Fumbled (Playbook, The)

by Alexa Martin

  “Hey, baby,” he slurs. “Why don’t you show us some of your moves?”

  “I’m not a performer.” I take a small step backward and point to the stage only ten feet away. “I think there are a few chairs open if you’d like me to go hold one for you.”

  “I know where the stage is. I’m drunk, not blind, woman.” Jacob tries to wiggle his eyebrows at me, but it looks like he might be having a stroke. “Which is why I wanna see yooouuu dance.”

  “Sorry, I just deliver drinks.” I also suffer from an ailment of zero rhythm, but that’s really not the point at all. I turn to head back to the bar to get the order of tequila shots Groom Douchebag called for.

  These jerks better tip well.

  I manage to take only two steps before a sweaty hand wraps around my arm and pulls me back.

  “Don’t be like that.” His hot breath burns my skin and turns my stomach. “Just one little dance, maybe in the back room.”

  Disgusting.

  I pull away, but before I can make my escape, his arm is around my midsection, pulling me back until his erection is pressing against my back.

  Don’t get fired. Don’t get fired. Don’t get fired.

  I remind myself of all of Ace’s activities and the back-to-school shopping I’ll have to do soon as I search the room for Dane or Jerome or any of the flipping bouncers we have scattered throughout the club.

  Of course, when I actually need one of them, they’re nowhere to be found.

  Who’s deserting who now, Phil?

  Dick.

  Best Man Douchebag moves his hand up my arm and to my neck and I’m almost positive he’s leaving a snail’s trail of slime in his path. “Your skin is so soft,” he yells, like his mouth isn’t mere inches from my ear. “And I like your hair.”

  Then he does it. He buries his fingers in my hair and asks, “Is it yours?”

  Oh no.

  Hell no.

  I raise my foot up while at the same time twisting sideways, bringing my elbow forward, preparing to break his foot and hopefully injure an internal organ or two.

  But before I can strike, commotion in front of us causes him to drop his grip on me.

  “No fucking way!” the one guy in the group who’s managed to keep a semblance of self-respect yells. “TK Fucking Moore.”

  Oh, give me a break!

  My eyes snap to him, giving him the dirtiest look I can manage.

  I hold his eye contact, not wanting to be the one who looks away first, but while I’m being stubborn, I notice a few unwanted details. Details like how, God help me, he really is the perfect male specimen. His long hair is pulled back into a bun—which, over the years, has become my panty kryptonite—and his beard, though still thick, looks like it’s been trimmed since last night. His tight black sweater outlines every hard ridge on his chest and his jeans are snug enough to showcase his muscular legs but loose enough to seem as if he’s not trying to look like sex on a stick.

  Ugh!

  Since when do quads turn me on?

  Why? Why couldn’t he be balding with a beer belly from a drinking problem?

  But even looking so damn fine, why the hell is he here? To screw with me . . . again? I drop a hand to my thigh and pinch it as hard as I can to remind myself not to shove my heel right up his ass.

  “Are you shitting me?” Jacob, who seconds before wouldn’t leave me alone, stiff-arms me out of his way. “You’re the man! The Mustangs gonna bring it home this year?”

  “That’s the plan,” TK mutters, his stupid, gorgeous eyes never leaving mine. “Mind if I steal your waitress for a second?”

  “Not a problem, man. Don’t blame you, she’s hot as fuck.” Jacob grabs my arm—again!—and guides me toward TK, but this time his fingers bite into my skin a little deeper. It’s not that the pain is excruciating, but it does surprise me, which makes me flinch. And when I flinch, Jacob’s alcohol-glazed eyes narrow in on his grip and a smile starts to form on his psychotic lips.

  Best Man’s not looking at my face, so he misses it when I try to murder him with a look and the way my lips pull back, revealing all my teeth, like a dog about to attack. TK, however, does not.

  With a speed and strength I didn’t know he was capable of, TK moves me to his side and then his warm, not sweaty, and—begrudgingly—comforting hand is wrapped around mine.

