Page 121 of Playbook
I watch as Brogan’s expression changes from mild discomfort to confusion to something I can’t read at all. He glances up at the table and I give him a reassuring smile that he doesn’t return. Instead, he ducks his head to speak to the woman and then the two of them move through the crowd together toward the front door. I sit taller in my chair and can just make out his head as they exit the bar.
Tripp has already stopped paying attention to them and is in conversation with the other guys at the table. An unsettling feeling takes over me.
The whole thing is odd, but I know there are a million different explanations. I tell myself that for the next few minutes while I wait for Brogan to return. When he slides back into the seat next to me, my relief is palpable.
“Hey,” I say. “Get stopped by a jilted ex-lover?”
I hope my tone is playful, even though my heart is still racing. He doesn’t have the same happy, carefree expression on his face as he usually does.
But before I can go into full panic mode, his features shift, and he smiles. “You know me. The ladies can’t get enough. I’m gonna get another drink. You want anything?”
He’s already out of his chair and moving toward the bar before I say no.
I chalk it up to my own uneasiness reading too much into his actions, but when he returns to the table with a tray of shots and proceeds to take three in a row, I start to worry.
What the hell is going on?
“Are you okay?” I ask him as he lets out a whoop and chases the liquor with his beer.
“I’m great,” he says, but he doesn’t quite meet my eye.
THIRTY-TWO
It feels like someone is sitting on my face. And not in the good way.
In the head-throbbing, brain feeling like it’s being squeezed, afraid to open my eyes kind of way. “I drank too much last night” is probably the understatement of the century.
London. My eyes fly open when I remember my girlfriend and brief visions of her helping me into bed last night. Fuck. I squeeze my eyes shut after I realize I’m in bed alone.
I rub two fingers along my forehead as I try to think of what happened after. Did I tell her?
“Hey.” Her soft voice is like music to my ears. My lashes lift tentatively, and she smiles at me from the doorway. She’s wearing my shirt over her jeans and it hangs down almost to her knees. I must not have fucked things up too badly if she’s here.
“How are you feeling?” she asks.
“Better now.” I glance down at myself, still dressed in the jeans I wore last night. “I’m sorry about last night.”
“It’s okay. You had a good game. I’d say that’s cause for celebrating.”
Is that what I told her I was doing last night? I guess that answers the question of if I told her. Fuck. How do you even bring something like that up?
I aim as much of a smile as I’m capable of at her and get out of bed. I’m nauseous and stumbling as I walk to her.
“What time is it?”
“Just after ten.”
“You don’t have work?”
“I called in sick.” She grins. “I thought you might need someone to hold your hair back this morning.”
“I’ll be all right after I get some food in me.”
“I got bagels from the place down the street.”
“You’re a goddess.” I wrap myself around her and breathe her in. My mind is spinning and my heart feels like it’s going to leap out of my chest. I squeeze her like I never want to let her go because I don’t. “You should come back to bed with me.”
“Come on.” She takes my hand with a small laugh and starts out of the room. “Let’s feed you and then we can nap.”
