Beauty and the Baller

I flinch. “Why?”

Color rises on his cheekbones. “Oh, I had a congratulatory gift for you on getting the job. Nothing big. Honestly, I felt like I was in high school again, cruising past your house—only now I drive a Range Rover instead of a Corvette. Those were the days, right?”

I nod, my spoon furiously stirring my coffee. He’s tall, about six-one, his hair a blond color that complements his topaz eyes. Wearing gray dress slacks and a blue button-up shirt, he’s still a fastidious dresser. Annoyingly, he hasn’t gained weight. At least he has a few lines in the corners of his eyes.

“You look the same,” he says. “Still beautiful, Nova.”

Ah, but beauty was never enough, was it?

I reply back with the usual “Oh, you look great too” while my head tries to decipher how I feel about him. His smell makes me feel nostalgic, recalling us in his red Corvette, his arms around me, fingers playing with my hair. I remember how he’d moisten his lips with mango ChapStick before we kissed—

“I’m separated from Paisley,” he says quietly, dropping that bomb as easily as saying the sun is shining. A frown flits over his face as he takes in my expression. “Sorry. I wasn’t sure if you knew, but everyone else does . . .” He shifts around me, his arm brushing against mine as he picks out a mug and fills it with coffee. “It happened several months ago. It’d been rocky for a while.” He takes a long sip, holding my eyes over the rim. “I’m sorry about your mom. I sent flowers.”

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.”