  “Whoa there, Sparks,” he whispers in my ear. “Glad to see your fire never went out.”

  He doesn’t let go of my hand as we navigate our way through the douche brigade.

  “I swear to God, TK.” I yank my hand out of his grip once we’ve put some distance between us and the bachelor party. “Why are you here? I am not in the mood to deal with your bullshit tonight.”

  “The way I saw what just went down, you should be thanking your lucky stars I showed up when I did.” His lips curl under his mustache and the jerk laughs. Laughs!

  Wrong response.

  “Actually.” I stop and poke him in the chest with my finger, wishing it was something sharper and I could inflict some damage. “You’re the reason I was stuck over there!” I poke him again. “I had it covered, I didn’t need you to save me.”

  “Poppy.” He says my name like some joke I’m not aware of. “I wasn’t saving you. You think I forgot the way your eyes glaze over and you seem to grow ten inches when you’re pissed? I saw that and decided to step in and save the son of a bitch from getting his ass kicked in front of all his friends—not that he didn’t deserve it. Plus . . .” He shrugs and his pectoral muscles taunt me. “I figured your boss might not look fondly on you desecrating his customers.”

  He’s right, I would’ve been fired and most likely facing assault charges. I just can’t let him know I know he’s right. “You could’ve grabbed a freaking bouncer!” I point to Jerome, who’s too busy flirting with Rochelle to notice anything on the floor. “But no, TK ‘Football God’ Moore just had to save the day, didn’t he?”

  “You think I’m a god?”

  He would only hear that part.

  “I really can’t stand you.” I close my eyes and throw back my head, sending up a silent prayer not to go to jail tonight. “You think you’re a god. And what are you doing here again?”

  “You think I’m a god!” he sings out, drawing even more attention to himself. “I brought some of the rookies. Mini camp is in a week and they were bored and sad and missing their mommies, so I figured, what can get your mind off your mom better than scantily clad women?”

  “You’re ridiculous.” I roll my eyes so hard, I worry for a second they might get stuck in the back of my head.

  TK has always been fun and playful, something I see in Ace every time he’s with his friends. Always the center of attention, making everyone around him laugh and smile. I used to crave being on the receiving end of his silliness, now I’d pay him to leave me alone.

  Except he’s loaded and I’m not, so I don’t offer him my tips.

  “Come outside with me for a bit?” he asks, oblivious to my wanting to end him. “I ordered them a ton of food and bottle service, so they’ll be fine on their own for a while.” He looks up to the third floor and rubs his hands against his jeans.

  “I don’t think so,” I say. “Phil’s still pissed about yesterday, I don’t think taking extra breaks is in my best interest tonight.”

  And I don’t trust myself to be alone with him. I’ll either kiss him or choke him . . . but I’m not sure which one.

  “It’s fine,” he reassures me. “I talked to Phil when we came in. I told him I’d recommend this place to all my teammates, but I needed to talk to you without him interrupting this time.”

  My mouth falls open and I put my tray on the unoccupied table beside us.

  “You can’t do that.” I put my hands on my hips instead of wrapping them around his throat like I really want.
“Seeing you once in ten years does not give you the right to come into my work and talk to my boss about me.”

  “Please, Poppy.” He tucks a stray piece of hair behind my ear. “Yesterday didn’t go well. I just want to talk to you without the running and screaming. Just for a minute.”

  “I’m busy.” I pick up the tray, prepping for my escape.

  “Please,” he says again. “I promise, after we talk, I won’t come back again.”

  I would like it if he didn’t come back again.

  I inhale deeply, thinking it might be a mistake before I even agree. “Just for a minute.”

  “Thank you.” He smiles and the wrinkles around his eyes—another thing he didn’t have ten years ago, something else I find extremely attractive—deepen.

  I don’t respond.

  I don’t know how to.

