by Alexa Martin
“Speaking of . . .” Naomi takes the seat next to me. “Any baby news of your own?”
I nearly choke on my own spit. “No. No, no, no. Someday, just not today. Definitely no.”
Maxwell and I have talked about kids and they are definitely in the future, we just want time being us before we bring little humans into the world. My dad has been on our backs constantly about it and so has Maxwell’s family . . . well, not his brother. After Theo lost his job when all the details came out about what he’d done, he left Colorado and we haven’t heard from him again. We’re both totally okay with that.
HERS is at the top of its game right now. Every time I’m sure we’ve peaked and are going to start seeing a decline in sales, things miraculously get even better. I’ve been working my butt off to keep it new and fresh and not just ride the coattails of Love the Player, and it’s paying off. And when news that Maxwell and I eloped went public, people flipped out. We had waitlists for two full weeks before it started dying down, but even now it’s crazy.
Paisley keeps sending me pictures of the bar today, and each time it makes me want to cry. Women of all different shapes, sizes, and colors sporting their football jerseys, holding their drinks in the air, and having the best time at my bar.
“Brynnnnn!” Eloise calls my name and holds up a bottle of vodka. “Can you please make me something that doesn’t burn my throat? Donny said you taught him a recipe, but I think he gave me vodka straight.”
“Vodka with a splash of gin, drink of fuckin’ champs,” Donny yells and I cringe. “Get a little hair on that fucking chest of yours!”
“I’m a woman! I don’t want chest hair!” Eloise yells back at him.
“You’re not even drinking that!” I throw a cherry at his head and immediately apologize when every parent in the box goes on high alert for the potential food fight I just started.
I mix up something fast for Eloise, and I’m tucking the bottle back into its spot when Marlee yells, “The fog machines are starting up!”
I skip down the few steps to my seat and make it just in time to hear the announcer start to speak. “Football fans!” His voice echoes through the speakers. “Are you ready to meet your champion teams?”
The stadium goes wild. All these fans, the most die-hard of all, willing to fly to another state and spend ludicrous amounts of money to watch a single football game. The floor beneath me starts to rattle, and the energy inside our box is so supercharged that if I started seeing sparks, I wouldn’t be surprised.
Then, on the JumboTron in front of us, the Mustangs come into view as they walk from the locker room and onto the biggest stage of their career. The starters’ faces pop up in the corner of the screen as they tell everyone watching what position they play and what school they went to. Happiness blooms inside of me as I see my friends’ husbands. Then the one I’ve been waiting for comes on. And maybe it’s just me—I do tend to be a tiny bit biased—but the stadium quiets. As if what he says means the most, like they are aware of exactly the kind of man he is and know that any chance to hear him speak should be taken full advantage of.
“Maxwell Lewis, defensive back, Princeton University.” Short and sweet and all mine.
I look for the wink he told me he did, that he said was his shout-out to me, and the butterflies that have been flying for over a year straight take off again.
Marlee takes my hand on one side and Poppy takes my hand on the other. I thought this was the life I never wanted. Me in my Mustangs jersey, Marlee in her New York jersey, and Poppy not in one at all stand together and watch as the players take the field. And as I stand, hand in hand with two of my best friends, watching my husband, tears begin to fall because I realize I always wanted this. I just didn’t know how to dream this big.
Photo by Kristie Chadwick
Alexa Martin is a writer and stay-at-home mom. She lives in Colorado with her husband—a former NFL player who now coaches at the high school where they met—their four children, and a German shepherd. When she’s not telling her kids to put their shoes on . . . again, you can find her catching up with her latest book boyfriend or on Pinterest pinning meals she’ll probably never make. The Playbook series is inspired by the eight years she spent as an NFL wife.
CONNECT ONLINE
ALEXAMARTINBOOKS.COM
ALEXAMBOOKS
ALEXAMARTINBOOKS
ALEXAMBOOKS
What’s next on
your reading list?
Discover your next
great read!
Get personalized book picks and up-to-date news about this author.
Sign up now.
