The What If Guy - Lauren Blakely Page 0,50

know you do, sweetie. But mommy is here to pick you up, and I’m sure she has something fun planned with you this weekend.”

I sling the softball gear onto my shoulder, and we leave with Fitz to meet Stacey at the Seventy-Second Street entrance to the park.

Her voice hits my ears as we near the exit. “And would you believe, David, then she said there was no way she was going to bring nut-free treats for the class. And I said, ‘Yes way, you have to.’”

I roll my eyes. Stacey has never let go of the need to be the classroom nut police. Admirable goal, to be sure. But it never warranted so much . . . conversation.

And I’m damn grateful I no longer have to listen to it.

“Mommy!”

Amelia takes off running, flinging herself at her mom. Seeing my girl like this, loving both her parents, keeps me focused on getting along with my ex. I’d do anything for Amelia—anything to make her life in two homes as easy as possible.

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