“That was nice of them. I’ve only met them in passing, but Sulley says they’re a good crew.”
She nods. “They’re the best.”
Once again, there’s zero edge in her tone. You’d think one of the players marrying her ex-husband would give her sour grapes, but I sense none.
Hmm. I think I like Fallon Montgomery, certainly a lot more than I liked Creepy Noah.
DAYLEN
I wake in my bed with BJ practically on top of me. When I return from trips, she gets unusually clingy for a few days. I think she’s afraid I’m going to leave her again.
I aimlessly stroke her head for a few moments, and she sighs in contentment. I suppose she’s the only girl I’m going to have in my bed for a long while.
I look at my ring finger, currently wrapped in a Band-Aid. I guess I’ll be wearing Band-Aids for the foreseeable future. Tattoo removal is a long process that will have to wait. My hands are a little too valuable right now.
My phone rings and I see that it’s my father. I answer it right away, always happy to hear from him. “Hey, Dad,” I say in a cheery tone.
“Hey, stud. How was Vegas?”
Isn’t that a loaded question? I can’t very well say,I got drunk, got married to the woman who I hate most in this world, banged her, and now I’m stuck being married to her for nine months.Oh, and we are being forced to spend time together every week, which may or may not end with one of us murdering the other.
Instead, I happily reply, “It was a blast, as always.”
He breathes a sigh of relief. “Phew. Every year you go, I’m afraid you’ll come home married to some prostitute like in the movieThe Hangover.”
Not a prostitute, but does a bitchy basketball player count?
I let out a nervous laugh. “Ha! Not married to a prostitute.” Technically, that’s true. “I’ve never been the pay-for-sex type.”
“That’s because you’re a stud muffin like me.” He lets out one of his big laughs. The kind that never fails to make me smile.
“Yep. It’s genetic. It’s my curse for having such a hunk of a dad.”
“Sure is,” he chuckles. “Any special ladies in your life lately?” he asks in the same hopeful tone he uses each time this topic comes up.
“No one to speak of,” I nervously reply.
“What’s wrong, son? You don’t sound like yourself.”
I’m the worst liar ever. Especially to my father. Ineverlie to him. It physically pains me to be anything less than truthful with him. The fact is, he never judges me, but I know the sanctity of marriage means something special to him. He would be wildly disappointed in me for treating it so frivolously.
“Nothing,” I answer. “I’m just tired. I might be a bit jet-lagged. I’m still in bed with BJ. She missed me.”
“Oh, I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“No,” I reply. “I was just getting up. We have a team workout.” And then I have an afternoon date with my wife. I wisely keep that last part to myself.
“Okay. I’ll let you go. One of these days, the right womanwill come along, and you’ll be a goner. Just like I was with your mother and Ashleigh. I’m a lucky man. You’ll hit the jackpot one day too. I have no doubt.”
I love that even though he lost his wife so young, he always has a positive outlook on love, relationships, and life in general. That’s how I need to handle this situation with Kennedy. I can’t change the facts, but I can make the best of them. Moping around about it won’t change anything. I don’t want to be miserable for nine months. In the often-repeated words of Hank Humblecut, ‘When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.’
“Thanks, Dad.”
“For what?”
“For always knowing what I need to hear when I need to hear it. I love you, you big hunk of stud muffin sexiness.”
“Back at you, you beefcake burrito.”
