My eyes travel back to her shoes.

She just raises an expectant eyebrow, her false-lashed eyes fluttering.

‘Why don’t we at this point?’

May is getting a kick out of my sarcasm. She sets us up at the half-size face-off circle in my backyard, ball between both of us, and we get our sticks parallel to the ground, crouching down in front of one another. I think my dress slacks might rip. I’ve played lacrosse in a lot of situations, but never in a button-down and silk tie. Oxford wingtips? That, I’ve unfortunately done once before.

A lock of hair falls into my face, out of its mandated gel-back, and I blow it aside. May’s eyes fall on mine like a predator on prey, the corners creasing with a sure smile.

‘I got you this time, Bradley.’

‘Don’t be so sure.’ I wink. ‘Bradley.’

‘We aren’t married yet, cowboy.’ She clicks her tongue. ‘You gotta prove yourself first. If you lose the draw, I might have to leave you at the altar. You’ll have to take that dance to “Lady May” solo. And May-less.’

‘And if I win it?’ Fat chance. The smell of May’s perfume, peony and sandalwood, drifts my way. The fitted top to her outfit highlights her curves a little too well for any of this to be considered a fair game. Under the light of the moon, the highlighted planes of her face take on a regal glow.

‘Whatever. You. Want,’ she mouths, drawing my eyes to her full, maroon-stained lips. Damn it. Distraction and motivation are warring right now, as they tend to with May.

Gazes locked, she says, ‘On three.’

‘One.’ I grin. ‘Three.’

The ball shoots up into the air almost immediately, and I’m not sure on whose account, but motivation wins out. I run after that thing like my life depends on it, May not far behind, swinging her stick out ahead of mine, her extra couple pounds of jewellery clinking loudly.

Somehow, even in those ridiculously tight shoes, she manages to reach her stick out and snag the ball. I try to block her, but she darts around me, nearly taking my eye out with her braid, and slaps one straight into the net.

‘Aw, best of three! Come on, May!’ I beg, throwing my stick to the side and my hands in the air. She shakes her head, chin high with pride. This is what I get for marrying a professional lacrosse player.

She sets her stick down with mine, crosses her arms with a sly smile. ‘That puts you at the altar all on your own, CJ Bradley. Don’t perceive my presence tomorrow. Any last attempts to win your wife back?’

‘Maybe just the one.’