Fumbled (Playbook #2)(79)

I narrow my eyes. “Mountain Dew is disgusting, but I know plenty of women who drink it and you know I’ll snack on some jerky and candy bars . . . especially the king-size ones.”

This is also true. It doesn’t even matter if I’m not a fan of the candy, hand me anything in its king-size form and I’ll eat it.

“I know.” He walks around the bar even though Brynn is right there and drops a quick kiss on my lips. “But it’ll all be gone when you get home. Hence it being a man snack.”

I shake my head, trying not to be mesmerized by the crinkle of his eyes and the lingering sensation of his beard against my face. “You’re an idiot.”

“You love it.” He winks, turning before I can confirm or deny it. “Can I borrow your key? I forgot mine because you were rushing me out the door.”

“It’s in my purse in the back.” I point to the office door. “Next time you forget yours, I’m going to put it on a necklace for you.”

“I do look good in jewelry.” He sticks his tongue out like a toddler before turning to walk away. “Later, Brynn.”

“Later!” Brynn waves. “Tell Ace I said hey.”

“Will do,” he calls over his shoulder, oblivious to the way the heads of the customers turn and follow his fine ass through the front door.

I’m not oblivious.

But I can’t be mad.

He does have a fantastic ass.





Thirty-four




I don’t know what I was expecting a Lady Mustangs meeting to be like, but I can say, with one thousand percent certainty, I did not expect this.

It’s my own fault, really.

Brynn, Charli, and Vonnie all tried to warn me. But did I listen? Nooooo. And this is what I get.

I figured after training camp and the couple of games TK’s weaseled me into, not much could shock me.

Again.

So freaking wrong.

“I’m scared,” I whisper into Vonnie’s ear.

When we show up at the games, everyone is in their designer jeans, fancy purses, and blinged-out jerseys. And when I say bling, I don’t mean a few rhinestones glued on. No. These things are cut and manipulated and doused in crystals. Not rhinestones, CRYSTALS. This is not some Hobby-Lobby, I-got-bored, crafting crap either. I’m talking spending hundreds and hundreds of dollars on a football jersey. They’re tailored to fit perfectly around their curves, the V-neck is cut a little—or a lot—deeper, some have ruffles added to the bottom, others are turned into straight-up dresses worn with heels that are also bedazzled with a heart and their player’s number on them. Dresses and stilettos at football games! I might be a slight hater because they are gorgeous, and I will never admit it to Sadie, but even I love a little sparkle.

So with all the extra-ness I’ve seen at the stadium, I didn’t think there was a chance in hell it could be upstaged. I mean, HERS is just a small restaurant-bar in Five Points.

But when I walked in, after passing by all the Mercedes, BMWs, and Porsches lining the pothole-riddled street, not only was I met with the usual designer-covered women with their hair long and flowing and their faces polished, but there was also a camera crew.

Not like a “Say cheese!” camera. Like a “Put this mic on and let us interview you!” camera.

What. The. Hell.

“Girl, bye.” Vonnie brushes me off. “You better order another cocktail and settle in, we haven’t even gotten started yet.”

My eyes bulge out of my head at this news. We’ve already been here for forty-five minutes. “How long do they go?”

“Feels like years, but usually two or three hours.” Charli drains the remnants of her Skinnygirl margarita . . . which should’ve been the first sign I was in trouble—you know, after Brynn’s repeated warnings of “Poppy, you’re in trouble!”—since I’ve only ever seen Charli drink wine. Tequila should’ve sent sirens roaring.

“I thought you said Jane took over?” My eyes find Jane, but she doesn’t look like she’s going to take charge. She looks like she can’t wait to get off the clock and drown in tequila her damn self.

“Jane brings clipboards.” Vonnie points to the table in the corner covered in about ten clipboards.

“What does that even mean?” I hiss.

“Jane just sets up the activities,” Vonnie starts to explain. “Tennis lessons are always there, you can sign up to host at your house for an away game, there’s probably a painting and drinking night, then the rest are different volunteer opportunities. I always sign up for the food drive before a game and the fashion show. The first makes me feel like a good person, the second makes me feel fancy and drunk.”

One could never fault Vonnie’s reasoning.

“Okay, so if we just have to sign our names on clipboards, then how does this take so long?”

“They need footage to play on the news before some of the events and to add to the Mustangs website,” Vonnie says in a way that I know I’m not the first person who has asked her.

“On the news!” I almost come out of my chair. I so did not sign up for airtime. “For what?”

“Brynn! Poppy needs another drink!” Vonnie shouts across the room and false-eyelash-rimmed eyes turn to me.