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But Little wasn’t interested in grapes or Cheez-Its. Pointing at a boy sitting in his own miniature fold-out chair and snarfing down a hot dog, she persisted, “I want a hot dog.”
My stomach growled as I glanced over. That hot dog looked mighty good, and I hadn’t eaten yet today.
“Alright,” I complied, reaching for my wallet. “I think I have some cash.”
So we set about looking for the concession stand that had to be out here somewhere until we found a couple of folding tables set off to the side of the field where people were selling refreshments. Little and I made our way to the end of the line to wait our turn.
I kept myself busy, trying to watch Brey’s game and keep an eye on Little; I had no idea who was standing in front of me until the woman turned my way with a three-year-old on one hip and a couple of bottles of water in the other hand, saying, “Babe, can you hold this while—Oh my God! Foster.”
I reared back, just as startled and horrified to see her. “Mrs. Crowder.Hey.”
We blinked at each other for a really long, awkward moment before I glanced at her full arms and offered, “Here. Do you need me to…?”
“What? Oh, no. No.” She pulled back, refusing my help. “Thanks, but my husband should be around here somewhere.”
We both glanced around for him until she spotted him first, a dozen feet away talking to a couple of other soccer dads. “Robbie!” she snapped sharply. “A littlehelp, please.”
He glanced over irritably, and when he saw how full her arms were, he rolled his eyes but peeled himself away from his group to amble over. As we waited for him to reach us, Mrs. Crowder’s gaze jerked to me so she could force a tense smile. “So how have you been?”
“Good. Good.” I nodded readily, wishing I could be anywhere else on the planet but here. Hell, I’d even leave the planet if I could.
“We all saw your big game on the television. Congratulations on the national championships. You did amazing.” When she nudged my arm, a shock of anxiety raced through me.
“Thanks,” I said, sending her a tight smile right back.
Emma Crowder was about nine years older than me and had gotten pregnant straight out of twelfth grade with her high school sweetheart, Robbie. They’d married young, and now their daughter, Kacey, was Brey’s best friend, plus soccer teammate.
Yeah, I knewwaymore about Mrs. Crowder than I wanted to. Like what she looked like naked.
I swear to God, she’d been divorced when we’d hooked up. My parents had discussed it right in front of me at the supper table. Kacey had come over to our house to cry on Brey’s shoulder over the whole ordeal. Their marriage was done, and Robbie had been moved out for three full months before I’d gone over there to pick Brey up from Kacey’s one night, where her mom had wept all over me, showing me the signed papers.
She’d been a totally and completelydivorcedmother of two, and I’d been her pick-me-up rebound.
Not two days after that, she’d texted, telling me her ex wanted to try again. And now, here we were, eight months later, with them back together and me…not likinganyof this situation at all.
I really,reallywished I’d had the foresight to realize how incredibly uncomfortable future encounters with her would be from there on out.
Because as her husband loped over, my comfort level dropped into the negatives.
“Sorry about that,” he told her before noticing me and grinning big. “Foster! Hey, man, you killed it in that championship game.”
“Yeah? Thanks.”I’m so sorry I slept with your wife.
As he stuck around to talk football with me, I ordered Little and myself both a hot dog each, and Emma remained right beside him in my peripheral vision. I risked a single glance her way once and had to guess that she’d never mentioned our one-night stand to Robbie because he certainly wasn’t acting as if I’d ever had sex with her.
After paying for my food, I honestly tried to shake them off, pointing toward the field and telling them I wanted to watch Brey’s game, but Robbie only followed me to the sidelines and kept talking.
As if we were best friends.
So we hung out for the rest of the tournament, chitchatting while Little raced around my legs with the Crowder boy, Noah, andEmmastood just on the other side of her husband, three feet away.
When Little dropped most of her hot dog onto the ground, I gave her the rest of mine, starving myself some more. And the misery continued even after the game ended because Brey begged to go out for ice cream with the rest of the team to celebrate.
“I don’t know, Brey.” I winced, hoping she’d give up and have some mercy on me. “I gotta clock into work at three.”
Plus my wallet was running thin.
“Please, please, please,” she begged,
