Page 5 of The Way We Score

I almost laugh. “I made the only decision after I found out what he’d been doing.”

“Warner Oberon is not a loss for someone like you.” Mason continues. “You’ll bounce back. Hell, I bet there are eligible men all over town marking their calendars for an appropriate time to give you a call.”

“You’re sweet.” My insides are heavy. “You’ll see that he signs those?”

“Yep, I’ll take care of it.” He starts for the door. “I’ll get his signature and file this with the judge. You’ve been separated for six months, so it won’t be an issue. Take care of your mother, enjoy your friend’s wedding, and when you get back, you’ll be ready for a fresh start.”

“Thanks, Mason.” I go to where he stands at the door, extending my hand. “You’re a good friend.”

“And you’re a smart, capable woman. You’re a survivor. Don’t let anyone tell you any different.”

“Right.” I nod, exhaling a laugh.

“I miss my babies.”Mom leans heavily on the arm of her walker, staring out the small kitchen window with the white lace curtains. “I miss feeding them, talking to them, listening to their little clucks.”

I’ve been home a week, and my stomach is still a jumpy mess. The entire Bradford clan is filtering into town for Dylan’s wedding, which means I’ve been hiding out here since I arrived.

Still, for all my efforts, of course I ran into Garrett on my first attempt to be sneaky. It was at his family’s restaurant Cooters & Shooters. Mom was craving Dylan’s spicy food, so I called in a to-go order. I crouched in the shadows near the pool tables, behind the mass of dancing people, and still he spotted me like I had a homing beacon on my forehead.

Towering over me, with all his room-filling personality, he’d asked how I was. With a wavering voice, I’d answered fine, which wasn’t entirely true.

Then I said he looked really good.He did…

I managed to get away without too much interaction, but for the rest of the night I was flustered. I lay awake in my bed thinking about him, analyzing every word, wondering what he was thinking about me—if he evenwasthinking about me.

He looks good. He looks like he always did, big, strong, handsome… square jaw, muscles for days. Knowing grin, big hands, full lips. I denied the attraction that still pulled me to him. It’s been years. That’s all over now.

Lies. It’s still there.

He was on the bar dancing with Craig, moving his hips like he always did. You’d think someone that tall and big would be awkward. You’d think he’d clod around like some kind of Frankenstein’s monster. You’d be wrong.

Garrett Bradford thrusts his hips and moves his body with a rhythm that should be sinful. Every woman in that bar waslicking her lips and watching him work. My stomach tightened as the onslaught of memories hit me hard.

I remembered climbing onto his back, wrapping my arms around his broad shoulders. I remembered burying my face in his neck and inhaling his warm scent of citrus and soap. I remembered his oversized personality, his laugh, his oversized everything.

I’ve never felt so safe as I did when Garrett Bradford held me close. I’ve never felt so broken as I did when that relationship exploded.

Exhaling a low growl, I remind myself there’s no point trying to dig up the past. Life goes on, and going backwards only brings you back to where you started. I’m not running in circles.

Standing in the living room of my mother’s small house, I lift a framed photograph off a mahogany end table. It’s me in high school, captain of the drill team. I’m wearing a royal-blue sequined bodysuit with gold accents, thick nude tights, and tan dance shoes.

My hair is ironed stick-straight, which was the style then, my posture is perfect, and I look like I’ve just popped my neck to face the camera. My eyes are flashing, and the smile on my face is laser-sharp, red lips perfectly glossy.

Beside it is another picture of me in college, in my white LSU Golden Girls uniform with the large purple and gold fleur de lis on the front. It’s another action shot, and my hands are on the waists of the girls on either side of me. We’re getting ready to do our precision kicks, all the way to our noses.

Studying this girl I used to be, my brow furrows lightly. I was so certain back then. I knew exactly where I was going and how I’d get there. I knew what I wanted, and I was going to get it.

At least, that’s what I thought.

“You need a more recent picture of me.” I return the frame to its place on a hand-crocheted doily.

“I like the one on your law firm’s website.” Mom calls from the kitchen.

She’s talking about the professional headshots my associates and I all took on the same day. I’m in a light gray pantsuit with a white shirt unbuttoned at the neck. I’m focused, serious, my lips barely lifted in a Mona Lisa smile.

“It’s very formal.” Nodding, I decide that might be the best approach. At least, it’s the approach I’ve been using for six months—protective, professional, boundaries. “I’ll see about getting one for you.”

I go to where she’s leaning on her walker, still looking out the window at the wire-walled henhouse. It’s a charming little chicken coop, and I’m pretty sure she built it herself.

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