The Marriage Game Page 81

“Do you have his marriage résumé? I need to know what I’m dealing with before we get there. None of the guys on Nasir’s list were worthy of her. What makes this one different?”

Daisy shot him a sideways look. “I’ll see if I can find it. Meantime, you’ll need to download the ballpark app so I can transfer your ticket.”

“I can buy my own ticket.”

She gave an exasperated groan. “Clearly you haven’t thought this through. I happen to have an extra ticket right beside her.”

“Why?”

The van lurched forward and he put his hand around Max to keep him secure. So far, so good. Max seemed content to lie on his lap and stare at him, but he was careful to keep his fingers away from the Westie’s mouth.

“Arun!” Layla’s mother’s bellow belied her slight frame. “You drive like an old man. The game will be over before we get there. Pull over at the next gas station and let me drive.”

A few minutes later, her Giants hat pulled low over her eyes, seat jacked up as high as it could go, Layla’s mother pulled onto the road and wove in and out of traffic like a race car driver. “I’m getting off the I-80,” she shouted. “We’ll take the back roads. Hang on.”

She yanked the wheel to the side and the van screeched as they barreled off the freeway.

“That’s my wife.” Nasir looked over, pride etched across his face. “She taught Layla to drive.”

Teeth clenched, one hand braced on the seat in front of him, the other holding Max, Sam gritted out, “Why am I not surprised?”

By the time they neared the stadium, Sam’s back was covered in sweat, his heart was racing, and he had turned his wrist so many times to check his watch that his forearm ached. Even Max’s soothing presence on his lap couldn’t calm him down. How had he let things go this far? What had he been thinking? If he lost her now . . .

“Next stop sign, you jump out,” Layla’s mother called as they turned down Third Street. “You can go in through O’Doul Gate. We have friends nearby where we can park. We’ll see you inside.”

“Inside? You’re all coming? Do you have tickets?”

“Of course,” Nasir said. “We would never miss the end of the game.”

• 29 •


“LAYLA!”

She heard him before she saw him, and even when she saw him, she almost didn’t recognize him in the orange Giants jersey he had pulled over his suit jacket, and the navy and orange ball cap shoved on his head.

Sam thundered down the stairs, skirting past a woman with a toddler and two teenagers carrying loaded hot dogs. With the sun setting and a soft breeze blowing from the bay, it was a beautiful evening for a game. She’d already seen Kevin Pillar catch some fly balls right near her, finished her Dungeness crab sandwich, sung and cheered with the enthusiastic crowd. It was her favorite place in the city and she wanted to share it with the person she loved.

“Where is he?” Sam glared at the empty aisle seat beside her. “Did he do it? Are you engaged?”

It was hard not to laugh at his fierce expression. If she had brought someone to the game, she doubted he’d be long in his seat. “No.” She patted the seat beside her. “Why don’t you sit down? You’re blocking people’s view.”

“Is it Hassan? You can’t marry him. He’s a scammer.”

“It’s not Hassan.” She held out a bag. “Nuts?”

Sam waved them away. “Dilip? Did you choose him because he can dance? I can dance.” He put his fingers together the way she’d shown him at the fountain and twisted his hands. “Wolves. Flowers. See. I remember.”

Layla pulled him down to sit beside her. “I don’t think dancing right now is a good idea. People are trying to watch the game. And no, it’s not Dilip.”

“The firefighter? You said he was too much of a jock.”

“Daisy would kill me if I married him. She’s meeting him for drinks next week.”

Sam clenched and unclenched his fists. She had never seen him so agitated. Even when she’d walked into Royce’s party, he’d still held it together.

“It better not be Faroz. He’s delusional.”

Layla laughed. “I was tempted to be a spy wife, and I don’t think many people could get me elephants for my wedding, but it’s not Faroz.” She heard the crack of the bat and the crowd cheered. She hoped Sam realized how much she cared. There were very few things that could pull her away from a game.

“Not . . .” His voice caught. “Harman?” He flexed an arm. “I’ve been working out four times a week.”

“Are you kidding me? Not after he stood me up, although he did inspire me to think of my own brand.”

“Baboo?” He clearly wasn’t going to let it go.

“You kind of ruined me for Baboo—multiple times.”

Sam gave a growl of satisfaction, puffing out his chest with masculine pride like he was solely responsible for the fact that she wasn’t a virgin.

“And it’s not Salman, the restaurant owner,” she said quickly. “You never met him, but you were there with me in spirit. He had gang tattoos, bodyguards, and . . .” She cleared her throat. “One day, I’ll tell you how I escaped.” She picked up a tray from between her feet. “Garlic fry?”

Sam stared at the boxes and containers on the ground. “How much food did you buy?”

“Let’s just say that the empty seat beside me wasn’t really meant for a person.”

Sam glanced around, like he still believed there was another man in her life. “Were there others?”

“Just three. Sunil, a hedge fund manager, who wasn’t interested in marrying me, but just wanted to bang me. I thought about you before I walked out the door—”

A smile ghosted his lips. “I wish I’d seen that.”

“And then there was Bachelor #9, Akhil. He was twenty. Need I say more?”

Sam held up a hand. “Please don’t.”

“And finally Bachelor #10 was Sunny, the yoga instructor. But he’s vegan.” She held up her Super Duper Burger. “And you know how I like my meat.”

“That’s it?” Sam frowned. “You said in your note that I won. According to the rules of our game, that means you have to marry someone from your father’s list.”

“My dad added one more name.” She pulled out her phone and flipped to the marriage résumé that Nisha had helped her write. “I’ll tell you about him. Bachelor #11 . . .”

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