Page 91 of Fashionista's Playbook

“You’ll be great,” he said as if he could read the nerves that danced around inside me. He kissed the top of my head as he grabbed the gift for the host from the table by the door.

He stopped before he closed it all the way, looked at me like he was about to say something, then thought better of it.

“Vin coming tonight?” I asked as we walked down the sidewalk to the driveway, bypassing the garage.

“Nah, had something else to do. Since the Bianca thing has blown over, he’s back to chasing the groupies.”

I snorted a laugh. “It’s a shame, they’d have made a good couple.”

Travis raised his brow and watched me strangely. I swept a hand over each shoulder, like I might have lint on them. “What?” When he didn’t respond I shrugged. “He’s been oddly nice to me lately.” And since Thanksgiving, Vin had been nothing but polite and occasionally friendly.

At the car Travis stopped again and turned toward me. “If it gets too much for you, we’ll bug out.”

“Worried I’ll cramp your style?” I teased, but realized I was concerned about exactly that.

He chuckled. “Nah. Clutch’s parties can get pretty wild.”

“Is that what’s bothering you?” When he opened the car door for me but didn’t respond, I grabbed his chin and forced him to look at me. “Talk to me.”

“It's hard to take you seriously in that sweater.”

I thumped him on the nose and he sighed. “Maybe I’m a little nervous. This is the first time I’ve introduced a girlfriend to my teammates like this.”

He could not possibly get any cuter. I kissed him gently on the lips. “It’ll be fine.”

His grin was slow, sexy, and made me want to stay home.

“Nope, don’t look at me like that. I’m winning that contest, just you wait and see.” I wagged my finger at him as I climbed into the Audi.

“I have no doubt you will, Mariposa.”

****

The exterior of Clutch Berkley’s home was all straight lines and sharp edges. Inside, crystal chandeliers flickered charming light across expensive—and breakable—art pieces. It was the sort of place that made it glaringly obvious he didn’t have children.

Nerves snaked out from my middle, making my fingers tremble as we were let in.

“Travis, bro!” Clutch jerked Travis into a back-thumping guy hug, Hanukkah sweater to Hanukkah sweater.

Admittedly, mine was more creative and uglier by far. I had this ugliest sweater contest in the bag.

“Yo, Moriah, how’s it?” He greeted me, unlit cigar hanging from his mouth.

His gaze snapped back and forth between us several times, before landing on Travis. His lips spread into a knowing smile, and he swung a mock punch at Travis’ middle. “It’s about damn time you made that shit official. Dance party won’t start up for a while. Mingle, get some food, and I’ll put all this away. Love the dreidels, man!” Happy, and probably a little tipsy, he disappeared into another room.

The next half hour was a rush of faces and hugs, greetings and questions, and wasn’t nearly as painful as I’d first thought it might be.

Except when Garret Ward caught me at the snack table, making a second plate for Travis.

“I appreciate that you’re the type of woman that isn’t afraid to go back for more.” The mocking tone was hard to miss.

I bristled and struggled not to snarl. “More like the type of woman to properly feed her two-hundred-pound boyfriend and his insatiable appetite.”

You couldn’t have missed that insinuation. Go away, you creep.

The smile he wore froze, the rusted cogs in his brain turning as he fumbled for a reply.

Ignoring him, I deposited a few Bang-Bang shrimp onto the plate and continued about my task.

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