Page 39 of Fashionista's Playbook

Travis glanced from the new arrival to me, like we’d both sprouted new heads. “You know my brother?” And then something shifted on his face, a mixture of realization and frustration.

I felt like I was the spectator of a bizarre movie, the mood had shifted so rapidly. Ward sensed it too and was searching for a way out, his eyes bouncing from face to face in the crowd around us.

“Oh yeah, he’s been vibing with a girlfriend of mine. I’m Kari Tatum.” She slipped fluidly from Ward onto Travis' arm. “Why don’t you buy me a drink, and we’ll get to know each other?”

As much as I wanted him to shrug her off like a dirty coat, he didn’t. But obvious annoyance creased his forehead. He peeled her fingers from his arm deftly and moved a step to the side. The motion was so small and practiced, no one noticed but me.

And it made me damn proud and happy.

“Nice to meet you, Kari. But I’ll pass.” He jerked his chin toward Ward. “But I’m sure Garret here would love to.”

He turned and cupped my elbow. “Let’s go find your friend.”

I didn’t turn around to look at her, but I was pretty sure Kari Tatum was glaring stiletto spiked daggers into my back.

“Professional football is filled with all manner of predators.” Travis whispered against my ear. “I’m sorry you were forced to deal with two in the same night.”

“Is it always like that?”

His grimace was all the answer I needed. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“Promise?” I teased with a flirty twist of my lips.

The smile he flashed me streaked all the way down to places it shouldn’t.

Now, Jersey Chasers, you know there is one player that is off limits on this show. If you come for QB one, you’re coming for this entire audience. A certain model type and a bench rider got too big for their britches while visiting the Lone Star state.

Looks like our wanna-be Mike Jones tried to pick up a WAG for himself and got punked out by the Tightest of the Tight Ends.

Then when Kari Tatum couldn’t make a play for the Tightest of Tight Ends, she wound up on the wrong side of Mrs. Jones. And let me tell you, nobody wants to be on the wrong side of WAG one. Nobody.

We stan her. This podcast and its listeners are Jones fanatics. I wish Kari Tatum nothing but broken stilettos and flat champagne.

Is it wrong I like Madera better knowing he isn’t getting down like that… in either case? I didn’t think so.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Travis

On game day, I gave everything on the field. Practice wasn’t any different. That should be the same for every other player on the team. The problem was—it wasn’t. And with Jones sitting out of practice for the week with a sore calf, that meant Ward and his bad attitude.

I’d never dropped so many passes. With each one, the bastard’s cratered face grew smugger.

“He wasn’t hitting you in the numbers.” Clutch complained from the corner of his mouth. “I lost count of how many times he threw it over my head.”

Putting the blame on Ward wasn’t my style. Dude’s problem was that post-game shit with Moriah.

Anger welled up in my chest, turning into a drum beat of violence in my brain.

You’ve got it bad, Madera.

One hand-job, and I was ready to pound this guy’s face in for wanting the same things from her I did. But something was off about Ward. If I had a sister, I wouldn’t leave her alone with him.

I glanced down to a message on my phone from Vin, needing a ride. I ignored it.

The large, heavy door to my left slammed shut with a tooth jarring clang. Head Coach Jason Caley wasn’t known for his dramatics. But standing there, cloaked in quiet menace, you wouldn’t know it.

“What the fuck was that?” His gaze was manic, almost frantic, and his reddish hair was sticking up all over from where he kept driving his fingers through it. The effect left my head coach looking like a real life, red-headed serial killer doll from all those eighties movies.

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