35. Briggs
brIGGS
A few days later…
“Are you sure it’s not bothering you, and you’re not pretending?” Layla asks me on our weekly Thursday night dinner dates—over the phone. “You looked stiff tonight.”
I glance up from my plate and look at her through the phone with an unamused face.
It’s the best option we have right now. She’s been busting her ass with Buttercup & Brioche, sending me screenshots of new pies and desserts she’s made.
I’ve been working through games, training, weightlifting, and making sure we win all our games.
And, now, my smartass little wife wants to run her mouth on the other side of the phone.
It’s not ideal. If I were in front of her right now, I would’ve thrown her over my shoulder already and shown her exactly what was stiff.
“Thanks.”
She gives me a weak smile, concerned over the debacle with the Charleston River Otters, but we took care of them, and now they’re down and trying not to drown.
“I’ve been worried. And I’ve been Googling possible side effects.”
“Of a bruise?”
“Well, how many X-rays did they do?”
“A few.”
“What’s a few?”
“Enough.”
She hits me with an exasperated stare. “Briggs, you are workin’ your butt off right now. I don’t want you to overdo it.”
“Short Stop, I’ve had several concussions, and I’m still alive. I’m fine. I know my limit.”
“But would you stop if you knew you were reaching your limit?”
I bow my head and stab another piece of steak. “I’m sure.”
“Positive?”
“Layla Jean,” I singsong warningly. “I’ve told you over a hundred times at this point, showed you the bruises, and I was checked out. I’m fine.”
She still frowns and isn’t partaking in our dinner date because she’s not eating. “I worry.”
“I know you do, love you for it, but eat. I didn’t book this hotel room for privacy just so I could eye-fuck you while you ate your salad.”
Layla steals a look at it. “But it’s amazing, and I’m obsessed with it.
I’ve had it every day for the last six, and I’m still not tired of it.
” Then she glances back up at me. “And you didn’t book anything, your team did.
So I don’t want to hear that nonsense, Briggs Kerrigan.
You’d stare at me if I was washin’ dishes. ”
“I would,” I confirm. “Now, eat.” She huffs, and I see her stab her salad, probably imagining me in front of the fork. “Tell me the latest Magnolia Ridge gossip. Who’s on the shit list?”
“You,” she huffs out with a mixed chuckle. “You didn’t say goodbye to anyone.”
“Half of them didn’t like me anyway.”
“Doesn’t matter,” she says as she openly chews. “You came, you left, they’re in their feelings.”
“I’ll make it up to them in the off-season.”
“You’re coming home?”
I perk a brow. “Where else would I go?”
“You never came home in the off-season.”
“Because I was making money to pay off my father’s mortgage, or you would tell me you’d leave if I showed up, so no, I’ve been exiled.”
“You forgot endorsement deals, talk shows, charity events with the women in beautiful gowns—”
“Layla Jean,” I caution again. “I told you that was my manager.”
“She’s pretty.”
“You always say that. She’s Mercedes. And that’s all she is.”
Layla shrugs like it’s never bothered her, but it used to. “It’s good to have women on your side. The hustle mode is different.”
“Did you want me to fire her?”
Her eyes bulge. “Wh—no. Why would you fire her?”
“Because you still bring it up.”
“I just like to still give you shit.” She beams at me. “Besides, nothin’ beats charm like Magnolia Ridge, baby.”
“Uh huh.”
She gawks at me. “Are you meanin’ to say you don’t think we women are the best there is?”
“Just you,” I reply honestly. “And my sisters. Otherwise, I’d never come back.”
“Everly is workin’ at the bakery part-time.”
“Since when?”
“Starts this week. She’s excited.”
“You sure you’re ready for that?”
“How so?”
“She’s new. She’s going to need a lot of help.”
“Can’t be any worse than you.”
I throw a piece of broccoli at my phone, and Layla chortles beautifully. I wish I were in the same room with her, but this is the best we’ve got right now.
And wouldn’t miss it for the world.