“I said what I said, Donny! I don’t have time for any of your nonsense today.”

Okay.

So I was wrong.

Now I love her.

If only she rode in the car with us, my day would be going so much smoother.

Lavonne finally strides into the room, making her grand entrance one thigh-high boot in front of the other and—It. Is. Glorious!

Whereas two of her boys are wearing matching Lamar jerseys like probably thousands of other people in the stadium and the tallest—and I’m guessing oldest—boy is in a hoodie and basketball shorts, she is decked out to the nines. The red soles peek out from the inside of her heels as she walks, signaling that she’s wearing my mortgage payment on her feet. Like her oldest, she’s also wearing a hoodie. But instead of a Nike logo spread across her chest, there is a massive crystal-encrusted crest with a football in one corner, her husband’s number in another, the Mustangs logo in one, and a cursive L in the last.

The sparkle from it almost competes with the sparkle coming from the giant diamond on her ring finger. And even the clear plastic purse she’s carrying somehow looks designer.

There’s a new rule that says you aren’t allowed to bring a purse or backpack into the stadium unless it’s a clear bag. Not even diaper bags are permitted. I think it’s the stupidest f’ing rule ever.

All I know is it’s supposed to be for “security” but seems to mainly affect women, even though we aren’t the ones typically committing the crimes they’re trying to prevent. If they’re so worried about safety, maybe they should donate a couple of those millions they throw around to places that help domestic violence victims. I mean, I’m pretty sure one thing most people who commit mass murder have in common is a history of violence against women . . .

But I digress.

That is a good idea, though. I reach into my back pocket to grab my phone so I can make a note to remind myself to bring it up to Quinton later when I hear my name yelled.

“Elliot!” Brynn crosses the box, her model-long legs making quick work of the short distance separating us. “If I had known you were coming, I would’ve picked you up.”

Lavonne clears her throat and gives Brynn the most wicked side-eye that I’ve ever personally witnessed outside of housewife GIFs.

“Fine. Vonnie would’ve picked you up.” Brynn waves a dismissive hand through the air. “The point still stands, though, we could’ve come together.”

Being that I don’t know Lavonne or her children—and still don’t—that could’ve been awkward. Not more awkward than my time with Donny, but awkward nonetheless.