Fumbled (Playbook #2)(48)
I take a hesitant step back. Sadie on a rampage is a dangerous thing, and getting glitter out of my curls is impossible. “Um . . . what?”
She puts her hands on her hips and stomps one platform-heeled foot on the cracked cement sidewalk. “Did you have a fun morning? Do anything exciting?”
Oh. Shit.
But how? We just got home!
“I was going to—”
“No,” she says, cutting me off. “I’m not doing this out here. The emergency rosé is in the trunk.” She waves her hands in front of my face as she walks past me, opening my gate with her foot. I accidentally inhale a strong whiff of nail polish and glue that makes me a little light-headed. “I was at the nail salon when I found out and left without properly drying my nails, so you have to grab it if you want it. And by that, I mean grab it, because I have a feeling I’m going to need wine with this conversation.”
I follow her direction because . . . well . . . glitter bombs . . . and the guilt of my best friend finding out about me and TK from anybody besides me has me feeling so awful I’d do just about anything to make it up to her.
I walk into my house and she’s already on her favorite corner of my couch with two glasses on the table and holding her phone—which might as well be a freaking gun with the way she’s waving it around—in her hand.
“Fucking training camp!” she screeches as soon as I turn the deadbolt on my door. “Not only are you apparently on speaking terms with TK again, you’re going to training camp and kissing on the fucking field!”
“Whoa.” I plop down on the couch and twist open the cap on the wine. “Since Ace isn’t here, I’m not going to make you put money in the swear jar.”
“Poppy, I swear to God, if you don’t—” She stops when her voice starts to quiver and swipes her hands across her cheeks.
Oh crap.
Sadie doesn’t cry.
She masks her pain in pink and glitter and sarcasm.
But she doesn’t cry.
“Oh my god. No. Don’t cry!” I shove the glass of wine into her hand.
“Why wouldn’t you tell me about this?” she asks. The hurt in her voice is enough to cut me.
“I was going to, I swear. It just happened so fast,” I try to explain, even though now that she’s in front of me, I know I should’ve reached out. “The day before Phil fired me, TK saw me at the park during Ace’s soccer tryout. Of course, this happened at the end of practice because the only luck I have is the bad kind, and Ace ran up to us. When TK saw him, he finally pulled his head out of his ass and realized I wasn’t lying. Then that night, he showed up at the Emerald Cabaret when I was walking to my car. We talked and set up a time for him to meet Ace.”
With every word that comes out of my mouth, the glassy sheen of tears coating Sadie’s eyes starts to fade and they widen in sync with her jaw dropping.
“Wait . . . so Ace saw him too?” she asks, blindly setting her glass on the table.
“Yeah, he was so starstruck. But the thought of TK being his dad obviously didn’t even cross his mind . . . even when TK was staring at him like a freaking weirdo.” I roll my eyes and shake my head, thinking back to how uncool TK played that meeting. “Anyways, someone saw us . . . or more specifically, saw TK and snapped some pictures. Rochelle found out about it and told Phil that the Mustang players weren’t coming in because of me and that’s why he fired me.”
I see the puzzle pieces starting to shift into place for her, and I keep going when she doesn’t say anything. “So TK came over on Monday to see Ace. He brought Ace a truckload of Mustangs gear and we went out to eat. They hit it off. They love the same food and movies. TK was clinging to every word Ace said like he couldn’t get enough of him and Ace thinks TK hangs the stars.” I fight to keep the hearts out of my eyes and my voice from turning to mush, but I know I fail enormously when Sadie slumps into the cushion and holds her hand over her heart. “TK ended up staying over . . . no, not in my room,” I clarify when she sits up straight and her mouth opens to no doubt ask if we slept together. “But we talked that night and he invited us to training camp and oh!” I remember that I haven’t even told her I’m not longer unemployed. “He knows the owner of HERS—”
“That cute-ass restaurant down the street?” she asks, cutting me off, a giddy smile on her face as she bounces so hard on my couch that the cushions around her fall to the floor.
“Yeah, that one.” I’m pretty sure my smile matches hers. Good news isn’t something I’m usually privy to, so I’m enjoying this immensely. “So Brynn, that’s her name, Brynn, she hired me on the spot when I went in the other day!”
“Shut up! That’s amazing! You have to tell me when you work so I can come see you . . . and try a cocktail or two.” She’s been hounding me about trying HERS out one day, it’s just when I had days off, I never wanted to go out. So my new J-O-B benefits both of us. “So what else?”
Damn. I thought that was a lot. “What else is there to say?”
“What do you mean, ‘What else is there to say’? Are you insane? The most eligible bachelor in Denver just helped you get a job, invited you to training camp, and has been hanging out with your son.” She crosses the small space between us and grabs my face so hard, I’m ninety percent sure I’ll have finger indents on my cheeks. “Your son together with TK!”