  Instead, I turn on my heel and walk to the exit, already regretting saying yes.

  * * *

  • • •

  WE WALK OUT the same door we went through last night and move to the same spot. Exactly the same, but something is different.

  Last night, we were high on shock and anger. Tonight, something else is lingering around us.

  Maybe it’s the echo of our kiss. The warm June breeze mimicking TK’s touch against my cold, exposed skin.

  Or maybe it’s all the secrets we’re holding back, physically attacking us. Pushing us together before they rip us apart.

  “Go out with me.” TK breaks the silence.

  “What?” I ask even though I heard him loud and clear.

  “Come out with me,” he repeats.

  “TK, no.” I shake my head, moving away from him.

  “Poppy, yes.” He moves toward me, closing the distance I tried to create.

  “I told you yesterday, I’m not the same girl you knew.” I gesture to my costume, something I regret as his gaze follows my hands, his eyes heating, lingering on my bare legs. “You don’t really want to go out with me. We didn’t have a real ending. You want closure and I understand why, but we don’t have to date to do it.”

  “Wrong, Sparks.” He reaches for my hair and tugs it lightly, forcing me to look up at him. “This isn’t about closure.”

  “It is.” And if it isn’t, it will be soon. I might not have social media or follow football, but I’d have to live under a rock not to know TK’s acquired quite the reputation during his time in the League. I can’t, nor do I want to, compete with the women he has at his beck and call. The only thing I need to focus on is telling him about Ace.

  “No. It. Isn’t.” He still keeps his grip in my hair, but now his other hand is at the base of my back, bringing me even closer to him. “The thing is, I thought I had closure. You left. I went to school. It was closed. But then I see you yesterday, wide-eyed and scared, fuckin’ scared to see me. And when I went after you, I found you.”

  “It’s not like I was hiding.” I gesture to the open parking lot. “I wasn’t hard to find.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” he grinds out. “I found you, Poppy. As soon as I touch you, something in your eyes settles. I know you don’t know it, because it’s the only part of your body you don’t have guarded, the one place this mask you’re wearing doesn’t hide. But I saw it, and without you even knowing it, you told me you’re still mine. I don’t know what happened while I was gone, but I’m gonna fix whatever is broken.”

  “TK.” I close my eyes, not sure how to feel.

  “Open your eyes, Poppy.” He lets go of my hair and lifts up my chin, dusting his thumb across my cheek as he goes.

  “I’m not yours and you can’t fix me,” I whisper.

  “I know I fucked up. I was a stupid kid, and when I left for school, I was selfish. But a lot changed in the time we were apart. I grew up.” His voice is gentle, but it feels like a warning. “I know what I want and I protect and fight for it. And right now, I want you.”

  This is my chance. Tell him about Ace, get it over with!

  I open my mouth, Ace on the tip of my tongue. But before I can say anything, TK’s mouth is on mine, erasing all the reasons to tell him about Ace right away.

  His tongue coaxes mine, twisting and tangling, and I feel it straight down to my core.

  He pulls away, biting my bottom lip before he lets go and takes a step back. I feel the loss of his body pushing against mine as soon as the breeze hits my face. But when I look up at his face and the way he’s looking at me?

  Holy shit.

  It takes my breath away. Nobody has looked at me like that for . . . well . . . for ten years.

  “See?” he asks. “Settled.”

  He’s right.

  I hate it when he’s right.

  “When’s your next night off?”

  “Sunday.” I don’t know why I tell him . . . besides never wanting him to stop touching me and everything to go back to how it was before my life exploded into a million pieces.

  “Sunday night then.” He tugs on the end of my hair, smiling when I narrow my eyes and shake my head free. “I’ll pick you up at your place.”

  “’Kay.” I try to keep the panic of TK knowing where I live from showing. I guess I’m successful because there’s only a quick peck on my lips before he takes his phone out of his back pocket, unlocks it, and shoves it into my hands.

  “Call your phone, then save my number.”

