Page 2 of The Score We Never Settled

“Hello, Mrs. Kerrigan. It’s been a while.”

Thatnickname has me quickly rising to my feet, taking a well-needed step back because, well, I’m not ready to rememberthosememories, and I definitely came in herejustfor cornstarch.

“What are you doin’ here?” I ask quickly, needing a reasonable answer fast. “It’s baseball season. You should be playin’—”

“Got suspended.”

My brows furrow at the way-too-easy answer that’s more complicated than just that. “Briggs…what the hell did you do now?”

“Nothing I wouldn’t do again.” He lifts his shoulders dismissively as if he couldn’t get in more trouble, or it’s just another day in the office. But this is his dream. He left me for it, and I fully expect him to see it through. “I’m tired of hearin’ your name linked with his, Short Stop. I told you before this was going to be a problem before you even pulled the trigger.”

Shaking my head, I can’t do all this right now.

I have a million and one things to do at the bakery and barely anything marked off my to-do list for today.

He wasn’t on it.

And I’m not putting him on it.

“You need to check yourself into anger management or get into some sort of therapy.”

“Why? The only thing that pisses me off is the fact that Cruz Weston still thinks your relationship was real. That you guys were serious.” He cocks his head to the side. “But you weren’t serious, right? He didn’t make out with you but that one time. He didn’t slide his hand between your thighs and make you come like I used to. And he definitely didn’t fuck you raw…did he, Layla Jean?”

No.

But the fact that his puny brain believes any of those things means he’s either been hit in the head too many times or he’s having a psychotic break.

And I’m not a therapist.

Nor do I even know what to say anymore to get it through his thick skull that Cruz and I fake-dated.

Fake.

Not real.

Not factual.

Bogus.

“Briggs, get a life,” I drawl, proud of myself for getting a hold of my emotions and what I used to feel for this man.Maybe still do.“That’s ancient history.”

“Seems like yesterday to me.”

“Then you reallydoneed therapy. Time is gettin’ away from you, my friend.”

“I’m not your friend,” he practically sneers with a semi-glower that makes me want to cower back a little in embarrassment. “You and I both know better that I’m much more than that.”

I scoff over that audacious comment. “Are you? Could’ve fooled me with the way you’ve been actin’.”

“Then unblock my phone number, Short Stop, and I’d be more than happy to tell youallthe things I’ve thought about over the last two years.”

“Hard pass.”

“Well, I’m definitely not going to carry on with your surprise visits, wanting me to do certain things then.”

“Like you give a damn if I show up in Tennessee, Briggs. Or that you gave a damn that you’ve never tried to treat me as anything but some random girl who does.”

“I do.”