Page 31 of The Rebound Plan

I square my shoulders and lift my chin, flashing a brilliant smile at Emery. “I was intent on finding fame in New York. Ironically, I am from Michigan—the state, not the college. Got my GED and bought a one-way bus ticket when I was eighteen. Never looked back.”

She nods along, more charitable than my husband. “New York is amazing. Was it scary being on your own at eighteen?”

“At first, yeah. I stayed in a hostel for a week, while I found a job and an apartment. And then it was sort of like living in a dorm.”

“Except it was a fifth floor walk-up and all of your roommates did cocaine,” Max mutters.

“So more like your rookie year in the league, then,” Russ interjects, drawing cackles of laughter from his teammates.

Max’s ears turn red.

Across the table, one of the rookies gives me a shy look. “Was New York really a wild scene?”

More than this baby could ever know. “Yep.”

“Sorry to interrupt, friends, but the steaks are getting close to being done,” Russ says. “Grab your plate, come on up to the grill, and we’ll pick the perfect one for you.”

I smile at his casually bossy hosting style.

We form a line at the grill, the rookies jockeying for first dibs—after asking if the ladies wanted to go first, and we all let them cut ahead—then the couples lingering behind, chatting amongst ourselves.

Emery ends up just behind us.

“I want to know more about your time in New York before you met Max,” she says.

“No you don’t,” my husband says.

Heat crawls up my neck.

Emery rolls her eyes. “Yes, I do. What did you do there?”

Again, Max answers for me. “Mostly modelling. She spent a fortune on private acting lessons that went nowhere.”

Not nowhere. I learned how to act like I give a shit about college stories. How to hold on to a brilliant smile even as I turn brittle inside because I’ll never actually be the pretty blonde coed he wants me to be.

From ahead of us in line, Kiley tilts her head sideways at me. “I didn’t know you acted.”

“Mostly voice over stuff,” I say. “It was a long time ago.”

“And there was your failed attempt at being a weather girl,” Max adds. There’s laughter in his voice, but it feels pointed, and my smile drops.

I’m good, but I’m not perfect.

“New York was wonderful to us in many ways,” I manage to get out.

Max shrugs. “Happy to move away, though, honestly. It’s safer to keep a wife like this in the suburbs.”

“Max, stop,” I whisper under my breath.

“I’m just joking around.”

What I want to say to my husband is,are you picking on me tonight because once upon a time, I let a billionaire fuck me in the ass? And now he’s going to fuck your league somehow? Is that my fault?

But I can’t.

So I swallow my protest and say a silent prayer of thanks when the line suddenly moves forward, and Kiley and Ty are picking their steaks, which Max finds way more interesting than tearing me apart.

That’s fun for him, but not important. By the end of dinner, he’ll forget he did it, and he wouldn’t understand if I hung on to resentment.

---