Page 38 of Fashionista's Playbook

Through panes of wall-to-wall glass, there was a swanky private area complete with large television and polished, fully stocked bar. A small horde of beautiful young women in tight clothing, wearing their intentions like armor, crowded around the sole bartender.

These women were quite obviously those the Jersey Chaser podcast talked about. The veteran, dripping the jewelry no doubt gifted from her retired player, ex-husband. The rookie, young and innocent, desperate to be seen. I remembered her. Nicole, who had been with Vincent that night he’d taken Travis’ vehicle. The nice one.

Which meant Giggles wasn’t far behind.

I saw her, the first stringer, leaning against the bar with a steady eye on the man in tailored black pants and a cashmere sweater that cost more than my first car. The quarterback, the big deal. Everyone knew who Jones’ was.

Her clothes drew my attention. She wore a designer pantsuit that was absolute perfection. I’d never get away with something with such stark lines. Straight, white, and without a blouse, the jacket’s opening slashed open where cleavage should have been.

Well, I had her beat in at least one race.

I admired the cut of the material and made mental notes. A normal sized woman couldn’t wear something like that. Most didn’t have Giggles’ microscopic waist. Or the audacity she had at plastering herself all over an obviously married man.

The ring flashed on his left finger about as obvious as the flash of anger in the approaching woman’s eyes. Older, but far more attractive than Giggles. And not only did she have a tiny waist, but the expensive jeans clung to full hips.

I’d rather dress her over Giggles any day. When she slapped Giggles’ drink from her hand and pushed her off her husband, I decided Michael Jones’ wife might be my favorite person in the room.

I was so distracted by the drama, I didn’t see the bulging man approach me. Had I, I’d have probably made a beeline for anywhere else.

“How come I’ve never seen you here before?” A large, imposing guy with chiseled facial features loomed over me.

I’d received a few smiles and curious glances since I’d walked in the room, but no one had approached me. And any other time I might have appreciated the attention. But he was standing too close, and his smile was more of a sneer.

Alarm bells went off in my head. Travis didn’t remind me of my brother-in-law, but this guy certainly did. Right down to the militaristic short haircut.

He shoved his hand out like I was supposed to take it. “All the ladies usually wait over at the bar.”

My panicked gaze darted from his hand to the doors and back again.

“I’m sorry, you’re—” I shifted and created space between us, where I didn’t have to crane my neck to look up at him. I stopped a beat from jumping to my feet like a startled rabbit.

“Garret Ward, quarterback.” His smile stretched painfully tight, and he shoved his hand down and forward, almost brushing against my breasts.

I’d heard of Jones, the starting quarterback—everyone in town had. This must be a backup.

I fidgeted, uncomfortable, but forced an unsteady smile. “Nice to meet you.” It came out as more of a question than a statement.

“You don’t shake hands or something?” His tone was no longer friendly, but he recovered quickly. “Whatever. Come on, I’ll take you over to the bar. I’ll buy you a drink, they don’t charge players.”

A wrongness churned in my chest. I was trapped between this behemoth of a man and the small, leather bench. I stood, justto give myself a more equal footing. He’d not said anything out of the ordinary or done anything other than mistake me for a groupie.

I was wishing now that Rumer hadn’t left me. She was better at navigating strangers. “No thanks, I’m waiting on...”

He made a face like he couldn’t believe I was supposed to be on this side of the glass. His brow half furrowed on his rock-like forehead.

“She’s here for me.” Travis said. My savior was wearing a six-thousand-dollar suit and a glare that would cut through an iceberg. He slapped Ward on the shoulder with such force, it moved the other man several inches to the left. “What up?”

I’d grown used to Travis’ size, the graceful way he moved with it. I’d never once felt like he was using it to intimidate me as Ward had. And now, as they stood beside each other, Ward wasn’t even as big as Travis.

He’d just used what size he had like a bully.

I slid closer to Travis and shot him a grateful glance. I wasn’t scared now, not just because Travis was here—which helped—but because I knew what I was dealing with. I could handle a bully.

Travis winked. But he was pissed. The anger was obvious in the hard set of his jaw and the tense line across his shoulders.

“Garret, aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” A female voice purred right across the palpable tension. Giggles had left the other side of the glass and draped herself against Ward.

“You mean, you couldn’t get Vincent to do it?” The words popped out of my mouth before I could stop them.

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