Fumbled (Playbook #2)(35)

“Ummm . . .” I drag out the word, unsure if I should answer or back away slowly. “Yeah?” I answer because she might be a bit of an oddball, but I’d still like to work for her.

“Like Poppy Patterson?” She bounces on her tiptoes and claps her hands together. “The Poppy Patterson?”

“Uh, I don’t know if I’m the Poppy Patterson, but I’ve never met anybody else with my name.” I tug one of the curls by my face, losing the battle not to fidget.

“Are you TK’s Poppy?” she finally clarifies.

“Oh!” My shoulders slump and I let out a short bark of laughter. She’s not insane and TK at least called her. “Yeah, sorry. He never texted me back, I didn’t know he called you.”

“He didn’t,” she half shouts at me, still vibrating with excitement.

“Uhh . . .”

Annnnnd I’m back to confused.

“Wait until I tell Marlee I met you! She’s going to flip!” She turns back to her desk and grabs the phone covered in a “Smash the Patriarchy” case. “She said she saw you at the park, but you were far away. I get the first good look and she’s gonna be so jealous. You’re stunning, by the way. Not that I’d expect much less from TK. He drives me insane, but he’s hot.”

“Thanks?” I don’t know if it’s necessary for me to respond—she’s having a pretty lengthy conversation without me—but it seems like the polite thing to do.

“Marlee,” she says into her phone, her eyes focused on me. “No. Stop talking. Guess who I’m looking at right now?” She pauses. “No.” Pause again. “Nope.” She singsongs and winks, like I’m a willing participant in this game. “Okay, okay. I’ll tell you because you’re never going to guess. Standing right in front of me at HERS is none other than Poppy Patterson.” She pulls the receiver away from her ear, laughing, and I hear the scream from the other end.

“Mom?” Ace asks, peeking his head into the room, no doubt concerned with the noise levels echoing throughout the small restaurant. His eyes shift between me and Brynn, who has gone silent, which is alarming considering her earlier reaction. “You okay?”

“Yeah, dude. Everything’s good,” I rush out. “Just play on my phone for a little longer.”

“’Kay.” He doesn’t look convinced, but he turns and pulls the door shut behind him.

“Sorry about that,” I say to a still-silent Brynn, whose eyes have nearly tripled in size since I looked at her ten seconds ago.

“Holy shit,” she breathes. Whether it’s to me or Marlee, I’m not sure. “A mini TK with better hair.” She tears her gaze from the closed door and looks at me. “I didn’t know a TK with better hair was possible.” She blinks a few times, shaking her head as if to jar her brain back into action. “Shit. I’m being so rude. I’ll call you later, Mars.” She nods to whatever’s being said but only says, “Bye,” before hanging up and putting her phone back on her desk.

Meeting people I don’t know is always a special kind of uncomfortable hell for me, but this seems like a whole new level . . . even for me. I don’t know what to say and I want to find TK and wring his freaking neck for not calling Brynn and warning her I’d be coming in.

“I’m so sorry for just dropping in like this. TK said he’d call you and tell you I was coming.”

“Please, you are not the one who should be apologizing right now.” She raises both hands in front of her chest, as if surrendering. “And I swear, TK is one of the most forgetful people I know.”

This information takes me aback for multiple reasons. One, TK has remembered every last detail of everything Ace has told him since he came to my house that first meeting. Which is a lot. Ace never shuts up around TK. Two, the TK I know and have known since I was teenager was my personal recorder. Whether it was something my parents said in passing or notes for our chemistry test, he remembered it all. It’s why he was a straight-A student. It used to drive me crazy. I’d study for hours and barely get a B, and he’d glance at his notes and ace his tests.

It’s why I started calling him Ace.

“He said you might be hiring?” I ask, bracing for the instant letdown.

“I am,” she says, her smile morphing from apologetic back to excited. “I guess TK doesn’t forget everything.”

“I know I’d need to do a real interview, but I’d really love to apply. Not only is this place right down the street from my house, but I’ve heard nothing but great things and I’d love to be a part of it.”

This is all true. I’m not trying to butter her up . . . well, not totally. HERS is a bar owned by a woman and marketed toward women. The waitresses aren’t dressed in cleavage-revealing tees, and there aren’t men taking up all the seats and oxygen, mansplaining and acting like you should be grateful to be in their space.

And after working at the literal opposite for the last two years, HERS is my version of heaven.

Also, working in pants would be a welcome change.

“Do you have restaurant experience?” she asks.

“Umm.” I hesitate.

I know I need to be honest, I’ll have to provide my work history after all, but I’d hate for her to think less of me. For the look of disgust and superiority I’ve became so well accustomed to from the women who’d occasionally tag along with their boyfriend to the club, to make an appearance on Brynn’s welcoming face. But I know I don’t really have a choice. I pull at the hem of my shirt with both hands and avoid eye contact. “Yeah, I waitressed at the Emerald Cabaret for the last two years.”