Playbook (The Holland Brothers 2), page 26
I nod in reply.
“Just…you know that you can always talk to me, right?”
I squeeze her hand. “Yeah. I know.”
She doesn’t question me or push me to talk more and I’m grateful. Talking about Rosie feels like a lance to the heart. I often think about how if it still hurts me this badly, how much worse it has to be for Archer and his brothers.
I clear my throat and attempt to lighten the mood. “Have you talked to Sierra today?”
“Yes.” She laughs softly. “She was nursing a pretty wicked hangover.”
“I’ll bet.”
“But she had a blast last night. Thank you.”
“It was nothing. You planned it all.”
“Maybe, but the limo and the club were the cherry on top.”
I open my mouth to say something dirty but her hand flies to cover it before I can. “Don’t ruin this very nice moment.”
I chuckle around her hand. “Anything you say, sweetheart.”
THIRTY-ONE
On Sunday after another home game, I go with Brogan to the bar. The same one we went to the night our fake dating arrangement started. It feels like years ago instead of months.
The team is in great spirits. They beat Baltimore and even with my lack of football knowledge, I know they outplayed them. Brogan had another touchdown, and I screamed my head off with Alec in our seats close to the field.
“You want something to drink?” he asks as we make our way to the bar.
I place a hand to my throat. It’s dry from yelling at the game. “Yes. I’m so thirsty.”
He grins like he knows exactly why I’m parched, but doesn’t comment as he leads me to an open spot with two fingers on my lower back.
The bartender looks our way instantly. Ah, what it must be like to get this kind of service everywhere you go.
“What can I get you?” the guy asks.
“Usual for me and she’ll have…” He looks down at me.
“Diet Coke.”
The guy nods and gets started pouring our drinks.
“I’m laying off alcohol for a very long time,” I say by way of explanation. Ever since the bachelorette party, hard alcohol makes my stomach churn.
“Mhmm…until someone breaks out the champagne.”
My mouth goes suddenly much drier. The cheap champagne I brought to his party was opened and drunk…mostly by us in his new amazing bed…and let’s just say that a cheap champagne hangover is not on my list of things to repeat. Sex in that gigantic bed though…yes, please, forever.
With our drinks in hand, we go to a table where some of his teammates are sitting.
Tripp lifts his chin in greeting as Brogan pulls a chair out for me. “Hey there, gorgeous.”
The man behind me growls, and I look back in time to see him glaring at his friend.
Tripp chuckles. “What? You don’t think your girl is gorgeous or don’t like that every other guy in here is looking at her? It’s kind of hard not to notice how pretty she is. Especially when she’s standing next to your ugly ass.”
“I think…” He sits next to me and drags my chair closer to him and farther from Tripp. “She’s the hottest woman in the universe, but I’m not letting you, or any of these other fuckers, steal her away from me.”
He grins and holds up his hands. “Wouldn’t dream of it. You lose this one and it’s all on you, Six.”
“I’m dumb, but I’m not that dumb.” Brogan drapes an arm around the back of my chair, and I lean into him.
In the time we’ve been hanging out with his teammates at parties and events, I’ve gotten to know a little about their personal lives and they don’t ignore me or talk around me. I feel like one of the guys around them. I chat with Merrick about his recent adventures in dating apps – he’s been matched with some real losers but since half his profile is a lie, it’s hard to feel sorry for him. I force Slade out of his shell by asking him about the game even though I understand very little of what he says in return, and I help Tripp look for women in the crowded bar when Brogan gets up to get the table another round.
While I’m scanning the bar for “his type,” which is very vague and basically includes all women between the ages of twenty-five and forty, I see a woman stepping up next to Brogan at the bar.
He’s oblivious to her until she invades his space. I watch in amusement as he takes a step away from her. His mouth moves so I know he says something to her, but as soon as the bartender sets the drinks down in front of him, Brogan practically runs away from her.
When he gets to the table, I smirk at him. “Trouble at the bar?”
“You saw that, huh?” His grin is wobbly and nervous. “I told her I was happily in a relationship and that my girlfriend didn’t like it when people put their hands on me without permission. Except in football, although it’s the rules of the game so it’s sort of like they have permission.”
I bite my lip to keep from laughing.
“Are you mad?” he asks. “I’m sorry. See, this is why you need to come with me everywhere I go. I need a bodyguard.”
“You called me your girlfriend.”
“Yeah,” he says slowly. “Is that okay?”
“I’ve just never heard you say it since it’s been true. I like it.” I like it a lot.
“Oh yeah?” He leans in and my stomach flips around as his dark eyes glitter with mischief. His lips ghost across mine. “Girlfriend.”
A thrill shoots through me. I am totally in love with this man. Ridiculously, hopelessly in love with him.
“Boyfriend,” I whisper back.
“Ooooh. That is nice,” he replies before kissing me harder.
A moment later we’re being catcalled and whistled at. I pull away, blushing as his teammates stare and cheer us on.
“Want to come with me to the bathroom?” Brogan asks.
“Excuse me?”
“For protection,” he adds.
