Beauty and the Baller(48)

I continue to stir my drink. I hadn’t known about him and Paisley. I never checked his socials or asked anyone. “Maybe it will work out.”

“Yeah, well, sometimes fate decides those things for you. What’s meant to be will always be, right?”

“Hmm.”

He eases closer, and I don’t move away, part of me transfixed by him, by the reality that Oh my God, we’re having a normal conversation.

His head dips, then rises up to capture my eyes. “It’s funny. I feel like I want to tell you everything that’s happened since you’ve been gone. I guess once you grow up with someone, once you share everything we did, it doesn’t matter how much time passes—you feel as if you’re still close . . . but then, I’m not sure if you feel the same.”

There’s a heavy silence.

He sighs, overlooking my silence. “Anyway, my daughter is eight now. Brandy. She’s in third grade and a damn good soccer player.” He chuckles, then sobers. “Paisley and I are splitting custody. It’s been hard, the sharing and going back and forth, but for the best.” He takes a sip of his coffee, his eyes going to my left hand. “You never got married?”

“No.”

His gaze softens. “Is it nuts that I’m glad?”

Anger and hurt flare like a lit torch. How dare he? Does he expect me to be flattered? If he hadn’t cheated, then abandoned me in New York, I would have been married to him. My hands clench around my mug, and I open my mouth to lash out— Thankfully, Skeeter marches in the lounge, whips his ball cap off, and wipes at his hair. “Lice alert on the baseball and volleyball teams! I knew we’d have an epidemic, and it’s happening!” He looks at Principal Lancaster. “We might need to shut school down for a day or so. Call it a snow day!”

“I’m sure it will pass,” the principal murmurs.

Skeeter ambles over to us, reaches for his mug, and then fills it, not quite meeting my eyes as he turns red. “Good to see you, Nova. Thanks again for, um, Friday. Sorry about, you know, before, um, well, when me and Lois . . .”

Don’t bring it up, Skeeter! You and Lois probably saw my boobs!

“Did you guys ever have lice?” he asks me and Andrew.

Forget lice.

Ronan walks in, filling up the room, towering over everyone, wearing black slacks and another crisp pale-blue button-up. His hair falls around his face, softening the scars that don’t need softening at all.

I tear my eyes off him and check my reflection in the mirror on the opposite wall. My makeup is superb—lots of heavy eyeliner, smoky eye shadow, thick lashes, red lipstick—and best of all, I have two little buns on the sides of my head. They’re less fluffy and sleeker than Leia’s but stylish. Sabine watched a YouTube video on how to make them and did them this morning. Mighty Morgan Girls for the win!

Ronan’s eyes roam over me, noticing the hair, then the snake cuff around my upper arm. His lips twitch.

That’s right. I look amazing. I stand a little taller, take a hasty sip, and burn my lips.

A broad smile crosses his face as he holds my gaze. “Hey, babe. I would have given you and Sabine a ride this morning. I must have missed your text.”

He doesn’t even have my phone number! Oh, he’s good at this . . .

He came by on Sunday morning, the Heisman wrapped in a blanket. He followed me inside and upstairs, where I set it on my dresser. There was a tense moment when our arms brushed, but we both ignored it. Sabine invited him to eat pancakes, and he surprisingly said yes. We made normal conversation about football, about his mom, about mine.

That afternoon, he showed up with Toby, Bruno, and Milo with Darth Vader. It took the three of them to carefully maneuver him into the house while Ronan gave directions. We moved the chair in front of the window and put him there so he could watch the neighborhood. Sabine placed a boa around his neck, and I waited for Ronan to flip out, but he only smiled.

The room goes quiet, eyes darting between us. Andrew lets out a surprised sound at Ronan’s babe while Principal Lancaster’s face glows at me approvingly. Melinda slaps down her mug on the table a few feet away.

Let the games begin . . .

I smile brightly. “Oh shoot. Sabine and I wanted to get here a little early, darling. Sorry. I meant to text you.”

“No problem.” He stalks toward me and kisses me on top of my head. “Excuse me, Andrew,” he says curtly. “I need coffee.”

Andrew moves, giving me a curious look as he takes my hand for a brief squeeze. Mine feel clammy; his are warm, the grasp achingly familiar.

“I’ll talk to you later, Nova. We have a lot of catching up to do. I want to hear all about New York.” He gives me a lopsided smile, the one that used to tug at my heart, then walks over to Skeeter and Sonia.

“I see you’ve reconnected with your past,” Ronan mutters, watching Andrew with a hard gaze. “You all right?”

Is it Andrew or Ronan or my new job that has my nerves in a twist? Likely answer is all three. “Yes.”

“Are you aware that you’re dressed similarly to Princess Leia?”

“Really? What a coincidence.”

His lips curl. “I don’t believe in coincidences. Regardless, you look stunning.”

“Thank you.”

“Did you dress for me, then?”