Playbook (The Holland Brothers 2), page 7
“Like grass? Her eyes were the color of grass?” Knox smirks.
I flip him off. “It was the first thing I thought of.”
“Maybe don’t use that line on her. Or do. It’s fun when girls turn you down.” He turns to Avery. “Your eyes are the color of the sky on a sunny day.”
He’s clearly making fun of me so I continue to flip him off.
Avery shakes her head. “All I heard him say was that her eyes were stunning.”
“Back up,” Hendrick says. “She yelled at you?”
“Oh yeah, she gave him an earful,” Archer says, and I swear he sounds a little too happy about it. I think he enjoyed it more than I did. And I fully enjoyed staring at her perfect face while she chewed me out. But I’ve enjoyed her letters even more. She’s feisty as hell. I swear I can hear her voice when I read her words.
All the attention suddenly has me hoping for a subject change. “Anyway, how are things with you guys? How’s the bar?”
Hendrick waits a beat like maybe he wants to keep pressing me but relents finally. “The bar is doing great.”
“We hung your jerseys up on the wall in the game room.” Jane beams at Archer and then me.
“Awww. I’m touched.” Arch holds his pointer and middle finger out in half a heart and Jane does the same, bringing her fingers to his.
We spend the next hour catching up. Hendrick wants to make sure we’re being smart with our money and not blowing it all on dumb shit. In truth, I haven’t spent that much. I bought a truck and some things for the apartment. The only stupid thing I’ve done was giving a chunk to my parents. They reached out after the draft. I hadn’t been in contact with them in years and I knew they were only talking to me to get some of my signing money, but I guess I hoped it would be different if I made a gesture of good will. That was fucking dumb. I didn’t do anything wrong that should have required me to make a gesture. I don’t think. Unless being a kid who wants his parents to want him is something to apologize for.
Not a word since I sent the money, but I know they cashed the check.
Archer bought a ridiculously expensive sound system and also got a vehicle. We probably could have done with one between the two of us since we work and live together. We shared one all through high school and college, but it was fun to pick out matching trucks. His is silver and mine is black. Everything else is identical.
Knox fills us in on how he’s spending the motocross off-season and praises Avery, telling us about how she’s going to dominate again this year. And Jane tells us about some upcoming concerts she’s going to do with pop star Penelope Hart.
I glance around the table in awe. If you’d told me as a kid that this would be my life, sitting around a table with a former pro baller, a famous TV actress, a motocross rider and his Olympic gymnast girlfriend, with my best friend and fellow professional football player…I would have looked at you like you were out of your mind.
By the time the conversation starts to die off, it’s after midnight and Knox says they should head back to Valley.
“You’re welcome to crash with us tonight,” I tell him. “I can take the couch. We just got a new sectional big enough for an orgy.”
“And with that, I think I choose sleeping in my own bed tonight,” Knox says.
“We’ll be back next month for the Seahawks game,” Hendrick says. “Take care of yourself. You’ve got a long career ahead of you. Proud of you.”
“Thanks.” My throat tightens.
I hug each of them goodbye, and Archer does the same.
We catch a ride back to our apartment. It feels too quiet after the excitement of the night. I grab another beer from the fridge and head for the couch. Arch joins me. He lets his head fall back, exhaustion lining his face.
“How’s the ankle?” I ask him. I nudge him to get his attention. He took out his hearing aids as soon as we got home. I sign the words and speak them again.
“Good,” he says but then winces as he lifts his right leg and settles it on the coffee table in front of him.
“You want an ice pack?”
I start to stand, but he shakes me off. “Nah. I’ll grab one before I head to bed.”
A little of my buddy’s usual happy smile returns. “That was some fucking game, huh?”
“Yeah, it really was.”
Silence falls between us. Arch is the only person in the world that I can sit like this with, not saying a word and feeling totally at ease. It’d actually feel stranger sitting in silence by myself than with him.
“I should head to bed,” he says finally. “What time are you heading to the field tomorrow?”
We don’t have practice until eleven, but we usually go an hour or two early if we have any meetings or sessions with trainers. I don’t have any of that tomorrow, but I know he needs to see the trainer for his ankle.
“I’ll ride over with you. I could use some time on the massage table.”
