Page 47 of The What If Guy (The Guys Who Got Away 3)
Still, I mutter under my breath to my friend, “Why does she always have to bring him?”
Fitz claps my shoulder. “You got this, bro.”
And he’s right. I do have this. It’s been two years, and it doesn’t hurt like it used to, seeing her with the guy she left me for.
The guy she cheated with.
He’s some jerkwad at an investment firm I did business with. An office manager type who worked fewer hours than me.
That was her criteria, it seemed.
She met David at a business dinner for my firm. And what did she do then? Took up with him while I was at the office. When I found out, she begged me to take her back.
Said she was sorry.
Said it was a mistake.
That it would never happen again.
When I said no fucking way were we staying together, she changed her tune.
“I was lonely. All you do is work. You were working all the time,” she said, like it was my fault she’d strayed.
Also, she was wrong.
I was home every night by seven. Home nearly every weekend. I rarely missed storytime or bedtime or bath time. I made breakfast with Amelia every morning and took her to preschool most days.
But when our marriage cracked, Stacey flung my work in my face. “I want someone who can give me more attention. You spend all your time on business. David’s not like that. He’s focused on me. He’s off at five every night.”
I hardly think two hours a night made much difference.
The bigger issue was Stacey and I had been drifting apart for years. College sweethearts, we got married two years after graduation. Amelia was born a few years later, and we were young twentysomething parents trying to make it in Manhattan.
We tried for a while, and Stacey encouraged me to focus on my business, since it had a tremendous upside in the money department.
But money wasn’t enough.
Honestly, if I had worked less, I don’t think that would have been enough either. Stacey and I stopped loving each other well before she had an affair.
Doesn’t make it right that she cheated.
But I’ll also never cast her as the bad guy in front of my kid.
Stacey, for all her flaws, is an excellent mother.
She scoops Amelia into her arms. “Hey, sweetie pie, I missed you bunches. And I’m so excited to take you to the llama sanctuary tomorrow.”
Yup, she’s a good mom.
“I can’t wait either,” Amelia says, then she looks up and waves to the man who lives with Stacey. “Hi, David.”
“Hey, Amelia. Good to see you.”
Stacey sets down Amelia, then strides over to Fitz and me. “Hi, Logan.”
“Hi, Stacey.”
She waves at Fitz. “Hey, Fitz. How are you? Good game the other night. Nice win against Boston.”
“Thank you very much,” he says, cool and cordial with her.
Stacey flashes her as-obvious-as-tomato-sauce-on-a-white-shirt smile. “Any chance you can get us tickets to the Philly game this weekend? Or any game next week?”
He sighs, like letting her down is the height of devastation for him. “Gee. I wish I could. But I don’t have extras.”
I try to rein in a grin. Fitz always has extras.
“Are you sure?” she asks again, opting for a flirty grin this time. Like she thinks that’ll work on any of my friends.
He stares at the darkening sky, as if considering, then nods crisply. “I’m one hundred percent positive.”
She sets a hand on his arm. “If anything changes . . .”
Gently, but firmly, he removes her hand. “It won’t change, Stacey. But thanks for asking. Appreciate your interest in the team.”
She turns to me. “Did you win at softball?”
“I did. Hit a homer.”
“That’s great. Also, we need to talk about school in the fall. There are some forms we need to sign.”
We speak briefly, then I say goodbye to Amelia, and Fitz and I take off, heading down Central Park West.
Fitz laughs once we’re out of earshot. “Man. She takes the cake. You have no idea how hard that was for me not to say, You have some fucking nerve, woman.”
“I’m proud of you for being as civil as you could.”
“I’m proud of you for treating her the way you do. But it is my sacred duty as your friend to despise your ex. And I will—bro code.”
We knock fists. “Bro code.”
“Seriously, you have done an excellent job at being a divorcé.”
“Thanks. It’s all I’ve ever aspired to be.”
His expression turns more serious than I usually see from him as he clasps my shoulder. “I mean it. I am proud of you. Last year, when Oliver and Summer were pretending to be engaged, you still seemed angry with Stacey and what went down. Understandable.”
I nod, echoing, “Understandable.”
He squeezes my shoulder briefly. “But you let go of your anger, and it’s good to see. You’re way more chill. That’s excellent. And that’s why I’m sad for you that the lady-friend sitch is up in the air. I was thinking she’d be everything you needed to loosen up and be happy again.”
