Page 58 of The Score We Never Settled

15

BRIGGS

Buying Everly offand getting her to buzz off Layla and I is easier than any single-run hit I’ve ever made in my career.

A hundred bucks, her friends, and a bunch of shit to do and eat, Everly made her exit several minutes ago, and Layla should reconsider helping my sister out with anything since she can’t seem to be her ride-or-die in situations like this.

However, I’m not going to bitch about getting my girl to myself.

Hell, after seeing my father today before this, I could blow off some damn steam for a while.

Layla makes sure to keep a good amount of distance between us. Shocker, since she refuses to see what this is—us—and how there’s never going to be a lifetime she and I live in where we don’t end up together.

I buy her a funnel cake with extra powdered sugar because I’m masochistic and want to see her lick it off her lips.

When we reach a hot dog food truck, it’s Magnolia Ridge’s baseball team selling them to raise money for shit I wasn’t listening to because half of the horndogs were eye-fucking Layla Jean like she was their next wet dream.

“You like just mustard, right, Miss Melrose?” one of the little fucks asks her, practically batting his puppy-dog eyelashes at her like he wants her to stroke him to completion.

I’d also like to know how the little shit knows that.

“Yes, please,” she says, then jerks her head to me. “And just ketchup for this one.”

Just ketchup for this one.

Damn.

If I didn’t know Layla’s love language was words of affirmation and my cock deep inside her, I’d say this would be a close second.

Also, for being such a well-known MLB player in the league, not one of these pricks notices me or who the hell I am.

Not complaining.

Nonetheless, if they want to get out of here, they should probably watch the sport.

“Any chips?” another asks her.

She shakes her head. “No.”

“Soda?”

“No, thanks.”

“A cookie?”

“Damn, kid,” I grumble out. “Why don’t you just listen to the lady when she said she just wanted two hot dogs?”

My God.

The younger generation is going to shit, and I don’t know how they’re going to respawn when they have zero game and can’t read a damn room.

“Ignore him,” Layla announces with zero embarrassment or qualms about how much I allegedly don’t matter. “He’s just hungry.”

Some of them eye me, screaming in their gaze that I’m an asshole and how did I end up with her, when the answer is simple.

I live for her.

Period.