Page 59 of The Score We Never Settled

“If we ask you if you’d like to come to our next game, will he?—”

“Yeah,” I answer for her because what in the actualhellis this scrawny little shit who is too small to play football, so he picked the only sport that he could get in, thinks he’s going to do?

Fuck my girl?

That he has a damn chance?

Even I knew at that age that anyone older than me wasn’t going to allow me to shoot my shot because I was too stupid and immature.

And in love with another girl.

“I think she’s gonna be too busy with herhusbandto see your next game, junior, but maybe next time.”

Layla slowly turns her head, and I can already picture her contorted brows and the way her nose lifts when she’s pissed.

And, sure shit, there it is.

“Are you seriously gettin’—” She stops herself mid-sentence, straightens her spine, then takes the two hot dogs that promptly show up over the table.

Then she’s off.

I wink at the boys because, again complete asshole, and follow Layla Jean through the crowd of town folk, watching her dress hit the back of her creamy thighs, and not able to help my teeth biting down on my lower lip.

She tosses one of the aluminum foil hot dogs straight in the air without looking, and on instinct, I rush up to catch it.

The warm bun seeps through my palms, and I step up and fall in line with her.

“You’re a real douche canoe, did you know that?” she says, unwrapping her hot dog with mustard, and then I realize, howthe hell did those little fuck twats know what my girl likes on her dog?

“How did they know you liked mustard?”

The question is stupid, but I’m still going to ask it. Having to be here, in town where everyone knows her, I don’t get that luxury.

I mean, I know her, but I don’t get to experience it every day.

I haven’t in about two years.

“They know how much I love wieners in my mouth.” She glances over at me, those damn hazel eyes deadbolted with too much seriousness in them. “I’m a regular.”

I scoff at her bullshit answer because she’s purposely trying to rile me up and continue to just walk with her. “Right, Short Stop.”

“Don’t believe me?”

“Not for a second.”

“A lot has changed since the last time you’ve seen me.”

“Oh yeah?”

I watch her take a bite of her hot dog, appearing happy once she does, as if it gives her more pleasure than my presence.

Amazing.

Now I get to compete with food.

“How so, Mrs. Kerrigan?”

Her elbow slams into my ribcage at lightning speed before she goes back to her food. “I enjoy beer now.”