“I think you’ll be safe. Be quick.”
He shoots me that boyish grin and hurries off. He glances back before he disappears around the corner to the bathroom and mimics wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.
I laugh out loud and then take a sip of my Diet Coke.
“You two are cute,” Tripp says.
“Thanks.”
“I gotta say, when he told us he was dating someone, I thought for sure he was making it up. Then I met you and I thought, ‘Now I know he’s making this up.’ You’re not at all what I expected.”
“Smaller boobs?” I ask as I feel a little self-doubt creep in.
“I mean that you’re not with him just for the glitz and lifestyle. A lot of women, men too, latch on to guys in the league because of what it can do for them. Money, party invites, status…” He trails off. “And you show up to the bar in jeans and a T-shirt, drinking a soda, and not trying to steal him away to some bigger, better event.”
A rush of sympathy hits me that these are the standards. Being a decent person shouldn’t be such a rare trait in the women he comes across.
“You really care about him.” He doesn’t ask it as a question, but I can tell he’s curious.
“I really do,” I admit.
He holds his fist out to me and I bump my much smaller one against his. “If he fucks it up, I’ll bust his kneecaps.”
A laugh leaves my lips and warmth fills my chest. “Thanks, Tripp.”
“Now…tell me what you think of the redhead at the bar.”
I swivel around and scan the area in front of the bar until I place a woman with beautiful strawberry-blonde hair standing alone. It’s hard to tell how old she is. Twenty-one. Maybe twenty-two. She’s on the taller side and wears a dress that shows off her long legs and curves. Her face is round and has a sweetness to it. Guys around her have noticed her but so far no one has approached her. She’s glancing around like she’s looking for someone and doesn’t look entirely comfortable being alone.
“She’s really pretty, but I don’t think she’s twenty-five.”
His lip curls. “I can’t date anyone more than ten years younger than me. It’s too weird. They don’t get any of my jokes or pop culture references.”
I laugh. “Well, maybe she just has a young face.”
She steps away from the bar like a woman who has just found her friends in the crowd.
“Maybe we’ll be able to tell by her friends,” I suggest.
“Knowing my luck, she’s here to meet her boyfriend.”
We keep staring at her like we’re two detectives cracking a case. She struts across the bar with a confidence that reminds me of Brogan.
No sooner have I had the thought than she steps in front of my boyfriend coming back from the bathroom. Brogan pauses and starts to go around her. I love that he’s so determined not to let women touch him. God, I love him.
He tries to dodge her, but she must say something because he looks up at her, steps slowing.
“Ah, they always go after the rookies,” Tripp says. “Better go claim your man.”
I laugh it off, knowing Brogan can take care of himself, but also already enjoying how he’s going to tease me about it when he gets back to the table. The man really does get hit on more than anyone I’ve ever met. It’s hard to blame them though.
I watch as Brogan’s expression changes from mild discomfort to confusion to something I can’t read at all. He glances up at the table and I give him a reassuring smile that he doesn’t return. Instead, he ducks his head to speak to the woman and then the two of them move through the crowd together toward the front door. I sit taller in my chair and can just make out his head as they exit the bar.
Tripp has already stopped paying attention to them and is in conversation with the other guys at the table. An unsettling feeling takes over me.
The whole thing is odd, but I know there are a million different explanations. I tell myself that for the next few minutes while I wait for Brogan to return. When he slides back into the seat next to me, my relief is palpable.
“Hey,” I say. “Get stopped by a jilted ex-lover?”
I hope my tone is playful, even though my heart is still racing. He doesn’t have the same happy, carefree expression on his face as he usually does.
But before I can go into full panic mode, his features shift, and he smiles. “You know me. The ladies can’t get enough. I’m gonna get another drink. You want anything?”
He’s already out of his chair and moving toward the bar before I say no.
I chalk it up to my own uneasiness reading too much into his actions, but when he returns to the table with a tray of shots and proceeds to take three in a row, I start to worry.
What the hell is going on?
“Are you okay?” I ask him as he lets out a whoop and chases the liquor with his beer.
“I’m great,” he says, but he doesn’t quite meet my eye.
THIRTY-TWO
It feels like someone is sitting on my face. And not in the good way.
In the head-throbbing, brain feeling like it’s being squeezed, afraid to open my eyes kind of way. “I drank too much last night” is probably the understatement of the century.
London. My eyes fly open when I remember my girlfriend and brief visions of her helping me into bed last night. Fuck. I squeeze my eyes shut after I realize I’m in bed alone.
I rub two fingers along my forehead as I try to think of what happened after. Did I tell her?
“Hey.” Her soft voice is like music to my ears. My lashes lift tentatively, and she smiles at me from the doorway. She’s wearing my shirt over her jeans and it hangs down almost to her knees. I must not have fucked things up too badly if she’s here.
“How are you feeling?” she asks.
“Better now.” I glance down at myself, still dressed in the jeans I wore last night. “I’m sorry about last night.”
“It’s okay. You had a good game. I’d say that’s cause for celebrating.”
