Rich Player (The Dirty Thirty Pledge 3)

7

Glenn

So far, the fair has been a huge success. The street in front of First Shot has been shut down for it, and there are crowds that are bigger than I had anticipated. I really need to stop underestimating the First Shot fans.

I’m standing outside with Frankie and Wallace, waiting for our turns to go into the dunk tank. We’ve agreed to do it along with our staff and city officials to raise money for the refurbishment of one of the city parks. Plus, it’s added entertainment for the people waiting to get inside.

“I’ll be honest,” I say to them, “I never thought that Labor Day would be a holiday that would do so well for us.”

“Neither did I,” said Frankie, “but as long as it’s going this well, we should do what we can to keep it this way.”

I nod. “I fully plan to.”

“That’s all good,” Wallace says. “But I think Frankie and I are more interested in how your trip to Nashville was. Did you have a good time?”

They’re trying to be supportive, even though I know they both want me to give up on the whole idea of the pledge. “I did have a good time,” I say. “A very good time.”

Frankie laughs. “I’m afraid to ask for details.”

“I helped someone avoid a creeper in a club and we hit it off. Ended up spending the night and morning in my hotel.”

“The morning too?” Wallace asks. “Isn’t that against the rules?”

I roll my eyes. “The rules are what I make them since you pussies bailed on me.”

He holds up his hands in surrender. “Fair enough. As long as you had fun.”

“Yeah,” I say, Diamond’s face flashing into my mind. Specifically, her face when she was in the middle of coming on my cock. Flushed, eyes closed and mouth open, everything about her screaming that she was in perfect ecstasy. “Honestly, it was great. Wish I could have stayed longer. But with as many visitors as we have right now, it shouldn’t be a problem.”

There’s a splash, and the manager of the bar goes sailing into the tank to the cheers of her friends who have been pummeling the button with rubber balls. Frankie’s up. He gives me a long stare before he walks away. “Careful, Glenn.”

I know he’s warning me about the business, and how they both think that sleeping with a different woman every day is going to be bad for business if it gets out.

If they knew how many women from the bar I’d slept with already, they’d probably lose their damn minds. Frankie and I have mostly gotten over the issues we had, and even I can admit that I was a dick. But I was pissed at him. He dropped off the face of the earth to go follow his dreams, and then he barely came back.

Now, even though he and Annabelle live in Nashville most of the time, they’re in Green Hills a lot because of their families. Frankie’s grandmother is getting older and they’ve wanted to spend time with her. Plus, he can afford the charter flights back and forth that make the commute a far more reasonable forty-five minutes.

Wallace and I watch as Frankie removes his shoes and his shirt, and hear the women in the crowd shouting—no one louder than Annabelle, his wife.

We’ve never really gotten along. We blame each other for things we probably shouldn’t. Now that the Dirty Thirty is actually here, I’m guessing after it’s over things will get better. But I don’t see us ever being close buddies. That’s okay. As long as Frankie doesn’t punch me in the face again we’ll be just fine.

Frankie sits in the dunking booth and someone throws a ball, and misses. Annabelle is only a few people back in the line. I will laugh if she doesn’t dunk him. Because he’ll never let her live it down until she has another chance—probably next year.

“So,” Wallace says, too casually, “have you officially started yet?”

I did mark the calendar yesterday, so I guess I have, but I’m still tired, and with everything going on at the bar, I’m not sure I’ll have time to chat anyone up tonight. Not that I think I would have a particularly hard time finding someone to come home with me, but I’m not sure I want that today. I have a feeling after all of this is over, I’m just going to want to go home and sleep.

It’s not at all that I can’t seem to get Diamond out of my head, despite the fact that I came all over my fist thinking about her in the shower this morning. Or the fact that I keep seeing flashes of long, dark hair in the crowd and thinking it’s her. Something is unsettled inside because of her, and I need to get over it. Get my mind off it of it.