Page 100 of The Score We Never Settled

Ah, so she’s not on Layla’s team.

My focus searches for her partner, and it lands on some redheaded dude with the whole nine. Freckles, dimples, one of those boyish smiles, country charm, and soon-to-be a fist in his face if he thinks teaming up with my wife was going to be something he was going to flirt with tonight.

Craning my neck to thin out some of my temper, I impatiently wait for Layla to toss the damn ball before I approach her from behind.

But she takes her time.

And more time.

“Layla, while we’re stillyoung, woman.”

Woman?

That’s coming from Freckles, and I can’t help but glower at him.

However, it’s for shit because he doesn’t even notice me, which is beneficial if I wanted to jump him, but we’re in Magnolia Ridge.

Things just aren’t normally that violent.

Unless I’m in town.

An eruption of cheering commences then, and Layla Jean begins bouncing around with her arms in the air before sherounds the table and closes the distance between her and Freckles.

They hug, and I watch his hands, which stay in mannerly places on her body, before she turns around and her hazel eyes immediately connect with mine as if they can’t not notice I’m here.

Then she beams at me, and I’m struck speechless and immobile.

“Briggs,” she quips, practically skipping over to me. “You’re here.”

And she’s drunk.

Her hazel eyes are glossed over, hiding all transgressions about how she didn’t want me around in the first place. Her cheeks are a pretty pink, and the smile she’s wearing is definitely alcohol induced.

I steal a look over her head at Freckles, wondering if he’s the reason why she’s toasted when she tugs on my t-shirt and receives my immediate attention.

“Why are you glaring?” she poses innocently, and she would because she’s Layla. No one has any bad intentions until they show them outright, and there’s no denying them. That was the problem before with her and Cruz.

“Why are you blitzed?”

She makes a face. “I’m not. I’m…well, maybe a little buzzed, but I’m fine.”

“What are you doing here?”

That has her expression heaving in response because, technically, this is more her town than mine, more her friends, and more her space than it is something I can claim.

“Tucker invited me,” she shares evenly. “Said he was having a little shindig for you since you were in town. Was I not allowed?”

“I didn’t say that. But my name was attached, so I figured you would’ve run the other way.”

Layla looks heavenward and shakes her head at me. “It’s not that deep. Besides, I’m your alleged wife?—”

“There’s no alleged,” I retort with a bit of grit. “We’re married.”

“And so I should show face,” she continues as if I didn’t say anything. “So, here I am.”

“Briggs,” I hear Fallon holler over the music and chatter. “Leave her alone. We’re not done playin’ here.”

And I don’t really care.