Don’t play dumb, Emmett. You know precisely what I’m saying. Or have you not caught sight of your reflection before?
I decide to take Billie’s message as the compliment it is.
Me
Don’t make me blush in public, please. I’m trying to come off as cool in a sea of twenty-something adults.
Billie
Well, take it from a twenty-something woman—you’re cool. And you should definitely have a good time tonight. Switch up your soda for a beer to start.
Speaking to Jack about my injury was like pulling teeth, but my fingers move across the keyboard with ease. As easy as it would be to glide them through Billie’s soft waves.
Me
Truthfully, I’m not drinking alcohol because I can’t. My knee isn’t the best, and I’m self-medicating.
Billie knows all about what I went through. While we didn’t speak much when she was in college, I do remember her making one frantic phone call to me when news broke of the injury, along with images of me in a knee brace. Over and over, she repeated that my career wasn’t through and that I’d come back stronger.
My smile grows broader at the memory.
Billie
I don’t like any part of your last message. What do you mean “self-medicating”? Are you seeing the trainer?
Me
Has anyone ever told you that you’re bossy as shit?
Billie
Shut up and answer my questions.
I throw my head back, laughter bursting out of me.
“Who’s got you all worked up?”
A familiar female voice I haven’t heard in weeks pulls me back into the room, blaring music filling my eardrumsonce more.
I slip my cell into my pocket before Maria gets a chance to read Billie’s name.
“What are you doing here?” I automatically ask, turning to take in my ex-wife.
She looks nice in a long-sleeved black dress that hits just above her knee, along with knee-high black leather boots. But despite the way she looks or how beautiful she is, nothing about her presence changes the regular beat of my heart. I remember a time when I could barely breathe when she walked into a room. And now? Now it feels like I’m scrambling for words because there’s nothing more left to say.
We just … died.
“Here with some work friends,” she replies, tossing her long, dark hair over one shoulder.
A waft of familiar perfume hits me, but again, I feel nothing.
I’m tempted to point out that she rarely did that when we were married, let alone show up at a place where she knew my teammates and their partners hung out. But what’s the point? All it would do was create tension and draw out a conversation that I already want to bring to an end.
Maria hesitates for a beat, brown eyes searching mine.
“Are you dating, Emmett?”
If the bar wasn’t directly behind me, I’d take a step back to create some space between us.
