“They’re getting awfully cozy, aren’t they?”
“Well, you know what they say. Fast weddings, faster divorces.”
“Or visa fraud.”
A dry laugh follows.
I freeze, fork still in my mouth. Sean squeezes my knee under the table, and he shifts, like he’s going to get up and give them a piece of his mind, but I shake my head, holding him back.
I don’t know if I feel stupid or defensive or both, but a quick glance around the table tells me no one else is fussed about it. Scottie and Clementine are both rolling their eyes. The couple of guys from the team who’ve joined us didn’t seem to notice.
Clementine stands up, brushing her hands on her skirt. “I’m grabbing another glass of tea. Anyone want anything while I’m up?”
A chorus of polite declines follows, and she heads off toward the drink table.
That’s when they approach.
The two women who were talking about Sean and me. I recognize them instantly as friends of Serena’s. They’re wearing sundresses and matching expressions that scream they haven’t forgiven me for existing.
Fortunately, they ignore Sean and me altogether, fixing their sights on …
Fletch.
Fletch, who has the tact and emotional availability of a sledgehammer.
I could almost pity them.
“Coach Fletcher,” the first says, with a sugary smile that doesn’t mask her venom as much as she thinks. “You clean up nice. You ever think about what a shame it is you’re single?”
Fletch tears a hunk off his roll and sticks it in his mouth. “I appreciate the offer,” he says dryly. “But I’m holding out forsomeone who’s into true crime, good conversation, and keeping her hot takes about other people’s marriages to herself.”
Sean snorts into his sweet tea. I bite my lip to keep from doing the same.
The first woman straightens like she’s just caught a bad smell. “Well, no need to be rude.”
“Oh, does that not describe you?” he asks, already turning his attention back to his plate. “Oops. My bad.”
They leave without another word, heels clicking a little too sharply against the ground.
I glance at Fletch. “You know, if that girl on the message board could see you now, I bet she’d like you even more.”
“I don’t care what she thinks,” he says, stabbing a piece of macaroni like it owes him money.
But his ears are pink.
Sean leans in. “You’re blushing.”
“Am not.”
“You are,” I chime in.
“She could be seventy for all I know.”
“Age gap romances are popular for a reason,” I say.
Fletch shakes his head. “You two are insufferable.”
“And yet,” I say, raising my tea in a mock toast, “you’re still sitting with us.”
