Page 95 of The Score We Never Settled

Now, we’re in this.

“Or, I pay him off.”

My face contorts. “No. Absolutely not.”

“I’m not going to have you dragged and evaluated for eyes that don’t need to see you. And I sure as hell am not going to let him tell the story.”

“You’re not payin’ him off.”

“Then I either rat him out, or I threaten to sue him.”

Through my rapid heartbeat, I try to think rationally and logically about the whole ordeal, but all I can center on is how much stress it’ll cause him.

“What will be best for you?” I inquire softly. “The least amount of everything.”

“Are you askin’ me or the Southern gentleman you made up tonight?”

My eyes roll. “I don’t care what you think you are, Briggs, you do have that Southern boy residin’ in you. I could name over a dozen things you’ve done that would be categorized as that.”

“Such as?”

“Opening the car door for me a minute ago. Makin’ sure my plate didn’t go empty tonight, or that I had a drink. You pulled out my chair when we were ready to go. You didn’t fight or provoke your father?—”

“That was for my sisters’ sake, and I have nothin’ else to say to him.”

“You bought me flowers every year for my birthday. Even when we weren’t together.”

Briggs compresses his chest into mine then and centers his body with mine so that I’m sandwiched against him and my door. “We’ve always been together. You’ve just been pissed at me for the last two years.”

He can call it whatever he wants, but I’ve served him with divorce papers a million times—by mail because, again, no need to cause any unnecessary media coverage—but he never signs them.

He sends them back with notes, drawings, ways he’s going to have me make it up to him for hurtin’ his feelings, etc.

“Regardless, you chose to be the bad boy over the Southern gent,” I retort evenly with a shrug. “It is what it is.”

“And which do you prefer?”

Ha.

The option that is the most dangerous to my heart and soul.

However, it more than likely wouldn’t have mattered either way. There’s something about Briggs that undeniably draws me to him. His countenance just meshes with every love story I’ve ever dreamt up in my head, and I love everything about him.

Even his temper.

Even his stubbornness that drives me insane.

“Does that determine the next few moments on this porch?” I volley back.

“Probably.”

Placing a hand on his chest, I don’t push, but I don’t pull him in. I just need some grounding and control over how he’s going to start this.

Whatever it is that’s living and forming in his head right now.

“Behave,” I warn with a bit of sternness to my tone. “You can’t come waltzin’ in town and expectin’ me to forget all the things that’s happened between us.”

Things I did and have to come to terms with.