Playbook (The Holland Brothers 2), page 14
I’m feeling as confident as one could expect until the first little girl sits down in front of me and demands I make her into a butterfly. She looks to be around four or five, but she has a whole lot of sass and determination in her little body. When I ask if she wants it on the right or left cheek, she corrects me, and that’s how I end up spending way too much time doing a full-face paint. The end result is pretty great, if I do say so myself, but the line has grown exponentially. And one full-face paint turns into another and then another. I get faster with each one, but I’m damn near sweating as I try to keep up with the other two women painting faces.
The kids are bouncing in place impatiently and some of the parents look annoyed.
I stand between customers to wash out my brushes and walk closer to Jenna. She gives me a knowing smirk and I shoot her what I hope is an apologetic one.
“I’m so sorry. I couldn’t tell her no and now they’re all asking for it.”
“Are you kidding? It’s amazing. Look at that line.”
Yeah, that’s what I’m worried about. “I’m going as fast as I can.”
“Don’t sweat it.” She waves me off. “You’re working for free and there are lots of other things they can go do if they’re tired of waiting.”
“Thank you.”
Her smile widens. “You’re good at this. Have you done it before?”
“No. Never.”
“Brogan said you are an artist though, right?”
I don’t know how Brogan knows her so it’s hard to speculate what else he might have told her. Maybe she’s also aware we’re not really dating. Whatever the scenario, I’m filled with pride that he chose to add that piece of information about me when talking to people. It’s silly, but with so many others in my life not believing in my work, Brogan so easily calling me an artist means something. Which is why I don’t give her any of my usual canned responses that I just do freelance work.
“That’s right. Graphic design, mostly illustrations.”
“And now face painting.” She holds up a paint brush with flair.
“My turn! My turn!” A little boy plops into the seat in front of my chair and bounces excitedly.
“I guess I better get back to it.”
She blows out a breath that sends her blonde bangs up into the air. “They’re cute, but demanding.”
After two hours of painting the faces of mostly adorable small children, my time slot is over. I offer to stay since the line has only gotten longer, but Jenna thanks me profusely and then shoos me toward the tent that Brogan disappeared into earlier to “spend time with my man.” I guess maybe he didn’t tell her that it’s all an act.
The health evaluation tent is packed, but I find Brogan easily. He’s in the back right corner surrounded by kids. The only reason I am able to see him is that he’s several feet taller than all of them.
My smile inches higher as I navigate through the crowd toward him. I just knew he’d be wherever the most people are. While one of his teammates is standing behind a table with inflatable footballs and other free swag, looking uncomfortable every time someone approaches, Brogan is laughing and chatting away with a little boy wearing red headphones over his ears at the front of the hearing test line. The boy is sitting in a chair and behind him a man presses buttons. The little boy raises his right arm, then his left in response to the test.
The line for the test rivals the one for face painting, and my guess is that has more to do with the Maverick player helping out than a wave of interest in having their hearing evaluated. My steps slow as I get closer to him. Brogan helps the boy remove the headphones and then holds out his hand for a high-five.
The glee on the boy’s face is so sweet as he smacks his tiny palm against Brogan’s much larger one. I can see now why the Mavericks do this for the community and I have newfound respect for the organization and the players.
Brogan reaches for a roll of stickers on a folding table that blocks off one side of the test area. When the boy stands from the test, Brogan takes one and presses it to the kid’s shirt.
“Nice job, little man.”
“It was just like you said.” The boy grins, showing off two missing front teeth. “It didn’t hurt at all.”
“You were amazing and so brave.”
He bounces off and Brogan turns slightly. His gaze scans over me and the line of waiting kids to my right, then he does a double take back to me as if just realizing who he saw.
As the kid at the front bounds forward and into the chair, Brogan’s smile widens on me. “Hey. How was face painting?”
“It was fun.” I move toward him and then hesitate. “Am I allowed to be in here?”
“Yeah, of course.” He wraps an arm casually around my waist and gives me a little squeeze. “I saw several of your pieces walking around. They look good. No shock there.”
“My pieces?”
He points toward a girl in line with the Mavericks logo on her face.
“Oh. Thanks. I was kind of slow and the others were way better at it, but I enjoyed it.”
“Take the compliment, sweetheart.”
It’s the second time he’s called me that today and my stomach does this weird flip. I like it. I think if this were for real, it would fit us.
He keeps smiling at me and we are in a stare-off until the kid in the chair singsongs, “Can I have a sticker?”
Brogan’s stare holds on me for another moment before he turns back around and drops his arm.
“As soon as you’re done with the test,” Brogan promises.
I stick close and try to offer the kid a reassuring smile as the woman giving the test explains that he’ll wear headphones and she’ll play a series of sounds and he’ll raise his right or left hand depending on which side he hears it. The kid looks a little nervous now despite being so eager and confident before.
“It’s a piece of cake,” Brogan says as he places the headphones over the boy’s ears with care. “Ready?”
