Page 18 of Fashionista's Playbook

I flicked my gaze toward DeSean Chambray, one of the quickest wide outs in the league. He didn’t talk much off the field, so when he had something to say—it caught my attention. If DeSean was talking about it, my mood must have shown all over me.

“Somebody in Denver do you dirty?”

I snorted. “Closer to home.”

He lifted both eyebrows, leaned back in his seat, and blew out a breath. “Yeah, dealing with the shit at home is the worst.”

I hadn’t played with the guy long, but everything I saw leaned toward him being a quiet, family guy. Spent more time with his dogs and video games then gossiping or groupies.

DeSean continued with a slow shake of his head. “My mom, man, she listens to all those podcasts and reads every article about the team. You’d think our personal business was a soap opera.”

Could be worse. “Family, man, what do you do?” I glanced at my notebook—where I hadn’t written a damn thing the entire meeting.

“Once you get to this level, everything gets harder.Especiallywith family. You gotta find those solid people, the ones that hold you up, instead of use you. Cut out the rest.” He talked like he had personal experience with my brother.

“I wish it were that simple.”

He shrugged with a grin. “Or find a good woman.”

I saw Moriah in my mind, so clearly I could smell the subtle, crispy apple like scent she wore most days. “That ain’t simple either.”

DeSean laughed. “Never is, brother.”

CHAPTER TEN

Moriah

Sleeping in the palatial house alone was intimidating. During the day when I worked, Travis and the housecleaning crews were in and out. The quiet of nighttime forged a bizarre paranoia that left me up way too late. With every new little sound, I checked the security cameras.

I’d be dead on my feet by the time Travis came home.

My sewing station was almost fully set up in the large guest room. I stashed my phone next to the machine and bent back over the shimmering fabric that would eventually be a gown. Not that I had a reason to wear something so formal, but it was good practice and something that could populate my online shop.

Making my dreams happen, one new design at a time. People might say I was taking advantage of Travis, but when every day was consumed with work—all things the man himself—I earned the perks.

And I was learning that some jocks were nice guys. Not all of them were like Elise’s husband and his friends.

I’d not really thought about my sister in years, other than the occasional conversation with my parents. But Travis’ issues with his brother brought it to the forefront. Even still, Vin might be selfish and rude, but he wasn’t actively trying to ruin Travis’ life.

I dropped the fabric and placed two fingers to each temple, counted to ten, and was not awash with the peace the online meditation coach said would soothe me.

Rolling tension out of my neck, I finished the seam, stretched the fabric out on the table, and rubbed my eyes. It was late, after midnight, and tomorrow was game day. It was an early game and Travis would fly back that evening.

A small tendril of excitement started in my belly and thrust itself outward to my fingertips. Sure, I wouldn’t be staying the night at his house, but I’d get to see him before heading back to the apartment.

I shouldn’t get butterflies at the thought of Travis coming home. It would be easier if he was a jerk.

Which was the biggest problem. Travis Madera was one of the good guys. He could probably be a really bad boy when the situation called for it, he definitely had that edge. But he was a good man.

All the waffling back and forth was making me hungry and tired.

The gown wasn’t quite done, but I’d reached a point where if I worked anymore on it, I’d screw it up. I’d paid too much for the fabric for that to happen. So, I stood and draped it on the mannequin I’d purchased now that I had room for one.

I’d measured the dress for myself, so it hung loosely on the mannequin. When I’d been younger I would have seen that as a fault in myself—now, when I looked at the dress, I saw it as how good it would look on me, not how ill it fit the mannequin.

I pressed a hand against the softness of my middle. Healthy and all, it might be nice to tighten that area up a bit. My stomach rumbled against my hand. I’d never eaten the takeout I’d ordered.

Walking to the large kitchen alone, at night, was unnerving. Heating my burrito special in the industrial size microwave was so loud it filled the entire kitchen and continued a phantom roar in my ears when I plucked my dinner from it.

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