Page 22 of Fashionista's Playbook

Moriah

By Monday, I’d mostly forgotten about my run-in with Travis’ brother.

But not about those two girls. Especially the snooty model type. For whatever reason I was constantly looking behind Travis to see if she was coming in or worse, eavesdropping on his phone calls to see if she had been calling.

Not that he ever actually took a call from a woman. That fact shouldn’t make me so happy and yet it did.

He probably dated mega skinny super models that walked runways in six-thousand-dollar panties. Even if he said he wouldn’t. Travis Madera was a hot commodity, the Tightest of the Tight Ends…most eligible bachelor of the Texas Outlaws.I better get used to it.

Ugh.

None of that mattered. I couldn’t let it.

Travis had opened the door and given me free rein of pretty much everything—putting a ton of trust in a woman he’d just met. For all he knew, I could go all Fatal Attraction on him. I snorted and turned on his street. It wasn’t me he needed to worry about, but his brother and his brother’s friends.

The sudden protective urge was strange and unexpected.

The kicker, though? I genuinely enjoyed working as Travis Madera’s personal assistant. I didn’t even mind staying late to go pick up food for him and his friends. And slowly, I was forgetting all about my past experiences with jocks and the four years of college I’d spent staunchly avoiding them.

I used my keycard to open Travis’ gate and accelerated up the small hill until the concrete turned to flat stone.

There were other vehicles in the driveway. I knew they’d be there, but a jolt of panic shot through me. I forced my muscles to relax and maneuvered around a brand-new Bentley and parked in front of a chromed-out Hummer. The driveway was doing its best impression of a high-end car lot.

I held the wheel and idled there for several seconds. These men weren’t Travis; for all I knew they could be like Steven. I pushed that thought away, I had to believe my new boss wouldn’t invite bullies to his house. That he’d pick better friends.

I was an adult. A confident, grown ass woman and I could do this. If only I could shut out the ghost of teenage boys chantingPigmoin my head.

By the time I lugged the first pan of food from the passenger seat and fumbled with the door, several large forms appeared near the back of the SUV.

“Everything going to the kitchen, Moriah?” Travis greeted me in that easy, quiet way of his. Like the only person in the world he wanted to hear what he was saying, was me.

“Um yeah, but I can get it myself in a few trips, I don’t want to interrupt you guys.”

“Nah, my momma’d have my hide.” A southern, high-pitched male voice responded as the back hatch flung open.

“Guys this is Moriah.” He exchanged a weighted look with a really attractive guy who stood quietly at the back of the group. Like they’d had some important conversation about me or something. “Moriah this is Dozer Watson, DT Akers, Clutch Berkley, and Desean Chambray.”

I shifted the bag to my other shoulder and instinctively backed away as they all loomed closer. Apparently, I was still letting stupid crap from high school bother me.

Get over it.

I bet my brother-in-law and his cronies weren’t spending their evenings hanging out with professional ball players. Look at me now, ha!

Travis must have noticed something because he was suddenly beside me, taking the pan and issuing orders like I hadn’t spaced out.

“DeSean, grab those bags and hold the door. Clutch and DT, get the other pans. Here Dozer, take this.” Travis handed the pan he’d taken from me to the largest of the group. Dozer was a well-earned name.

And it wasn’t that he was big. Travis was big. But this guy would probably block out the sun if he had the chance. A massive wall of smiling, jovial man. “On it, Trav.” Dozer nudged me with his elbow. “Don’t tell him, but it’s kind of fun watching him boss those preppy white boys around.”

“Who you calling white?” The handsome man holding the door, the one Travis had exchanged glances with,waspreppy.

“Who you calling preppy?” The other big one, DT, called as he followed Clutch in.

The affable, easy way they joked around with each other comforted me. Friends. Not a clique, not some bizarre peer group. Not the sort of men to construct an intricate prank just to humiliate a teenage girl.

And just like that, the tension evaporated, and I was left with a touch of sadness for the girl I’d once been.

“That everything?” Travis asked as the other guys milled about in the kitchen, peeking into the containers.

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