My heart catches in my throat—or maybe it’s vomit trying to work itself free from my stomach—as I stare up at the screen of the scoreboard. At an image I know I didn’t have any input in adding to Keene’s slide show. Because if I did? I sure as fuck would’ve said hell no. Seeing as it’s one of the two of us kissing on the beach—me in his arms, legs wrapped around his waist—I’d think that’s pretty understandable.
