I smile as I hang up, determined to make myself a big pitcher of lemonade.
Vance elbows me.“Dude, what’s wrong with you? You’re so quiet. No jokes for the team?”
“Oh…umm…why did the sperm cross the road?”
“Why?” he asks.
“Because I put the wrong sock on this morning.”
The guys all laugh from their various workout locations in our team gym. Even Coach cracks a smile.
My stomach lurches when I see him smiling at me. He’s technically my father-in-law right now. How crazy is that? What will happen if he finds out about Vegas? Will he hate me? Cut me from the team? Kill me? All of the above?
“Coach, how was your pickleball tournament this past weekend?” I ask. He mentioned having one before we left.
His face falls. “I came in second place. If Kennedy were around, we would have won. Such a bummer.”
Apparently, my wife is a good pickleball player. She’s a freak of an athlete, so I suppose that makes sense.
I shrug. “I’m sure you’ll win the trophy next time, Coach,” I offer in a hopeful expression of support.
He crosses his arms. “Would you believe they tried to give us a second-place trophy? When I grew up, trophies were for first place only. Now they have tenth-place ribbons. What a joke. Irefusedthe trophy,” he announces with a large dose of pride.
Vance and I both chuckle. Coach is so funny. He doesn’t even try to be funny, but he is.
Vance nods at me. “Want to run a few plays this afternoon?”
I shake my head. “I…umm…can’t. I’ve got plans.”
“With whom?” he asks.
Beau leans over and says, “I appreciate the correct use of grammar, Vance. Not everyone knows how to usewhomproperly when it functions as the object of a verb or preposition.”
I have no idea what he just said, but Vance nods, so I do too.
“You’re the master, Beau Fudd,” Vance replies.
He winks. “That’s what she said.”
I let out a loud laugh at Beau’s uncharacteristic humor.
He shrugs. “What? I can be dirty too.”
I pound my chest. “I feel like I’ve imparted that wisdom to you. I’m proud of you.”
He rolls his eyes, and I laugh before turning back to Vance. “Just an appointment.” I don’t want to lie to him. An appointment to spend time with my wife.
Three hours later,I’m waiting in the park for Kennedy while I shoot hoops. I see her form tentatively approach. She’s hard to miss. Exceedingly tall, attractive women don’t grow on trees. And I’m noticing for the first time that she has a sway to her hips when she walks. Maybe when it comes to athletic wear, I’m used to seeing her in baggy basketball clothes. Today she’s in tight leggings and a small, hooded zip-up sweatshirt that shows a hint of her flat, toned stomach.
I get flashes of her in bed in Vegas. The way her body moved under and over mine. Pieces of that night are slowly coming back to me, especially the sex. I keep replaying it in my mind. It was electric. There’s no denying that.
I adjust my half-chub in my sports shorts, knowing she won’t appreciate it making an appearance. I pull down my white T-shirt a bit, hoping to cover it.
As she approaches, I notice she looks so sad. I offer her a small smile when she draws closer. “Hey, wife,” I joke to try and lighten things.
She stops short and throws her hands on her hips. “Don’t call me that.”
I shrug. “We’ve got to practice me calling you wife and you calling me husband. Wife, wife, wife. My wife is here to play ball. See, it’s not hard. Now it’s your turn to use husband in a sentence.”
