It’s not my voice or even Scottie’s.
It’s Sean’s. And he’s speaking low enough that it’s clear he’s not trying to shame my ex so much as stop him.
“You didn’t get the girl. But we can still have a nice time today. Can’t we?”
He has zero hint of menace in his voice.
But it’s in his eyes.
And I gotta say, I like it.
I like it a lot.
“We can,” Aldridge says. “You’re welcome to join us today, Sean.”
“All right,” he says, giving my side a squeeze. “Go ‘Flaps.”
Aldridge gives a sharp laugh as we all go sit. “Let’s not get carried away.”
“So,” Sean says, “who does Fletch have starting today?”
“Gomez. And he’s been killing it lately.”
Aldridge shakes his head, but it’s not about Gomez. It’s about me. I can see him struggling to reconcile the Kayla he’s known for six years with the woman in front of him wearing platform sneakers, talking about sports, and using terms like “killing it.”
He doesn’t recognize me.
And I’ve never felt more like myself.
We sit down in the luxe padded seats and watch the first inning, which ends scoreless. And soon, it’s easy to forget I’m watching a game in my ex’s suite instead of simply watching a game with my boyfriend.
Husband.
You know what I mean.
I didn’t realize how much I loved PDA before Sean, but I do. Appearances mattered so much in my former life that every touch with Aldridge felt like it was part of a larger plan. Someone was always watching. I didn’t know if we were touching because we cared about each other or because we were posing for something.
But right now, Sean is leaning forward, and I’m tickling his back because I want to. And when Carter hits a two-run double in the second inning, giving us a lead, Sean and I both jump up and hug.
“That’s what I’m talking about!” I yell before grabbing Sean’s face and planting a kiss on him.
Yes, there are cameras here. Yes, the whole point of this weekend is for Aldridge and me to do press together, to drum up enthusiasm for the Mudflaps that helps the league.
But I don’t kiss Sean for any reason other than I want to.
When we sit back down, Aldridge is looking at us.
“How about a friendly wager?” he says.
“Like donating to each other’s favorite charity?” I say.
“Or wearing each other’s jersey in public for a week,” Aldridge says.
“No,” Sean says. He puts his hand on my thigh, a little above my knee. It’s funny how it can feel so natural—soright—but also so thrilling at the same time.
“Someone’s getting nervous, eh, O’Shannan?” Aldridge chuckles, as if he’s the kind of guy who uses men’s last names. “Don’t like the idea of my name on Kayla’s back?”
“No,” Sean snorts, squeezing my thigh and looking at me. His eyes drop to my lips, and I have to stop myself from leaning forward to kiss him. “You’re not wearing my wife’s name onyourback.”
