Page 40 of Fashionista's Playbook

Demented, pissed off, and about to lose his shit.

Any other day I’d have laughed it off, enjoyed the show. But some of those misses I couldn’t pin on Ward—they were my own. And as if Caley was thinking the same thing, his eyes darted to me.

“Bad eyes lead to big plays. Interceptions ain’t you, Madera. Unless you want to spend the entirety of the next game blocking—open yours the fuck up.”

I nodded once.

“There is some damn good talent on that practice squad. Guys that are hungry for their shot, and practicing like that? You’re gonna give it to them.”

He rounded on Ward. “And I don’t know what the fuck you’re smiling about. I’ve seen better throws made by high school quarterbacks. You better pray Jones stays gameday ready, because you damn sure aren’t playing like that.

“Throw catchable fucking balls, Ward.”

Caley’s clipboard rattled into a garbage can as he stormed past it. “This is a crock of horseshit from a bunch of professionals.”

Silence settled in his wake, and it was several minutes before the muffled sounds of guys tearing off pads and ripping tape filled the void.

The receiver’s coach, Ahmad Davis, sat on the bench beside my locker and spun his hat around backwards the way he did before he went over a route with any of us. The hint of born here, raised there Australian accent slipped into the words. “What’s with you, man? Ward steps on the field and you turn into Lucy Ricardo?”

I blinked. “The fuck kinda shit did you watch growing up?”

“I watch it every night. Shit’s funny as hell. The real world has enough bad crap going on. But you’re evading…stop it.”

“I just don’t like him. Can’t shake that off when I’m out there.”

He grinned, folded his arms, and leaned back. “Nobody likes him. But Jones isn’t getting any younger and if he goes down…” He trailed off with a sad half shrug.

“Then let's hope he stays healthy.”

I considered confiding in Ahmad. He had that you can lean on me vibe. The way Ward had leered at Moriah, the comments he’d made, they sat wrong with me. And it wasn’t just jealousy.

But this wasn’t shit to dump on a stranger. And for the first time in my life, not something I could take to Vincent.

“I’ll get my shit together.” I stopped shy of stripping for the showers. “Wanna come have the machine shoot me balls?”

“Let’s do it.” He jumped up and headed for the door.

The only problem with staying late, would have been not getting to see Moriah before she left my house for the day. But I had a solution.

I shot Vin a quick text before I followed Ahmad.Take my car. I’ll leave the key with the guard at the gate.

And have Mariposa pick me up.

****

My mom always said that a man only went out of his way for something if it was important to him. She said that’s how she knew she was important to my father, as he took the long way home from work every day to stop by the flower shop where she worked.

Moriah had a love for frothy, sweet coffee. My office smelled like them at all hours of the day. Our practice facility housed a coffee shop. I heard my mom’s voice distinctly as I turned away from the door and headed back to the food court.

You’ve got it bad, Madera.

“You brought me coffee?” Her big blue eyes brightened impossibly.

“Yeah, thanks for swinging through here.” I handed her the cup and climbed in.

Riding in the passenger seat of my own vehicle should be awkward. It wasn’t. Not when I could watch Moriah sip happily from the cup and try her very best to ignore me watching her.

“We should talk.” Her hand trembled a little as she placed the cup in the holder at a red light.

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