Page 65 of Playbook
“Hi.” I lift my hand in a wave and then smile at the blonde woman at his side.
“Nice to see you again, London,” he says. He wraps an arm around the woman’s waist. “This is Wren.”
“Hi. Good to meet you,” I say to her.
“You too. I love that dress.” Her gaze drops to my shoes. She’s in heels, as are most of the other women.
“What do you want to drink, sweetheart?” Brogan asks, pulling my attention back to him.
He holds open the fridge door. The inside is filled with rows of beers and hard seltzers, even boxed wine. It seems to contradict the bottles of champagne on the counter, but I suppose it’s fitting for a bunch of football players. They can obviously afford the expensive booze, but they seem to be drinking a lot more of the other.
I opt for a glass of the cheap wine, and he grabs a beer for himself. Once we have our drinks in hand, Brogan takes my free hand and pulls me farther into the apartment. I can just make out the large floor-to-ceiling windows when Brogan comes to an abrupt stop and I run into the back of him. Our hands break apart as I attempt to save my drink. Half of the sweet wine splashes onto him, but when I go to apologize, I discover the reason for the sudden halt.
She’s tall, blonde, and the dress she’s wearing hugs her hourglass figure to perfection. She also has her mouth pressed against Brogan’s.
“I was wondering when I would run into you again.” She swats at him playfully as she pulls back, but only slightly. Her mouth still hovers an inch from his. “You never called after that amazing night in Sedona.”
“Yeah, uh, I’ve been busy. Practice and the team…” He takes a small step back so he’s standing next to me. He clears his throat. “Tiffany, this is London.”
Her gaze slides to me. I’m not sure what I expect her reaction to be, given she’s obviously slept with him and was expecting him to call her again so they could recreate an “amazing” night together, but she doesn’t seem at all surprised about my presence.
She smiles and not in a fake way, or if it is fake, it’s very convincing. “Nice to meet you.”
“Yeah, you too,” I say, shock making me polite even when I should probably be acting jealous and possessive of my date. Isn’t that what a real girlfriend would do? I do actually feel a little peeved.
Her stare lifts over my head and then back to Brogan. “Excuse me, my friends just got here.” She moves past us but not before tossing out one more comment. “Call me sometime. You still owe me tiramisu.”
When she’s gone, I turn to face him. “Sedona? Tiramisu?”
“It’s a long story.” He rubs at his jaw with two fingers.
“It doesn’t seem that long. You slept with her and then never called again. Am I right?”
His lips part but it’s a moment before he replies. “Something like that. It was a long time ago. When I first moved here.”
“Two whole months ago?”
“Three and a half.” He grins.
I find myself laughing even though the whole thing is ridiculous and I’m slightly appalled.
“Any other women here tonight I need to worry about?”
“You don’t need to worry about Tiffany.”
“Yeah, well, tell that to the red lipstick all over you.” I step closer and run my thumb along the mark she left on him.
He has nice lips. They’re full and softer than I expected. My hand lingers there a beat, and he reaches up and closes his fingers around my wrist.
“I’m sorry.”
The sincerity of those words surprises me.
“It’s okay,” I say quickly because it is. It has to be. We aren’t really together and this whole thing is about fixing the problems he created for himself before he met me. I should expect more moments like that and probably be thankful she was as nice as she was.
We make it around the apartment and then head up to the rooftop. It’s somehow even more packed up here. Brogan pulls me with him, stopping to say hello to some of his teammates and a few more women. Luckily, none of them try to kiss him or mention seeing him naked.
I keep a tight hold on his hand as I play the part of adoring new girlfriend. It’s an easy gig, really. And Brogan is a good date. He notices when my drink is getting low, he pulls me into conversations, and he leans in close and whispers to tell me the dirt on several occasions. Once to warn me about a teammate whose breath is always terrible. That warning came too little, too late as I had just leaned in to shake his hand and nearly fell backward as he shouted a greeting that brought a wall of stench with it. And another time to point out an author in case I wanted to pitch my book cover designs to her. I didn’t, but I appreciate that he thought to mention it all the same.