Is that what I told her I was doing last night? I guess that answers the question of if I told her. Fuck. How do you even bring something like that up?
I aim as much of a smile as I’m capable of at her and get out of bed. I’m nauseous and stumbling as I walk to her.
“What time is it?”
“Just after ten.”
“You don’t have work?”
“I called in sick.” She grins. “I thought you might need someone to hold your hair back this morning.”
“I’ll be all right after I get some food in me.”
“I got bagels from the place down the street.”
“You’re a goddess.” I wrap myself around her and breathe her in. My mind is spinning and my heart feels like it’s going to leap out of my chest. I squeeze her like I never want to let her go because I don’t. “You should come back to bed with me.”
“Come on.” She takes my hand with a small laugh and starts out of the room. “Let’s feed you and then we can nap.”
I think I agree, but I feel like I’m wading through mud. Everything sounds far away, like I’m not really present.
My phone rings as I’m taking a seat on a barstool in front of the island. I must have left it there last night when we got home.
“Are you gonna get that?” London asks. She sets the bag of bagels in front of me.
“No. It’s probably spam.”
The call ends and a second later it starts up again.
“Want me to check?” she asks.
“Yeah. Please.”
It’s only when she’s stepping over to get closer to see the screen that I remember another key detail from last night. Oh shit.
I hop up from the stool as London says, “It’s Sabrina.”
My head sways, so does the rest of me.
“I should…” Fuck. I need to answer it, but this is going to be awkward.
“Who’s Sabrina?” she asks.
“She’s the girl from the bar last night.”
“O-kay. Why is she calling?” Her brows are marred in confusion.
A totally reasonable question, but I can’t think of how to explain.
“I’m sorry,” I say to her. “I forgot. I thought you’d be at work.”
Not the right thing to say.
“Oh my god.” The color drains from her face. “Is she someone you’re interested in? Are you seeing her? Or planning to see her after you and I are done?” The hurt on her face makes me think of Chris and how he jerked her around. Of course, I’d never do that to her. But I can’t seem to make my brain function enough to figure out what to say or how to explain.
“Brogan?” London’s voice is filled with that fire I love.
“No,” I say. “It’s not like that.”
The ringing starts up again. London glances at the screen, and by her expression I know it’s Sabrina calling back.
London walks over to the couch where her purse is lying, picks it up, and puts it on one shoulder. She’s assuming the worst and honestly, I can’t blame her. Nothing I’m saying or doing is right.
“Please don’t go,” I tell her.
I blow out a breath and then my feet move toward her without thought. Thank fuck, because my thoughts suck.
I’m barefoot as I hurry after her down the stairs and outside. The sidewalk is cool from the morning.
“Wait, London.”
She pauses and glances back at me.
“I’m sorry. I need to explain. Just give me one second.”
She turns to me and waits.
“Last night at the bar I got drunk because Sabrina showed up. I wasn’t expecting to see her. She’s been texting me and trying to contact me for months, but I thought…” I trail off. A lump has lodged in my throat. “Sabrina isn’t someone I’m interested in like that.”
“Does she know that? Because she’s pretty eager to talk to you.”
“Yes, she is. At first, I thought it was a scam or she was just making shit up, but then she showed up at the bar last night.”
“What are you trying to say?” London asks. “Is she someone you hooked up with in the past? Is she pregnant? What? Just say it.”
Pregnant? Whoa. Wait. I shake my head.
“She’s my sister,” I blurt out.
London rears back like that is more surprising than some random woman calling me up and saying she’s pregnant. Her mouth falls open.
“Yeah.” I nod. “Or she says she is. I don’t know for sure yet, but her story adds up.”
“How would you not know if you had a sister?”
“That is a complicated answer.” I run a hand over my head. “I told you my family was shit and I meant it. I moved in with the Hollands when I was a kid, and I haven’t seen them since. The only time they’ve bothered to reach out since then was for money after I got drafted.”
Her eyes take on a pitying, soft edge. “Brogan.”
“I don’t want your sympathy.”
She wraps her arms around my middle and places her head against my chest. “I’m so sorry.”
My throat tightens with emotion as she hugs me. “It’s fine. I’ve accepted it, but then Sabrina started contacting me and I didn’t know what to do. I’ve ignored her for months. I had no idea about her. I don’t even know if she’s telling the truth. Archer thinks it could be my parents using some random girl to get more money.”
“But you don’t?”
“I don’t know what to think.” I shake my head. “She looks like my mom.”
Fuck, maybe it’s all in my head.
“So, she tracked you down at the bar last night because you’ve been avoiding her texts?”
“Yeah.” I let out a short laugh. “She’s as relentless as I am.”
The thought sobers me. I have a sister. Maybe. A part of me wants it to be true and the other part is afraid anyone who shares my blood can’t possibly have pure intentions.
“I should get back. She’s probably going to call back until I answer. I don’t have any idea what to say to her.”
“I think you just…talk to her. Be you. Sweet, open-minded Brogan Six.”
I don’t think it will be that easy, but I can’t keep going without knowing the truth.