“I don’t know…” He glances around. “What if I don’t pass? Sometimes I listen to the TV too loud and my mom says I’m going to hurt my ears.”
Most people, myself included, would probably blow off this kid’s concern and promise that everything is okay. But Brogan doesn’t do either of those things.
He squats down in front of him. “This isn’t a pass or fail test. It’s just to get more information.”
“But what if I can’t hear?” He puts both hands over the headphones protectively.
“You know what? My brother is deaf. He can’t hear well, and he’s still the coolest guy I know.”
“He can’t?” The boy’s eyes widen.
“He wears a special device on both ears to help, but without them, you could be shouting behind him, and he wouldn’t know. Being hard of hearing or deaf doesn’t mean you can’t do the things you want. He plays football, watches TV…and he uses his hands to communicate. What’s your name?”
“Michael.”
Brogan signs something then says, “I just said ‘It’s nice to meet you, Michael. My name is Brogan.’”
“That’s so cool. It’s like a secret handshake. Can you teach me?”
“I’d love to, but this nice lady has a line of kids waiting. Think you’re ready now?”
The boy nods and his face grows serious as he wiggles in his seat to sit straighter.
Brogan chuckles, pats the kid on the knee, and stands.
My heart melts to the floor.
It goes on like that for a while. Some of the kids are eager; others are nervous. I stand next to Brogan, observing more than helping. He’s good with the kids. He knows what to say or do to put them at ease. He’s funny and goofy, which most of the kids love, but the ones that need more reassurance get that from him too.
About twenty minutes before his turn at the autograph tent, another player arrives to take his place. Brogan leads me outside and we’re immediately engulfed in people. The sun is high in the sky and it’s a perfect blue-sky day without a cloud in sight. Which also means it’s hot.
In the food area, we grab lunch. I get a hot dog and chips, and Brogan gets two hot dogs, a hamburger, chips, and a large pickle. We sit in the shade next to a couple of misters. There are a few other football players also eating, but they’re scattered around among everyone else.
I’m surprised to notice that nobody approaches the players, even though they’re mere feet away from them. They all seem to want to respect their time while they eat. That doesn’t stop them from staring though.
“I don’t know how you ever get used to this,” I say as I open my bag of chips and do my best to pretend people aren’t watching us. Him, really, but me by extension.
“What?” he asks, completely oblivious. He takes a huge bite of the hot dog while he waits for my response.
“Everyone staring all the time. Is it always like this?”
He nods while he chews, then takes a drink of his water before saying, “Yeah, I guess so. But it’s all pretty new. No one was doing much staring before I was drafted, so I don’t mind. It’s a novelty that’ll wear off, I’m sure.”
The shrug that accompanies that answer is so him. So casual and unaffected by being the center of attention. It’s not like I don’t think he enjoys it. He obviously does. But he seems to have a good awareness that it’s this fleeting, amazing thing instead of it being his entire personality and reason for existing.
It makes me like him even more. He could easily let it all go to his head, but he hasn’t, and I hope he never does. He’s a really cool guy—words I am shocked to think.
“Your brother…Archer. He’s the one you were talking about with the little kid, right?” I ask, then add, “I noticed the hearing aid when you introduced me earlier.”
“Yeah. That’s right. He’d probably kill me for sharing so much, but he really is the best guy I know, and I don’t want kids to be freaked out by people that are different than them. People find out someone is deaf or has some other disability and that becomes their entire personality. I’ve seen it happen to Arch, seen the way he’s fought against it since we were kids. He learned to read lips because so few people around him knew ASL. He compensates a million different ways so that people don’t feel like they need to give him special treatment.”
“I get that.”
“Me too, but it’s bullshit. We should be happy to make simple alterations to accommodate people that need it. Everyone should learn sign language. At least the basics. And…” He stops. “Clearly I could go on and on about this. Sorry.” He offers a sheepish smile and then takes a huge bite to finish off one hot dog.
“No, you’re right. The world would be a much better place if we all had a little more empathy.”
He grins at me, mouth still full. We finish our food with neither of us mentioning Archer again, but I’m still thinking about what Brogan said as I watch him sign jerseys and hats for adoring fans and after when we head over to the dunk tank.
His brother is there and when he spots us, his smile widens.
“Shouldn’t you be doing something useful?” Brogan asks him as we stop in front of him. They have this teasing banter, but it’s easy to see how much they care about one another just in the easy smiles and goofiness they both slip into.
“And miss this?” Archer shakes his head. “Not a chance.”
Brogan sighs and glances at me. “I’ll be back in thirty minutes. If I don’t see you when I’m done, I’ll shoot you a text.”
My brows tug together.
“In case you want to walk around or whatever.”
“And miss this?” I ask, parroting Archer’s words.
Brogan lets his chin fall to his chest and chuckles. “Perfect. Only our second date and my girl is going to watch me make a fool of myself.”
“She might as well get used to it,” Archer says.
Brogan punches him in the arm as he walks away. Archer moves to stand beside me, still laughing quietly. “Are you having a good time?”
