her sweatshirt.

As I pull up, she climbs in without a word and won’t look at me as she buckles up.

“Hey, kid. Why so glum?”

She shrugs. “I’m fine.”

“Look, I’m sorry for missing game night lately. I’ve been busy.” When she glances up at me, I feel a wave of guilt wash over me. Getting bossed around by my Domme hardly seems like a good enough reason for not responding to her messages.

“I’m quitting D&D,” she replies.

“What? Why?”

“Because I think Kyle is going to break up with me,” she mutters into the sleeve of her sweatshirt. My fingers tighten around the steering wheel and my blood starts to boil. If that little asshole gave her any shit or treated her different than he would other girls, I swear to God, I’ll kick his ass.

“I didn’t know you were dating him. Fuck, I didn’t know you were dating at all. Are you sure you’re ready for that?”

“Why? Because I’m trans I can’t date?”

Well, that felt like a straight slap across my face. My brow furrows as I shake my head. “I didn’t say that. Of course you can. I just know how guys are, okay? And they’re all selfish dickheads.”

“Takes one to know one,” she retorts with a smug expression.

“I deserve that,” I reply, nudging her shoulder. “Okay, so wait a second. What makes you think Kyle wants to break up with you?”

She shrugs, sadly chewing on her nails. “He just doesn’t respond to my texts.”

“That little asshole. Let’s go to that game night and kick his ass.”

With a roll of her eyes, she shakes her head. “No.”

“I’ll cast a Ray of Douche-ness on him. Make him roll a restitution check.”

“A constitution check,” she corrects me with a laugh.

“I’ll sic my imaginary dragon on him and burn his stupid douchey castle down.”

She’s giggling into her hands now, and it makes me feel a fuck-ton better to see her smile.

“You’re a child,” she replies with a laugh.

“Yeah, I know. Come on. Let’s go get ice-cream wasted.” I throw the car into drive and take off toward the DQ we usually stop at after game night. It’s packed when we pull up. Teenagers with nothing better to do on a Friday night are lingering around the tables outside. It’s not normally so crowded, and I tense as we get out of the car, but I quickly follow Sophie’s lead as she confidently crosses the parking lot and heads inside.

“So, what’s her name?” she asks after I pay for our chocolate cones and find a seat at one of the tables inside.

“What?” I ask with a mouthful of ice cream.

“The reason you couldn’t check your phone all day. What’s her name?”

“I was working,” I reply, and she shakes her head.