“All right.” He stands and chugs the rest of his beer. I listen to him throw the bottle in the recycling, grab an ice pack from the freezer, and then head off to his room.
I stay on the couch, finally pulling my phone out of my pocket. I go straight to London’s texts, rereading them, then programming her number in my phone.
It’s late, but I decide to text back.
Me
Thanks. Were you at the game? I looked for you during the pre-game warm up but I didn’t see you.
I rest my phone on my chest and close my eyes. A vision of her long hair and pretty green eyes—definitely the color of grass—sits in my mind. When a text buzzes a few seconds later, my eyes fly open.
London
Yeah. We were a few minutes late getting to our seats. The beer line is no joke.
We. She brought someone. I should have assumed that. I gave her two tickets after all.
Me
Does your boyfriend like football?
I’m clearly fishing for information, but she doesn’t call me on it.
London
No boyfriend, but my roommate—you met him at the club—is a huge fan. I think he’s hoping I continue to get your mail so you’ll keep sending tickets.
The guy that was with her that night at the club. Alec something or other. He does the weather for one of the local TV stations.
Me
Has any more of my mail slipped through?
London
Missing a few pairs of panties?
Me
Definitely not.
I’m not a germaphobe, but the smell of pussy is only sexy when I’m naked with a chick.
London
No, I haven’t received any more of your mail. My box does still smell like old lady perfume though.
Me
Dang. I forgot to spritz a little cologne on the letters I sent. Clearly I’m an amateur. Ah well, there’s always next time.
London
Next time?
Me
Well, yeah, it was kind of fun sending snail mail. I had to buy stamps and everything.
London
You really know how to have a good time.
Me
You have no idea.
London
Actually, I think I do. I’ve seen your mail.
I’m smiling at the screen. This is more fun than the letters. I like her dry humor, and I can practically see those green eyes piercing into me.
Me
Did you go out after the game? Do you have other roommates?
I’m happy to know there isn’t a boyfriend. Although now I’m questioning why she keeps turning me down, then.
London
No, we came back home. And just the one. Is this an interrogation?
Damn, she’s feisty. I’m glad my memories of her were accurate. In person, in her letters, and over text, she just does something for me.
Me
No, just friendly conversation. I live with my brother.
London
How does he feel about your panty collection?
Me
I don’t sniff and tell.
London
Gross lol
There’s a pause in the conversation. I wander around the apartment. I still can’t believe I live here. It’s a long way from the shithole I grew up in before I moved in with the Hollands.
Archer’s room is quiet. I should go to bed. We have practice tomorrow and a day full of film and meetings. But I don’t want to stop talking to London.
Me
Are you a night owl?
London
Sort of. I work at night sometimes.
Me
You’re working tonight after the game? What do you do?
I’m firing questions at her so fast, I’m probably freaking her right the hell out, but I can’t stop.
London
I’m a graphic designer. I work at Channel 3 but do some freelance on the side. That’s what I’m working on tonight, but I think I’m about to call it. My lines are starting to get wonky.
Me
That’s cool. Can I see?
London
You want to see my work? You don’t even know what it is.
Me
Definitely. Doesn’t matter.
Minutes tick by and I don’t think she’s going to do it, but then an image comes through. It’s a drawing of…me. The back of me in my uniform. It looks so much like me that I’m wondering if she traced it from something. But then I see my right hand. Instead of a football, I’m holding a pair of red panties.
My head falls back and I laugh.
London
What do you think? New logo for your website?
Me
You drew this?
London
I sketched it while we were talking. I was working on a fantasy book cover before.
Me
You do book covers?
Damn, this girl just gets more interesting.
London
Sometimes.
Me
What are you doing tomorrow night? Some buddies are having a party. You should come with me.
I want to see her again. I can’t believe she was at the game and I didn’t even see her.
London
Like drop by or go with you?
Me
With me, like a date or something.
London
And disappoint all your fans? *gasp*
Me
I think you got the wrong idea about me. I’m really not like that.
London
Says the guy with more panties than me.
Me
Come out with me and let me prove it to you.
I stare at the screen, waiting for her reply. It’s minutes before it comes.
London
Sorry, not interested.
EIGHT
Coach is pissed, Archer signs without speaking.
