Fumbled (Playbook #2)(17)
“Swear to God.” He holds up both hands in surrender. “She showed up with fucking Bundt cakes.”
He’s telling me about the time Lydia flew to Denver without telling him during his rookie season and went to the training facility to meet his new teammates.
“The guard at the gate had to call to get me because she refused to leave. My coaches were nice while she was there, but I got fined five thousand dollars for leaving to get her.”
“Your mom’s insane.” I might be laughing, but I could not be more serious.
“She just loves hard.” He defends her honor, which is sweet, but also bullshit. “She loved you too. She was just as sad as me when you left.”
At that, my back goes straight and the happy drunk in me disappears.
“She hated me and was thrilled to see me go.” I think back to her gloating face as she handed me the check and I feel the heat rising up my face. I went through a phase where I wondered if she would’ve been more supportive if I had been a blue-eyed blonde—and white—like her. But I realized it wasn’t a racial issue—it was a crazy one.
“She was not.”
I take a deep breath and try to collect my spinning thoughts. “New subject.” Even though I’m not thinking my clearest, I still know this is not a safe topic for me.
“Wanna go play games?” he asks.
My shoulders sag with relief and I nod my head. He gets out of the booth before me and comes to my side, offering a hand to help me up.
He looks like such a badass—long hair, thick beard, huge muscles with tats spilling out from his sleeves—but he’s such a gentleman.
I stand up, and instead of letting my hand go, he winds his long fingers through mine, holding on tight as we weave through the crowd. He stops for pictures when a few groups recognize him, but he never lets them give me the camera, and even though I try to move out of every shot, he keeps me firmly at his side.
“You know they’re gonna Photoshop me out of those pictures when they get home, right?”
“I doubt it.” He looks down at me, barely missing a drink tray as he does. “They’ll probably look at it, see how hot you are, and take me out.”
“You are so full of it!” I laugh, but my cheeks heat at his compliment.
We break through the crowd and into the hallway leading to the arcade. The walls are painted a bright teal but there’s a break of white-painted brick with the words “i love you so much” in red graffiti.
“Picture?” TK points to the graffiti.
I bite my lip and nod, unsure why, after all the shit we’ve shared, this makes me turn into a shy schoolgirl.
He stops a couple of girls walking past us and asks them to take our picture. We both hand them our phones and TK pulls me fast and tight into his chest. I look up at him, laughing so hard my side aches, and he looks down at me, lines crinkled around his eyes, smiling just as big as I’m sure I am.
We don’t even turn to look at the girls with our phones before they’re handing them back to us. It’s clear they have no idea who TK is, because they just seem annoyed that they agreed to do us a favor. Not honored that the almighty TK Moore directed his attention their way for a moment.
I like them.
We follow the girls to the stairs, me behind them, TK insistent on walking behind me.
“Such a good view, Sparks,” he says when we reach the top floor.
I don’t say anything this time. I just roll my eyes and keep walking . . . maybe with a little extra swing in my hips.
“Oh!” I jump when I see the arcade games and turn to TK. “Wanna play Ping-Pong?”
“If you want, but . . .” He pauses and his face changes. The smile disappears and he tenses up. “This isn’t gonna be like bowling. I am going to kick your ass.”
I slap his shoulder and a supersexy snort slips out. “In your dreams, buddy.”
* * *
? ? ?
IF I THOUGHT TK let me win at bowling, the way he kicks my ass at Ping-Pong and every other video game the arcade offers would’ve proved me wrong.
“Whatever,” I pout after losing another game of Ping-Pong. “I still kicked your ass at bowling.”
“Keep clinging to that.” He leans down to kiss me, and like the sore loser I am, I turn my head so his lips hit my cheek. “Will a milkshake make you feel better?”
“Yes,” I answer, and let him kiss me this time.
What can I say? Ice cream can always get you back in my good graces.
We walk back to the restaurant and I’m not shocked to see they saved our table for us. Or at the fact that TK offers up another money-filled handshake upon this discovery.
“Two chocolate milkshakes, please,” he orders when our same waitress comes back.
“Sorry I beat you so bad.” He sounds sincere, but the smile confirms his lies.
“You’re so full of it.” I roll my eyes and pretend to be annoyed, but I’m pretty sure he knows I’m full of it too.
“I’m having a lot of fun.” He reaches across the table to hold my hand again. “I wasn’t lying when I told you I missed you. I want to see you more.”
I’ve been so focused on living in the moment, I blocked out everything waiting for me at home. And if I’m honest with myself, I kind of wanted tonight to be a disaster. I wanted to reassure myself that I made the right decision by keeping Ace a secret. But the more the night goes on, the more I’m questioning every decision I’ve made.