Page 63 of Fashionista's Playbook

“Ignore him. He’s a little prick with a Napoleon complex. He needs to be glad I don’t wipe the floor with his weasel looking face.”

“My feelings aren’t hurt.” Not really, anyway. “But you’re going to have to get used to it.”

I padded toward the bathroom.

“That’s bullshit.” He gave chase in nothing but his form hugging boxer briefs. “Ace Hollis calls his own wife Sasquatch.”

I washed the night’s make up from my face as Travis lounged against the doorframe. I couldn’t get used to seeing him like that, barely clothed and covered in ink. I didn’t turn back to him until I patted my face dry.

“And Vincent?” Something changed in his eyes that broke a chasm of distance between us.

“He’s not that big of a prick, he’s just jealous.”

“It’s just the way it is.”

“You’re being dramatic. I wish you could see yourself the way others do, the way I do. You’re not fat, Moriah. The second you start realizing that shit, the better off we’ll all be.”

Still pissed, he turned and left me standing there wondering if I should be insulted or impressed.

What’s happening my fellow Jersey Chasers? Settling into the groove of the season? Well, don’t get too comfortable because I have some drama for you. All eyes were on Claudia Jones’ big night last night. Charity events and QB One’s wife go hand in hand.

But it wasn’t Jones’ wife shining bright on the red carpet. Our Tightest of the Tightends stepped out last night with a mermaid goddess on his arm. And let me tell you, she’s more than just a voluptuous diva. Because this was also the opening of Travis’ Kids, a not-for-profit organization geared to helping foster kids play sports.

I happen to think any woman helping a man do God’s work is a woman after my big Texas heart. Furthermore, any woman that leaves gold digging garbage waiting outside the big doors? I’m in love. You heard me. Kari Tatum was denied entry and had to sneak in with Garrett Ward.

I guess when she couldn’t get a real player, she went with whatever she could find.

Good for her.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Moriah

I didn’t stick around Travis’. I needed room to breathe, to think things through, and to drink copious amounts of wine with my closest friend. Let’s be real, my only friend.

Navigating my way through the lunchtime crowd of a popular restaurant proved more difficult than it should have been. My entire body was sore. Muscles I didn’t realize I had shouted with each movement. Not that I was going to waddle admit to limping because the sex had been that good. But it was.

One night with Travis Madera was more strenuous than my weekly workouts. Two? I was lucky I hadn’t turned to jelly.

Now if I could just figure out how I was supposed to feel emotionally, I might be able to enjoy my newfound love life.

“You should be glowing and all aflutter.” Concern creased Rumer’s brow. “After the way Travis was clinging to you in all the pictures.”

Dropping the new Louis Vuitton bag on an empty chair, I lowered gingerly into the other.

“There were pictures? Where? Ofme?”

Rumer launched right in. “I swear, in one he had a handful of your ass.” She leaned forward and flashed her phone under my nose.

I’m going to need something stronger than wine.

“Well?” Rumer asked with impatient inflection.

She stared at me expectantly. Yes, I had a lover. And while sharing the details of my romantic life with my closest friend was the thing to do—the entire city being in on it gave me palpitations.

“Where was that posted?”

“Besides all over the internet, I pulled this one from social media—people are tagging you in it. Oh! If you google Travis Madera…you show up in the first searches. Jersey Chasers—I listened just to see if she mentioned you—talked all about his sexy date.”

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