Page 4 of Kiss Me Tonight

A smile hitches to life on my face. “Stuart!”Stewart? Oh, my God, stop thinking about it.“It’s so good to see you! How’s Beth-Anne?”

His expression darkens to a veritable glower. “Dead.”

I—I . . .

There are a few snickers to my left. My heart threatens mutiny with a virtual white flag of surrender.

With empathy and humiliation warring inside me, I manage a hushed, “Stuart, I’m so, so sorry for your loss.”

More snickering.

The chair squeals again as I launch to my feet.

“Your beer is waiting,” Stuart/Stewart sneers, flicking his fingers toward the bar in a casual dismissal. “Wouldn’t want it to go flat on you.”

He doesn’t need to tell me twice.

I flee with my nonexistent tail tucked between my legs, hopping up on my recently vacated bar stool. Immediately, I snatch up my phone and shoot off a quick text to my younger sister, Willow.

Me: Beth-Anne is dead?!!

And even though she totally claimed to be too busy tonight to come out with me, Willow answers almost immediately.

Willow: Who the hell is Beth-Anne?

Me: Stuart’s wife!!! Stuart—football player, dark, curly hair, definite beer gut. He was in your grade. Remember your small penis theory?

Willow: Ohhh HIM. Yeah, I still stand by that theory. Husband #1 proved it.

Willow: Also, Beth-Anne?

Willow: Do you mean Annabeth?

Fingers flexing around my phone, I glance back, just in time to see Stuart sniggering into his beer. Considering I brought up his dead wife only minutes ago, the man doesn’t look perturbed in the slightest. No crease in his brow. No sorrow lines bracketing his mouth. No defeated posture.

Willow: Who told you Annabeth is dead? I saw her at the grocery store this morning when I was buying condoms.

Because, of course, my sister would ditch me to get laid. Who’s surprised? Not me.

Me: I think I’ve been played.

Willow: Welcome back to London, dear sister. We’ve missed you!!! Now stop texting me. I’m on a date.

I don’t know whether to laugh at finding myself alone in a place that should feel like home or whether I should go ahead and call it quits before I end up looking like an even bigger fool. I knew the transition to London life wouldn’t necessarily be a smooth one. With a population of under two thousand, tight-knit doesn’t even begin to describe our tiny coastal town.

Figures you’d only come home when it was time to take your dad’s old job.

Stuart’s words ring painfully loud in my ears.

Is that what everyone thinks of me? That the only reason I’m back is because I want to take up the Levi crown?

The false judgment burns like acid.

If they only understood how much of a “fairytale” life I had with Rick, they’d know that coaching the Wildcats is nothing but a salve on a festering wound. I took the job because it was offered to me and I’m good at what I do. Because living in Pittsburgh, a year after my divorce was finalized, felt just as hellish as surviving my marriage. And because I’d be a fool to move to a different state without a single source of income, especially since Rick left me high and dry in the divorce settlement.

When successful,powerfulmen like Rick Clarke sway a judge with the promise of some extra Benjamins, there’s no hope for women like me: washed-up college athletes who are long past their prime.

Ugh. Thinking like that isnotdoing me any favors.

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