Page 101 of The Score We Never Settled

However, Fallon has a big mouth, and I’m not looking to go a few rounds with her, so I silently concede.

“That’s so touching that you came for your reputation,” I assert, giving her an unimpressed stare. “Remind me to show you how much you missed me later.”

I fully expect her to send me an equally indifferent look, but fuck me, she smiles at me again.

“Hold that thought, Kerrigan,” she replies with a little sass. “I have a game to win.”

Then she twirls on her heels and goes back to her table to continue her game.

And that’s fine.

I wait.

She wins after about six more rounds of back and forth, tests my damn patience again when she goes to hug Freckles, and I breathe.

Hard.

In and out.

He didn’t hit me with something four times; I can’t randomly knock his shit out.

When she’s done with her mini-celebration, I’m still in the same spot she left me, and she’s glowing with happiness that I have not had the pleasure of seeing in a really long time.

“You’re still here.” I narrow my eyes at her, and she genuinely laughs from her own joke, but damn, it sounds so good on her. “Hungry?”

“Starving,” I deadpan before she wraps her fingers around my wrist and guides me over to several tables brimming with food. “You gonna introduce me to your friend?”

“Nope,” she replies impassively when she drops my arm and plucks up a large paper plate. I go to grab my own when she slaps my hand out of the way. “I got it.”

K, I’m never going to turn down Layla Jean taking care of me.

So I bide my time, while she overfills it with a multitude of food, and I follow her out of the barn. She finds a wooden picnic table and settles us there, gently placing two sets of plastic silverware down.

Then she pats the same side of the bench seat for me to sit next to her, and I’ll admit, it puts me in a bit of a daze.

She loves me.

She loves me not.

“I grabbed everything so we didn’t have to choose.”

Grilled chicken, ribs, potato salad, baked beans, corn bread, coleslaw, a burger, and corn on the cob.

I’m impressed with how she balanced everything on the plate when she immediately begins to dive in.

“So, the guy?” I press. “Who is he?”

“We’re still on that?” She shoves a forkful of potato salad in her mouth and immediately goes for more.

That’s what I always liked about Layla Jean. She wasn’t scared to eat. And she didn’t care if she looked like a little goblin when she did because she’d still have her mouthfull half the time, as she does now, before going for another bite.

“We’re still on that,” I claim. “Doesn’t look familiar.”

“It’s Fallon’s brother, Briggs,” she drawls. “You didn’t put the two redheads next to each other together?”

No.

I’ve never paid much attention to Fallon, even though she’s been Layla’s friend since grade school. She’s always been outspoken, stood her ground, and she’d check you so damn fast you wouldn’t have a readily available comeback, but she was always loyal to Layla.