Page 49 of Playbook
“Ooooh. Yeah, I want to know too.” Sierra sits taller.
I reach for my water glass and take a drink while I wait to see how London is going to react. A flash of panic crosses her face and I drop one hand to her thigh under the table. I meant it to be reassuring, but she jolts in herseat at my touch.
“Do you want to tell them or should I, baby?”
Her eye twitches a little at the endearment. “Go ahead,pookie.”
I can see we’re going to have to workshop some better nicknames. London shifts in her seat, reminding me I still have my hand on her bare thigh. Her green dress is just a few shades lighter than her eyes.
She’s close with her family. I can tell that, even if she’s barely spoken to them tonight. It’s a peculiar thing, watching them all interact. I don’t think I ever went out to dinner with my parents. Not once. Not even to McDonalds or some other cheap fast-food place. And while I shared plenty of meals with the Holland brothers and their mom before she passed, the dynamic here is different.
When we all sat down I expected some Hallmark-style dinner where everyone talked and shared stories, and while for the first twenty minutes or so it was sort of like that, there’s a nuance to how it’s evolved as the dinner has continued.
The parents are having their own conversations and we’re having ours. I think it must take a certain kind of security that I’m unfamiliar with. London and Sierra don’t worry about engaging the parents or fight for their attention; they’re content to just sit at the other end of the table and be together.
“We met at a club,” I say finally.
“You went to a club?!” Sierra asks her sister, and it’s clear that’s out of character for my girlfriend. Interesting.
“With Alec,” London clarifies, perking up slightly.
“Ah. I should have guessed.” Sierra nods, then waits for me to continue.
“I took one look at her and knew I had to get her number.” I glance over atLondon.
Her lips press together like she’s fighting a physical reaction that’ll give us away.
“That’s a bit of a stretch,” she says. “He had a line of women vying for his attention. It took me almost five minutes to approach him.”
“You approached him?” Sierra is even more surprised by this piece of information.
London stills like she realizes she’s made an error. I doubt she wants to tell them the truth—that she was coming over to yell at me because she was getting my mail, including other women’s panties, which by the way—still weird.
I cut in to save her. “She thought I was someone else.”
“Who?” Sierra is hanging on every word.
London hesitates for only a second before she decides how to answer.
“I thought he was this guy I know from work.” A slow smile lifts one corner of her mouth.
“She was calling out, ‘Dave! Dave!’ and waving at me.” I do a dramatic reenactment that has Ben and Sierra laughing.
“Only you wouldn’t recognize Brogan Six,” Ben says, giving his head a shake and me an apologetic smile.
I catch the wary gaze Chris is shooting us. Ignoring him, I shift my chair closer to his ex-girlfriend.
I like that she didn’t know who I was. I got to see unfiltered London in a way I don’t always get from people who know that I’m a professional football player.
“What’d you do?” her sister finally asks me.
“I was confused at first, but I wasn’t letting her go without buying her a drink.”
“You mean the drink you spilled on me?”
My smile hitches up as London finally comes alive. There’s a spark in her eyes that’s been missing all night long. She’s getting into the story, weaving a tale that’s part truth and part fiction.
“I’m a lot of things, but clumsy isn’t one of them,” I say, looking into her eyes. The dark green color continues to remind me of four-leaf clovers and the bright green of grass in the spring.
