Fumbled (Playbook #2)(81)
Her perfectly filled and arched eyebrows go straight to her hairline. “You weren’t?”
“No. I was a waitress at the Emerald Cabaret, but it’s not a strip club . . . and I still never stripped.”
“Where’d you get she was a stripper?” Vonnie asks Aviana what I’m thinking.
“It’s on all the blogs.” She shrugs again, like this isn’t a big deal at all.
Blogs.
With an s. Multiple blogs.
I suck in a sharp breath, feeling like my cocktail is going to reappear all over the table. “Blogs?” I whisper, not because I don’t want other people to hear but because my lungs are frozen and it’s all I can manage.
“Oh shit.” Vonnie lifts her hand in the air and motions for Charli to come back.
“Yeah.” Aviana pulls out her phone, her rhinestone-encrusted nails flying across the screen until she turns it to me. “See?”
I recognize the bold, hot-pink script of Baller Notice right away. It’s burned into my brain from when Rochelle shoved it in my face to get me fired.
I take the phone from Aviana’s hand and Vonnie leans over, reading along with me. I almost correct Aviana, I’m not sure a forum can really be considered a blog, but I also figure specifics aren’t what’s important here.
What’s important is this “Is TK Moore dating a stripper?” thread with over three hundred comments, complete with pictures.
Pictures of me at training camp side by side with pictures of me in my Emerald Cabaret uniform.
“Oh my god.” I breathe, scrolling through the thread, scanning over the comments like a madwoman.
Some are saying I’m pretty, some are saying I’m fat and fug. A few comments about TK liking the swirl and wishing they would’ve tried their luck. Then one stands out of the crowd saying I’m a single mom just looking for a check.
On one hand, I’m kind of glad they haven’t pinged TK as Ace’s dad. I don’t need them all up in our history, something I’m pretty sure these Internet detectives are capable of. On the other hand, it pisses me right the hell off that I’ve been pegged as some money-hungry woman looking for a free ride.
I hand Aviana her phone back with a little more force than necessary.
“I’m so sorry.” She tucks her phone under the table. “I swear, I had no idea you didn’t know.”
And I believe her.
Her tanned skin has a bit of a green undertone to it now, and her eyes are glassed over like she might cry.
“TK’s mom came by after the first game. She just dropped by my house unannounced and pretty much ripped me to shreds. She’s hated me since I was a teenager and has worked her hardest to get TK to leave me. She thinks I’m scum.” I hurry up when I see the confused faces staring at me. “Sorry, the point being, I’ve dealt with people thinking shitty things about me before. I really don’t care what a bunch of strangers say about me on the Internet. I’m not talented enough and I lack the confidence to be a stripper. I don’t think being called a stripper is an insult, I just wasn’t one.”
I force a smile, somehow becoming the comforter in this situation.
“And I think a reality show here would be awesome, I’m just not one for the limelight, but I’ll totally be in the background, sipping a drink while you guys flip tables and shit.”
Aviana starts to laugh, her coloring returning to her original shade of sun-kissed goddess when I realize Charli and Brynn are both behind me and heard the entire thing.
“Fucking Lady Mustangs,” Brynn mutters under her breath. “I’m bringing a pitcher of margaritas over.”
“Margaritas sound good,” I say.
“Lady Mustangs!” Dixie’s Southern twang calls out at the same time lights from the cameras positioned around the room turn on. “Welcome to our first meeting of the season!”
Then, like the glittered ghost of Sadie is haunting me, Dixie lifts a sparkly gavel in the air before slamming it onto the table and causing a mini explosion of glitter.
“What is happening?” I say out loud this time.
Vonnie’s eyes dance with humor, and Aviana pulls her lips between her teeth to stop from laughing.
Charli lifts her freshly filled glass to her mouth and whispers, “Fucking Lady Mustangs.”
Then the reality star, blogger, student, and stripper all start to laugh.
And cameras capture it all.
Thirty-five
“You look gorgeous,” TK whispers in my ear just before we enter the private dining room in the basement of Beatrice & Woodsley, a restaurant I’d never even heard of before Vonnie texted me that we had reservations at eight.
“Thank you.” My red-painted lips tip upward as I bask in his compliment.
I don’t tell him I better look good, considering Brynn and Sadie invaded my house throwing dresses on me and yanking them off until they decided on the tight black dress with a high neckline and a higher slit, and shoved me in the highest heels I have. Then they pushed me into my bathroom and painted my face like they were Leonardo da Vinci and I was their muse in desperate need of work.
He links our fingers together and guides me into the room echoing with laughter and the sound of one or more bottles popping.
“Poppy!” Vonnie cries when she sees us walk in. “Girl, you look hot!”