KAYLA
Required, is more like it.
And let me tell you something: I’m never taking this thing off. When a woman finds a piece of clothing that makes her look this fab, she wears it a lot.
SEAN
You really do look good.
KAYLA
Atta husband.
Okay, we’ve pulled up to the stadium. Call me when you’re done with Otto, okay? I’m thinking about you.
SEAN
Thanks. I’ll be sure to call soon. Punch Aldridge in the throat for me.
KAYLA
Hahaha. He’s not worth the effort.
SEAN
Consider it a favor to me.
KAYLA
In that case…
Talk soon.
SEAN
Talk soon.
“Girl, the smile on your face …” Scottie says, laughing as a rep from the team escorts us into the Outlaws stadium. “I like Sean.”
I give my phone one last glance before putting it away. “Me too.”
Wearing Sean’s jersey into the stadium makes me feel like I’m wearing a shield. I’ve only had it on for the hour since we arrivedin Nashville (Scottie had it waiting for me at the airport), yet I feel like I’m part of something bigger than myself. Bigger even than when I change into my Mudflaps jersey.
What does it say that I own the team and hardly feel like I’m part of the organization, yet wearing Sean’s jersey makes me feel like we’re on the same team?
Maybe it’s the fact that Sean and I are choosing this together, when the team was thrust upon me.
Maybe it’s the fact that the Arsenal jersey is gorgeous—white with deep red piping and a navy Revolutionary War cannon and stars—while the Mudflaps jersey is, well, the Mudflaps jersey.
Jane, Tripp’s wife, owns a marketing agency, and I’ve talked to her about rebranding the whole organization. She suggested involving the town and turning it into a contest where locals submit team names, mascots, jersey ideas, etc.
The problem is, the town still hates me, and I’m pretty sure “Carville Losers” would win by a landslide. And then what? Jerseys with my face on them and a giant L on the forehead?
Hard pass.
So I change into the Mudflaps jersey—all powder blue and rust-red—and check my reflection in the mirror.
At least I look good in blue.
