Page 21 of Fashionista's Playbook

“You’d think I was your momma.” I smirked but stepped over and made quick work of a Windsor knot.

Dad taught me how to tie them, just like he’d taught me how to catch a football. It had been more than a decade since they died, but the memories still stung.

Finished, I turned and dressed, pulling out a new pair of joggers and t-shirt. One of the benefits to my newest endorsement: a metric fuck ton of free clothes. Which saved me shopping trips, I hated that shit.

“This one man, she’s got sass and an ass.” Dozer danced around; his mouth split wide.

The big guy had a new female lined up each week. Or it seemed. Mostly jersey chasers, women just out for the paycheck brought in by professional players.

“Not as much of an ass as that assistant Travis hired.” Garret Ward, backup quarterback, smirked from a few lockers down. “You hittin’ that or what?”

My entire body went still in the way it did right before I lowered my shoulder to take a hit. It was that eerie split second of preparation, where the blood throbbed so loud in my ears it drowned out all sound. It wasn’t anger, but something perilously close to it.

This asshole was supposed to be my quarterback, my leader. But right then, he was a mouthy bitch, and I wanted nothing more than to lay him out.How’s that for team culture?

DT noticed. His beady eyes narrowed, and he stepped between us. “The fuck kind of question is that, man?” He snapped at Ward.

I jerked the t-shirt over my head. My arms trembled, a new, protective feeling sliding over me. His remarks were stupid as fuck, not uncommon for Ward.

DeSean, the peacemaker, shuffled him away.

“I hope Linc signs someone else before Jones retires.” Dozer glanced toward the mouthy, second-string quarterback. “Next snap he takes, Imma leave a weak gap—just for you. Let him get laid out.”

“He ain’t never gonna take a game snap.” Cody Akers, Dozer’s bookend on the line of scrimmage, snorted as slammed stuff around in his locker. “That fucker’s gonna be practice squad before the year is out.”

Michael Jones was a man I’d follow into battle every time. I trusted him to make the right calls on and off the field. But Ward? He was a waste of talent on a guy that would never excel because he’d had everything handed to him his whole life. A man had to earn respect, and talent got you nowhere without hard work.

Fuck that guy.

“We chillin’ at your house after the game, play the new Madden?” DeSean sat down at his locker beside mine.

With the exception of the one asshole, this was the team I’d always dreamed of playing for. Not because we were good—though we were—but how we’d gelled. Coach Caley’s culture was one of brotherhood. These guys were my family.

“Yeah, Monday night. I figure I’ll have Moriah get some food together if you bring your own booze.”

I glanced at Ward. He kept his head down, ignoring the conversation. Whatever DeSean had said to him had shut him up. Part of me was pissed. I really wanted to shove my fist through his smug face, but he wasn’t important enough to ruin what I had here. I needed to get a handle on my feelings for Moriah before I did something stupid—like hit him.

Or kiss her.

I shook that thought off. Better to remind myself of what the Outlaws were doing here. Thinking of brotherhood, of family, and respect was a reminder for me—to bethatguy, the onethe younger players looked up to. “Yeah. Yo, Rook, you in?” I hollered over the din. The rookies were all sequestered in a small part of the facility, with smaller lockers and farther away from the training staff.

Carter Wade ducked his head out and grinned big. “You know it.” He had a baby face, a ready smile, and could make a cut like no other running back I’d seen. Give the kid an inch and he’d take it to the house every time. Rookie of the year potential for sure.

“Yo, what you think she’ll order? I can bring booze enough for everybody, if I know what we’re eating.” This from Clutch, the spunky wide-receiver with more swagger than good sense. And hellishly expensive taste, even with women.

“I dunno, maybe some barbeque.” A quick way to get a lot of food.

Dozer’s eyes grew as big as saucers, which was comical paired against the purple suit. “Ribs?”

I shrugged. “Probably.” And then to Clutch. “Some smoked chicken too.”

“If she can pull that off, kiss her for me.” Clutch winked. “I’ll bring several bottles of good bourbon.”

If I could get away with just a kiss. Once I got my lips on her, I’d want to put them everywhere. Then I’d want to do other things…and I couldn’t go there. She’d proved herself invaluable and I couldn’t lose that or break her trust. Not when shit was finally going my way. This would bemyyear.

Stifling a sigh, I jerked on a hoodie and grabbed the designer backpack I carried to practice. No sense standing there, daydreaming about the only woman in all of Texas Icouldn’thave.

CHAPTER TWELVE

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