I nod my agreement as I chug water and try to catch my breath at the same time. I’m sweating out the shots from last night. I don’t know if it’s my imagination or if I can actually still smell the tequila leaving my body.
One of the other rookies got cut yesterday and we went out last night to cheer him up. I hadn’t meant to stay as long as I did, or drink as much. But I felt for the guy. He worked as hard as the rest of us and then poof, it was all just gone.
Like I’m gonna be if I don’t manage to find a second wind during the last thirty minutes of practice.
Showing up late was my first fuckup of the day. Archer normally would have woken me in time if I overslept, but he had to be here earlier than me so he assumed I had alarms set. Which I did. A dozen of them. But then I forgot to plug in my phone before I fell asleep.
Coach isn’t an idiot. He knows why I’m late and dragging ass, and he’s just riding me even harder. We jumped right into a scrimmage this morning and he’s got the best defensive men coming after me hard. I have to show him I can take it.
“Six! You’re so slow off the snap, my granddaughter could tackle you.”
Nobody laughs, but I catch Cody’s disapproving gaze. Fuck.
“Sorry, Coach,” I manage to wheeze out.
“Don’t be sorry. Get your ass to bed at a decent time tonight. Goddamn rookies partying all fucking night,” he mumbles. “All right, men.” His deep voice bellows. “Let’s stop there.”
Oh thank God. My shoulders relax.
“Everyone to the end zone for sprint and stride intervals.” He lifts his right hand and points with an open palm like a ref would.
There’s a collective groan, but we all hurry to obey. Our conditioning coach walks behind us with a whistle to lead the drill and Coach heads off the field. But as he does, I swear he looks right at me like he wants me to know this is all my doing.
After practice I hit the training room and do some stretching and roll out my calves. One of the new trainers, Libby, spots me as she passes by the room and then doubles back to come say hi. She and a few of the other trainers were with us last night. I can’t remember how late she stayed, but she doesn’t look like it was as late as I did.
“Tough practice?” she asks as she moves closer.
“Brutal,” I admit, standing. “I think I finally sweated out all the tequila though.”
Her laughter makes my headache worse. “You should have left with me. I told you that you’d regret it.”
Right. Now I remember. She tried to get me to leave with her last night. I’m not sure if she was looking out for me or asking to get naked, but now as she rests a hand on my forearm and then glides it up to my bicep, I think it’s pretty clear.
Libby takes a step closer, and the smell of her perfume hits my nose, making my stomach roil. It also makes me think of London and her claim that all my admirers wear cheap, old lady perfume.
I smile, and Libby must take that as an invitation because the next thing I know she’s rising up on her toes and pressing her mouth to mine.
Worth noting, I stink. I haven’t even showered yet, and as previously mentioned, I sweated out a bottle of tequila.
I’m too shocked to reciprocate or do anything. The next thing I know someone nearby is clearing their throat, and I come to my senses.
Libby steps back, taking her scent with her, and it clears my head enough that I look to the doorway where Cody and Coach are standing.
Fuck me.
Libby flushes and then scurries off. Wish I could do the same.
I open my mouth to tell my coach that it wasn’t what it looked like, but he holds up a hand to stop me.
I don’t know if it’s expressly against the rules to hook up with someone that works here, but I never would. A second longer and I would have stopped her. I think I would have anyway.
“Six, is your dick going to keep causing problems for you this season?” Coach asks, hands on his hips.
“No, sir.”
“I’ve cut a lot of talented young players that couldn’t keep their head when they got to the league. I hope you won’t be the next.”
I swallow thickly. Before I can comment, he turns and leaves. His sneakers squeak down the hallway. Cody walks into the room while I sit down on a weight bench. I feel like I might throw up all over again.
“Seriously, rookie?”
“She hit on me. What was I supposed to do? I’m a likable guy. I know you aren’t familiar with that,” I tease. He cuts me a glare that proves my point. Women don’t hit on him because he’s a wall of indifference.
“You could start with not kissing her in the middle of the freaking weight room, maybe?”
“She kissed me.” I groan.
“Coach doesn’t give a shit about your excuses. You need to get it together before he decides you’re a liability.”
With those sweet, charming words, he leaves me too.
I take a minute to collect myself and then head to the locker room. Archer is waiting for me.
“You cool?” he asks.
I nod. “Yeah.”
