Page 82 of The Score We Never Settled

“Says you.”

“Says me.”

She turns her head and looks straight ahead. “Can you read a restrainin’ order, Briggs? I’m fixin’ to get one of those at lunch.”

I smile. “Whatever makes you feel better. But you should probably suck up more to Dodger. He’s more my friend than yours.”

Her face snaps to me then with gusto and a whole lotta sass. “He isnot. You don’t even live here.”

“I pay property taxes, so I do technically have residence here.”

“You mean the one you don’t use?”

“You wanna move in? It’s yours, ya know.”

Layla makes a face. “Yeah, right.”

“You want it in the divorce?”

“No, thanks.”

“Well, we’d need to refinance it out of my name. Yours is on it.”

Those hazel eyes narrow, and I know it’s taking everything in her not to lose her shit on me right here and now.

And I’m basking in the shit.

It’s like the hot sun, being glared at by the most beautiful girl in the world is a day in heaven.

“You did not, Briggs Holden Kerrigan. Not without my permission.”

“Divorce me and find out.”

She scowls at me and returns her focus ahead. “I really can’t stand you likeeverin my life.”

“Now, that, Layla Jean, is a flat-out lie. You used to adore me. Loved me, even.”

“Look at you usin’ past tense verbs.”

I lean forward, loving the prospect that I can be this close to her and Icanbe whispering sweet nothings in her ear because she’s my wife, and I haven’t gotten punched in the head by her Uncle Ben yet.

“I’d love to test that theory to see if we’ve still got it,” I mutter. “I still have a couple days.”

“Don’t I know it,” she grounds out. “I have a countdown in my phone.”

That mouth…

“Well, well, well,” I hear Sherry cluck from my right, breaking through the banter and unsolved issues between me and the curly-haired vixen at my side. “If it ain’t the boy who likes to break arms.”

With reluctance, I move my attention to Sherry, and my God, she hasn’t changed a day since the last time I’ve seen her.

I always considered her middle-aged when I was a kid because I thought anyone who wasn’t in high school was old, but Sherry hasn’t aged a damn day.

She’s got the same peppered blonde hair, sure the same clear-cut blue eyes outlined by slight wrinkles, and the same sharp stare that precludes your one smart-ass comment away from her throwing a salt shaker at your skull.

“And what kind of spells are you doing?” I pose while running my index finger up and down in the air. “Because I thought the Fountain of Youth was a myth.”

She doesn’t smile, nor does she appear charmed by my compliment.