Page 43 of Playbook
“The last Saturday in October.”
“That’s not that far away.” Two months. We’ll be smack dab in the middle of the season. “How about December?”
Her eyes widen. Before she can argue, I add, “A two-month relationship isn’t that long. It doesn’t really sell me as a changed guy.” I’ve had casual flings last longer than that. “I know it’s a lot to ask. You’re a beautiful woman and giving up that amount of time to pretend to date me when there are lots of dudes wanting to take you out for real is not ideal for you.”
She snorts. “That’s not the issue. It’s just…four months is a long time.”
“I’m gonna be busy. We have games nearly every weekend and practices and meetings…”
“What kind of things would you need me to do? Parties and bar hangs?” She glances around.
“We also have some team events. There’s a community health and wellness day coming up.”
She looks visibly nervous. “And I’d go with you as your girlfriend?”
“Mhmm.” Picturing it, I smile. This could be cool. I’ll get to hang with her while easing the minds of my coach and teammates.
She blows out a breath that puffs out her cheeks. “Oh god, I feel like I’m going to regret this.”
“Nah. It’s going to be great,” I tell her. “For both of us.”
TWELVE
The following Wednesday night, I’m in the apartment alone while working on an illustration for a client. I get up to take a short break. Carrying my phone with me to the kitchen, I pull down a glass and pour myself some wine. I drink it in sips, stretching my neck from side to side and marching in place while I scroll social media. I sat for too long, and my body is tense from the inactivity.
Finishing off the wine, I set the glass in the sink and start back for my room. My phone rings in my hand. Who even calls anymore except spam numbers? Even my grandma knows to text first, but I freeze when I see the name on the screen.Brogan.
Why is he calling me?! Since our agreement, I haven’t talked to him. I kind of hoped he’d wake up the next morning and change his mind. I don’t think I have the acting skills to pull this sort ofthing off.
The phone continues to ring. I have no idea what I’m going to say to him so I swipe to hit ignore, but accidentally hit accept instead.
“Oh shit,” I whisper-hiss, still staring down at the phone. I watch the seconds tick across the screen. I expect him to hang up. Maybe he didn’t really mean to call me. Maybe it’s a butt-dial?
I pick up the phone tentatively and put it to my ear. There’s faint music in the background.
“Hello?” I ask quietly. I don’t want to say it too loud in case he doesn’t realize he called me.
“Hey, London.” That voice. A shiver skates down my spine.
My heart rate picks up and I open my mouth to reply, but I can’t seem to come up with anything.
“You there?” he asks.
“Sorry, uhh, who is this?” I ask, playing dumb while I pull myself together.
“It’s Brogan.” He lets out a low chuckle. “I’ll try not to be too disappointed that you didn’t save your new pretend boyfriend as a contact in your phone.”
“Hi.”
There’s a pause that feels painful, at least from my end.
“Why are you calling me?” I ask. Oops. I guess I’ve lost my tact along with my ability to speak coherently.
Another deep laugh rolls through the phone. “Damn, girl. You really know how to make a guy feel special.”
“Sorry. It’s just that no one calls me except telemarketers and my mom when she wants to guilt trip me.”
“I’m too tired to text,” he says, like that explains everything.