I remember what Brogan said about Archer reading lips so I angle myself so it’s easier for him. “I am actually. It’s obvious a lot of time and consideration went into planning it. Do you do a lot of big community events like this?”
“This is only the second one we’ve had to attend since we joined the team, but I think the Mavericks front office does a lot more.”
“Do you guys hate doing them?”
“It’s not that. I think it’s a great idea. It’s just…being forced to do anything makes it a little less fun.”
Brogan is getting into the tank now and sitting on a ledge with his feet dangling into the water. His grin is so wide you would never know that a minute ago he was worried about making a fool of himself.
“Does he know that?” I ask as I tip my head toward where the first kid is about to toss a mini football toward a target.
“He doesn’t know how to not have fun. In case you haven’t already realized that.” Archer’s smile speaks of a fondness and bond that cements what I already knew—they’re close.
“I think I’m starting to get that,” I say with a small laugh.
Archer’s face goes serious, still smiling but there’s a warning too. “Don’t let him fool you, though. He acts like everything is great even when it’s not.”
“Oh.” I glance back at Brogan. I feel like there’s more he wants to say, but doesn’t. “Is there something I should know?”
“No. You already know he’s struggling with his reputation.”
I nod because I do. Seeing him in action today, I’d forgotten. It’s easy to be with him and lose sight of our reasons for doing this.
“I’m glad you two are helping each other,” Archer says. “But I hope when it’s all over, this fake relationship won’t have caused more damage than it fixed. For both of you.”
“Me too. I promise to keep that in mind.”
He offers me a smile, and I can feel the weight of his relief. He cares about his brother a lot. I guess I’d feel the same if it were Sierra in my shoes.
“Speaking of helping…” I motion toward Brogan. I’ve been hanging back all day, not fully committing to this whole act. But the reminder of what’s at stake for him, has me moving toward the table where they’re selling chances to toss a ball at the target. “Want to help me dunk my boyfriend into a tank of water?”
One side of his mouth lifts. “Definitely.”
SEVENTEEN
On Wednesday I’m drinking my third cup of coffee and trying not to fall asleep at my desk when Alec stops by.
“What are you doing here?” I ask. He’s a long way from the broadcasting floor.
He’s ditched his suit jacket and his tie is loosened. “Heading out. Thought I’d swing by on my way and make sure you were alive.”
“Barely.”
“Another late night being the girlfriend of a star athlete?” His sly grin widens as he leans against my desk.
I glance around to see if anyone is eavesdropping. The last thing I want is for my coworkers to find out about Brogan.
“Did you see this?” He holds his phone out for me to see the screen.
It’s a picture of me and Brogan at the Mavericks event last weekend right after Archer helped me dunk him. I’m not named, which is good. Brogan has an arm around me, pulling me against his wet chest, and he’s aiming a big smile at the camera. We look like a couple in our matching jerseys. My insides warm as I think about that entire day. I had fun with him.
“I’ve seen it.” I take another sip of my coffee.
“You look good.” He slides his phone into his pants pocket. “Happy.”
“I’m supposed to. That’s kind of the whole point.”
He leans in with a smile and whispers, “You’re not that good of an actress.”
I haven’t heard from Brogan since he dropped me off after the event on Saturday. He asked me to hang out again that night, but I couldn’t get Archer’s words out of my head. Are we going to somehow cause more damage by pretending to date? I can’t imagine that, but I figured the less amount of time we are together when we don’t need to be, the less likely it is possible.
They had an away game this weekend. They won and Brogan had another great game according to every article I’ve read. I almost sent him a text to congratulate him, but that felt strangely intimate, like I was overstepping some unspoken line of our agreement.
“So, where’d he take you last night? The new Italian restaurant opening? Trivia night at Rockwells? Dancing at Gaga?”
“I was here,” I say before he can continue guessing. It doesn’t escape my notice that he knows every possible date location in the city on any given night. “Wayne needed me to redo some graphics.”
“All night?”
“Until ten or so. They were going out this morning.”
“And let me guess, someone else did the first draft, management didn’t like them, and he dropped them in your lap at the last minute?” Alec’s mouth pulls into a straight line and his brows lift.
That is basically what happened, but for some reason I don’t want to admit it. I feel a sense of loyalty to Wayne despite everything. He hired me and gave me this opportunity.
“What did you do?” I ask him.
“Nothing much. Ordered takeout, went to bed early. When are you seeing him again?”
I toss a pencil from my desk at him. “Why are you so interested in this?”
“Are you kidding? You’re dating—” He lowers his voice after I widen my eyes in warning at him. “Brogan Six.”
“You know it’s not like that.”
“Uh-huh.” He stands, cocky grin still plastered to his face.
It’s not. But I’m starting to wish it were.
I go to Sierra’s apartment after work to help her make a final decision on wedding invitations.
“You must really like this guy.” Sierra’s smile widens as she catches me scrolling the Mavericks website. She decided on a simple but elegant white invitation with black engraved type an hour ago, but has kept on looking just in case she finds another she likes better.