  “’Kay,” I say . . . again. Because not being awkward for ten minutes is too much to ask.

  I do as he asks/demands/suggests, knowing with every digit of my number I should hit the Delete button and end this for real. But I don’t. Because, again, why wouldn’t I take up an offer to potentially blow up the nice, secure life I’ve created for me and Ace?

  I hand him his phone, my number now his most recent call, and hope I’m not ruining three lives by doing so. He looks at it, the bright glow of the phone illuminating his face. I take the moment to stare at him, to notice the different shades in his beard—the same colors that highlight Ace’s hair each summer—the way the lines in his forehead deepen when he raises his eyebrows, a look, I’ve noticed, he does often.

  He taps the button on the side and it goes dark, not giving me enough time to avoid getting caught staring at him.

  “You can stare all you want on Sunday, I know I will.”

  I forgot how well he disguises his smooth as sweet . . . and I forgot how easily I fall for it.

  “Whatever.” I half roll my eyes, so not committed I can’t even convince myself I mean it.

  I head back inside, half because I need to go back to work, half because I no longer trust myself to be around him. He follows a step behind me the entire way and I feel his gaze burning a hole into my ass as I walk.

  The dim lights and loud music are a welcome distraction when we step onto the floor. I walk straight to the bar, ignoring the look on Sadie’s face, and pick up my tray. I do, however, chance a quick glance at TK as he walks past me, heading back to the third floor.

  Sunday, he mouths.

  This time I don’t fight the smile spreading across my face. Sunday, I mouth back.

  Maybe this will be good. We can reconnect, remember why we used to be so good together, and then I’ll tell him. It could take some of the sting out of the blow.

  Or maybe not.

  Five

  “You better fucking spill!” Sadie, finally out of patience, yells in sync with her makeup and garment bags hitting the floor in my entryway.

  “Mouth!” I scold, but she’s having N.O.N.E. none of it. I’ve been dodging this for days and I’m out of evasive moves.

  “Oh, hush. You already told me Ace was at a soccer sleepover. We’re grown as fuck and I will cuss if I want to.” Color starts to rise in her porcelain cheeks. They’re getting so red, they almost match her fire-engine hair. “You’ve be
en avoiding me since Tuesday and I want to know what the fuck is going on!” She stomps her foot and glitter falls from her jeans, dusting my hardwood floors.

  I throw my head back and groan. “We’re going to need wine.” I knew we were going to have this conversation tonight, so I made sure my wine selection was on point . . . even though Sadie will only drink Moscato. It’s the biggest point of contention in our friendship.

  “Really?” Her brows knit together and she drops her hands from her hips, forgetting her anger. “Didn’t you just meet him?”

  “Sadie.” I grab her hand and drag her through my living room and into my kitchen.

  My house, while small, is packed with personality. My kitchen is my favorite room.

  Maya had been talking about remodeling the kitchen for months before she passed. She kept putting it off and putting it off until it was too late. And on top of everything sucking, walking into the dated kitchen she hated but thought she had time to change sucked even more.

  So I decided to do something about it. Now, even though Maya left me some money, I tucked the vast majority of it into Ace’s college fund. The rest went to her funeral. Which meant doing the kitchen had to be finished not only in stages but on a seriously tight budget.

  Luckily for me, I live in the age of Pinterest and free classes at the local Home Depot.

  I did the counters first. I found out you could fake butcher block countertops by using pine panels. Considering my kitchen is the size of a postage stamp, the grand total came to under a hundred buckaroos. Cole let me borrow his tools, and in a day? Voilà! New countertops. A few months later, I painted the top cabinets a bright white and the same mint color as our front door for the bottoms. A few months—and some very large tips—after I splurged on a white subway tile backsplash. It cost too much money and I regretted it for weeks, but now it’s my favorite part. Then, last month, I was bored on the Internet and stumbled upon a stainless steel side-by-side refrigerator on Craigslist for a steal!