Page 88 of The Score We Never Settled

“Cruz Weston,” I hear one of the Southern belles upbraid sternly. “You better watch yer mouth when ye’re talkin’ in front of ladies. I’ll wash yer mouth out with soap and take a switch to that ass.”

Damn.

I steal a look at who said that, and it’s Maebelle, Agnes’s best friend.

I think I’m starting to appreciate the town’s gossips more and more now.

Cruz’s skin turns beet red when he shakes his head as if that’s going to drain the color out of his cheeks. “Good luck, Layla Jean. You’re gonna need it.”

Not sure what that means exactly, however, I don’t stop him when he strides angrily outside of my bakery and promptly leaves my airspace.

If he decides to air out my dirty laundry, I’ll take that as it comes.

However, I do know, he’ll never be welcome again in Magnolia Ridge as long as he lives.

23

BRIGGS

Eight years ago…

He won’t stop holdingher hand and, when he brought it up to his lips to kiss it, I almost jumped my lunch table and tackled him to the floor.

I’m extremely irritated that he won’t let her be. That he’s up her ass every two and a half seconds whenever he can, and they don’t have a class together to make it known they’re together.

That they’redating.

That, in the eyes of everyone in this dumbass school, Layla Jean Melrose belongs to Cruz Weston.

Not with me.

I’m elbowed by Tucker, one of my teammates who plays first base and is the only player on the team who connects with me spot-on. I can whale a ball at him from anywhere on the field, and he’ll catch it.

I wouldn’t say we’re best friends, but we’re close enough.

“Stare a little longer,” he utters under his breath as he pops another french fry in his mouth. “It’s not noticeable at all.”

Alright, so I’m not so subtle about it anymore.

Why should I be when Layla belongs to me? When we’re doing this stupid fake-dating bullshit, and she’s breaking all the damn rules I laid out.

No touching.

No kissing.

No looking.

No holding hands.

No blow jobs.

No fucking.

No falling in love.

No sucking anything.

No hickeys.