“We were kids, Ainsley,” he snaps. “Why are you still holding onto that?”
My eyebrows hit my hairline. “You?—”
Evan shoves back, his stool scraping across the wooden floor. “Take my seat, Ainsley. I’ve gotta head out.”
I purse my lips as I glare at him.
He drops a kiss to the top of my head. “Love you too, kid.”
“I’m staying.” Ivori salutes him as he turns. “Someone needs to supervise these two.”
“Ah, we’ll be fine.” Landon leans his elbows onto the bar, staring directly into my eyes like he’s taunting me. “We can play nice, can’t we?”
My eyes dart to the knife Evan was using on his steak earlier.
Landon snatches it off the bar and holds it out for the bartender. “Get the sharp objects away from her, would you?”
I grunt. “I’m sorry, but I’m not buying this whole act. You hate me just as much as I hate you. Youknowwe won’t be able to sustain this professional working relationship. It’s not possible.”
“Not with your attitude we won’t.” Landon leans back against his stool, swiveling to face me head-on. “You should take your own advice and go to therapy. Holding onto anger like this is very unhealthy.” His eyes narrow as he points to my forehead. “Could explain those wrinkles you’ve got coming in.”
Yep, I’m going to choke him.I step forward, but Ivori grips my elbow. “I won’t hold her back forever, Fletcher. Consider this a gift.”
Landon covers his chuckle behind his fist. “Sorry, it’s a habit.”
It’s more than a habit. It’s ingrained in our DNA. It’s what we’ve always done. We poked at each other, dig after dig, provoking the other until one of us snapped. And when we weren’t arguing to win, we were one-upping each other on the field. Anything-you-can-do-I-can-do-better type of shit.
But we’re not young and filled with hormones and rage like we used to be. I now have a seven-step skincare routine, and a back that goes out when I bend the wrong way. I’m too old and tired to be wasting my energy on this shithead.
The only problem is: I still have my pride, and Landon will have to pry it from my cold dead hands if he thinks I’m going to make nice after the way he left things.
After the way he turned his back on me.
“You can’t expect to show up like this and have everything be cool between us.” I sling my purse over my shoulder. “Like I told you earlier: Stay on your side of the field, and out of my way.”
It’s the only way we’ll manage to survive each other.
Chapter 4
Ainsley
Sophomore Year of High School
Landon dropsinto the seat in front of me and swivels around to lean his elbows onto my desk.
“Got your money ready for Saturday’s game?”
“You’re sounding awful confident for someone who only scored one point in the second half of last week’s game.”
“Westfield was all over me.” Landon hikes a nonchalant shoulder. “I couldn’t do much.”
I click my tongue against the roof of my mouth. “Sounds like an excuse to me, Golden Boy.” My eyes flick to the splotch of purple around his cheekbone. “I don’t remember you taking a stick to the face. What happened?”
He dips his head and digs into his backpack, ignoring my question. “We’re playing Point this weekend. That’ll push my stats over the edge.” He pulls out a notebook, and sets it on my desk. Flipping to the last page, he spins it around so I can read it.
Landon
Goals: 21
