On TV, the camera cuts to Asher as he storms back into the Peaches’ dugout, then yanks off his batting helmet. For a moment, he starts to slam it on one of the long dugout benches in frustration before he sets it down.
Brayden is sitting nearby. The camera catches him saying something that makes Asher’s expression turn dark before it returns to the game.
I need to know what’s going on between them. Brayden won’t say anything. But Asher…
My phone opens to my text messages of its own accord. I type in Asher’s contact then pause.
Brayden might find out. Not that he has any right to care. Not when he’s still getting photographed with women other than me. I go to his Instagram to scan—not stalk—the photos he’s tagged in. Only he must have finally turned off that functionality because the only photo that’s there is of the two of us on that porch in San Diego.
Not that that means anything. He probably just doesn’t want me to find out what he’s been up to.
I don’t text Asher, mostly because Lexi is craning her neck over to look at my phone. Instead, I distract myself with the—incredibly good, it turns out—buffet and pile my plate with a chicken quarter, a salad, and a scoop of farrotto sticky with cheese. I sit back down and ready myself to eat, then pause with my fork hovering mid-air. Is someone going to say something? I glance around the room, expecting Barb-ish looks. Maybe they’re too polite to do that out loud. Maybe they’re going to gossip about me later.Did you see what Savannah was eating? No wonder she can’t find a shirt in her size.
I’m not going to let that stop me. Fuck ’em and let ’em go hungry. But I wish I had a friend in Atlanta who wasn’t currently beefing with my husband.And who seems like he wants to be more than a friend.
Lexi is leaning over again, and I brace myself for whatever she’s about to say. “How’s that stuff?” She nods to the farrotto on my plate.
“Good!” I hold up an illustrative forkful, waiting for some reaction—a declaration that she’d eat that if it wasn’t for the calories. Something aboutcheatdays.
“That’s what I’m hitting up next,” she says simply.
Something inside me I didn’t know was tense unwinds. “I can get you some,” I offer. “That way you don’t have to disturb your little one.” Because her son has gone from drowsing to fully napping, his head tucked under her chin.
“Oh. you’re so sweet, thank you.”
I take her plate, fill it, then bring it back and scoot my chair closer to hers. “Must be hard with the team gone half the time,” I say. “I can barely manage without kids.”
“You get used to it,” she says. “Plus, aren’t you…” She looks at my belly, and it takes a second to realize that she’s asking if I’m pregnant.
This is my normal size, I bite back. “Nope.”
Lexi flushes faintly. “I just figured with the wedding being so quick.”
I shake my head. “No kids. Not even a cat.” I want one, if only so the house doesn’t feel so empty. I’m not going to say that to Lexi. Newlyweds aren’t supposed to get lonely. “I’m sure I’ll be busy when I go back to school.”
“Damn, girl.” She jostles me gently in the shoulder, careful not to wake her son. “I tried doing classes a couple years ago, then Izzy came along, and well, my degree’ll wait, I guess.”
“He is very cute.” Her son has her curly hair and her husband’s slightly oversized ears, and he’s resting against her with an open-mouthed expression.
“He should be. I lost a tooth having him.” Lexi drops a kiss on her son’s head. “Anyway, go get that degree for both of us.”
That’s what I’m here to do. Once I have that, I can put Brayden, this fake marriage, and everything else behind me.
On TV, Brayden’s at the plate, staring down the pitcher like he’s going to hit the ball to Mars, even if he’s already struck out once this game. He doesn’t wear batting gloves when he’s hitting. The camera zooms in tight to his fingers as they grip the bat. There’s something on the fourth finger of his left hand. At first, I think it’s a rubber thumb guard that other players wear while hitting. Then I realize it’s a black silicone wedding band. One I’ve never seen him wear before.Huh.
He's probably just reminding the team that he’s married. That’s what this whole charade is for, really: proving to the Peaches that Brayden deserves a spot on their roster. That must be it. That must be all that it is.
Chapter Fifteen
Savannah
The following Monday,I get up early. First day of school jitters should wear off when you can legally drink. Still, I spend extra time blowing out my hair, applying my makeup, picking out an outfit that I hope reads as academically serious.
Dressed, with my laptop and notebooks in tow, I summon a rideshare—or attempt to. I wait by the door as the car nears and then…fuck, cancels.
Okay, I’ll get another.Your ride is fifteen minutes away. I wait. The timer changes.Your ride is seventeen minutes away.
I don’t want to be late. My father always said being early gives you the lay of the land—an advantage. Now I’m lucky if I’ll be on time.Your ride is nineteen minutes away.
