Page 53 of Don't Go Faking My Heart

If Philip Dumfries being here isn't bad enough, he's recording the game, probably live-streaming it. To make matters worse, he's with Teddy and Bill.

"Philip," I say with a nod. "Bill. Mayor."

Teddy flinches like I lunged at him, and guilt nips at me in small, painful bites. How can I feel bad for intimidating Teddy and feel a desire to pummel Philip at the same time?

"Rusty. How's my ex?" Philip asks like she's leftovers.

"I'm really good," Ash says. "Curious what three grown men without children are doing at a T-ball game, though."

"It's a community event," Teddy says, "and I'm the mayor."

"There are three more games happening in this complex alone, and the high school teams are playing in a tournament in Mullet Ridge," I say. "If I didn't know better, I'd think y'all are spyin' on us."

"What would we need to spy for?" Bill huffs.

"You tell me," I say.

"Why are you here?" Philip asks, like he's the one suspicious.

"My friend asked me to be the assistant coach for his daughter's team."

"Because a T-ball team needs an NFL player and a collegiate athlete coaching?" Bill snickers. "Although, you never got much playing time at Clemson, did you?"

"More than you did," I say. I tried out for the football team but didn't make it. I played two years on Clemson’s baseball team, though. "Do you not think children deserve qualified teachers and coaches?" I turn to Teddy. "Is that the platform you're running on next term, Mayor?"

Teddy’s immediately flustered. "That's not … that isn't … I don't have time for this." He stands and starts walking down the bleachers, turning around long enough for Bill to catch up. "You coming?" he asks Philip.

"I'll stay and catch up with my ex and her new boyfriend. See you tomorrow," Philip says.

He keeps that creepy, calm stare. "I played lacrosse at Cornell. Although, it's more of an Ivy League sport, so you probably don't know what it is."

The number of ways I could punch this guy's face …

"Lacrosse," I say like I'm racking my brain. "That's hockey on grass, innit?"

"You're thinking field hockey," he says, and I chuckle like I'm just too backwoods to know better.

Philip's mouth twitches up. "I played a little hockey growing up, too, though."

"Really?" He looks like a Wall Street gym bro and not like someone who could survive getting checked against the boards. And because I'm a petty, petty man, I say, "You should come to the Double H game this weekend in Mullet Ridge."

"Double H? I've never heard of it."

"It's a local league. They're big on audience interaction and even let fans play sometimes, if you sign a waiver. You can play one or both halves"

Philip scoffs. "Halves? Hockey has three periods, not quarters and halves. You Southerners think everything is like football."

"Guilty," I say. "Still, you should come. I think you'd enjoy watching us Southerners butcher hockey." Philip snorts. "Ash and I are going, aren't we, Gorgeous?"

Even though we've never talked about going to a hockey game, hockey season is over, and Ash has undoubtedly never heard of "Double H" hockey, she nods. "Can't wait, Hotcakes."

"I always thought you were a waffles girl," Philip says.

Ash laughs, and I feel a stab of jealousy until I see how cold her eyes are. “You have to be the only guy I ever dated who wished I'd still been running an abs page."

That's better.

"I'd have been your shining star." Philip gestures to his body.

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