Hex on the Ex Read Online Free PDF Page A

After our plane took off, Izzy told me about everything, then promised to write her grandfather saying she broke the engagement.”
    “Did she?”
    “I assume so. Izzy’s a good kid. You’ll like her.”
    Then why hadn’t I met her?
A jealous lump rose in my throat. After Nick and I got together, we were happily exclusive. Or so I thought.
    “Isabella
happened
to be at the library today?”
    “She’s a student at UCLA, Liz. Yes. She
happened
to be at their library writing a paper. What’s the problem?”
    “Nothing.” Then added with a sarcastic bite, “Did you two have a good time at lunch?”
    “We had a great time. I want you to meet her.”
    “I’ve heard that before.” I turned to the window.
    “Okay, what’s with the attitude?”
    Good question. Nick had female friends. He worked with women, he taught women, and he never gave me reason to feel threatened or suspicious. Why today?
    I stared out the passenger window as traffic slowed near the Griffith Park Golf Course. Behind the fence bordering the freeway, a group of female golfers sashayed to the green in shorts. The casual sway of their hips made me think of Laycee Huber prancing through my Atlanta backyard flirting with every man at our summer barbeques. Realization clicked in—my foul attitude had nothing to do with Nick and Isabella. My encounter with Laycee brought up unresolved indignation over her tryst with my ex.
    Flushing with shame, I faced Nick. “I’m sorry. This morning at the gym, I ran into a woman I hoped I’d never see again—an ex-neighbor from Atlanta who had an affair with Jarret. She pretended to be my friend, then and now.”
    “What did you say to her?”
    “It’s not what I said, it’s what I should have done. Maybeif I had bopped Laycee on the nose like I wanted to years ago, I wouldn’t be in a snit about you running into Isabella today.”
    “Before you punch anyone in the nose with that little fist, I’ll make sure you and Isabella meet. I don’t want you to have any doubts about our relationship. I’m not Jarret, Liz.”
    “Can I kiss you?”
    “I don’t know. I’m trying to drive. You might distract me and cause a pileup.”
    I touched his right cheek. “There. I’m going to kiss you right there.”
    “If you have to.” He angled his head to the side for my smooch.
    We exited the freeway on Stadium Way. Clusters of people picnicked and tossed Frisbees beneath the lush green trees in Elysian Park, surrounding the stadium in Chavez Ravine.
    Fond childhood memories stirred my excitement as we pulled up to the gate at the top of Academy Road. Dodger Stadium, the oldest ballpark on the West Coast, stood majestic in the early evening sunlight, encircled with parking lots and framed by the distant southern skyline of towering downtown Los Angeles skyscrapers.
    I loved the game long before I met Jarret or became a baseball wife. Mom became a Dodger fan when the team moved to L.A. in 1958. Dad grew up a Cubs fan in Chicago. My parents took Dave and me to Dodger Stadium as soon as we were old enough to gum a hot dog. Dad taught us how to keep box scores and waited with us in the parking lot after games to meet the players. At home, Mom and Dad would hold hands on the couch as their teams played eachother. When Dave and I were in grade school, Dad worked the LAPD night shift. Mom let us listen to Dodger night games on the radio and we shared the highlights with Dad at breakfast. Even after my divorce, I kept a casual watch on baseball standings for sports talk with Dad.
    Nick parked in the season ticket lot behind the bleachers. We walked hand in hand to the right-field entrance to the Grandstand to meet Dave and Robin outside the souvenir shop.
    Robin waved at us over the crowd, her shoulder-length blonde hair glistening under the stadium lights. She carried her rounded curves like an asset, and more than one set of male eyes turned to check out her worn jeans and V-neck tee as she pulled Dave toward us. His