Fumbled (Playbook #2)(88)

When I got home from the hospital on Monday, Ace was asleep, Mrs. Duncan was gone, and Sadie, Vonnie, Charli, Aviana, and Brynn were all sitting in my living room. Brynn, bless her heart, came with a few bottles of wine she’d snagged from HERS.

So of course, this made me burst into tears . . . again.

Sure, Sadie was my girl and I knew I could always depend on her, but I’d never had this. I’d never had a tribe.

After the tears stopped, I told them my story with TK. Most of which Sadie had heard, most of which none of the other girls had a clue about. They sat there, not saying a word, just refilling my glass when it emptied and passing me tissues as I spoke.

By the time I was finished, Brynn’s wine contributions were depleted and my personal stash had been opened. They didn’t try to change my mind—well, not right out, at least—and Vonnie stayed after everyone else had left while I packed up TK’s stuff for her to bring to her house.

TK called the next day. I told him where his stuff was, and since he was going to be out for the next few games and the team had an away game this weekend, we decided he’d pick up Ace from school on Friday and he’d stay for the weekend.

So not only did I lose my boyfriend, I’m losing my kid too.

And I’m flipping out.

“I’d be fine if you guys would stop watching over me like I’m about to snap!” I snap, realizing belatedly that I proved their point.

“Mmm-hmmm,” Vonnie says from her barstool. “Tell us again how fine you are.”

Charli, Sadie, and Aviana giggle. Jacqueline, who was not informed of the details of my jacked-up life before she was forced to come babysit me, looks uncomfortable.

“Whatever.” I roll my eyes, thrilled it’s Friday and busy enough so I’m not stuck with these well-meaning bitches all afternoon.

I load up my tray with half-priced drinks, thanks to happy hour, and escape as fast as I can without dousing myself with vodka and beer.

“Let me know if I can get you anything else.” I shove my notepad into my apron and grab the now empty tray when I hear the bell over the door sound. I turn to greet the new customers, but when I’m met with a familiar face, the words die in my throat.

Now, the reason I remember customers at HERS is because I like them. The reason I remember customers from the Emerald Cabaret is because they gave me the creeps. There weren’t a ton of them, but there were a few, and one of those few is Jacob from one of the last bachelor parties I worked.

Jacob and two other men walk in and stop at the hostess station. Jacob’s eyes roam the restaurant and completely overlook two other waitresses before settling on me. A small smile touches his lips and the same feeling of unease I felt with him at the Emerald Cabaret snakes down my spine.

I mean, he’s handsome enough, tall, blond hair cut short and neat, and a decent physique. He and his friends are all dressed similarly—nice trousers and button-up shirts with no tie or jacket—so I’m assuming they are coming in after work. Of course, two people are out with the flu today, so I have no choice but to quiet the alarm blaring in my brain that he might be a serial killer and cross the room to greet them.

I mean, really, what are the chances he was sober enough to remember that night and recognize me with my curls and real clothes?

“Hey!” I say with a little too much pep in my voice. “Would you like a table or a seat at the bar?”

“Bar’s good,” Jacob answers for the group, and I brighten, knowing I won’t be alone with them since the only other people at the bar are my people.

“This way.” I turn, guiding them to the bar, then gesturing my hand at the empty seats. “Take a seat wherever.”

They settle, leaving a few empty seats between them and Charli, and I hand them menus. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“I’ll have whatever beer you have on tap,” Jacob’s friend or co-worker or whoever the hell he is to him says.

“Me too,” his other friend says.

“Good choice.” I smile and mean it.

Given that HERS was built for women, we have more martinis and wine than we do beer. But also, because it was built for women, the beer we do have is the shit. Brynn told me she finds a new local brewery every few months, does a tasting, and then orders from there. She said it’s as much about buying local as it is supporting her brothers and sisters in small business.

Just another reason to love Brynn.

I don’t have to write down their drinks to remember them, and when I look at Jacob, the glint in his eyes makes my stomach knot.

“You don’t remember my drink?”

Crap.

“Sorry?” I decide in a split second playing dumb is the way to go.

“Serena, right?”

I mean, what are the freaking chances?

“No, I’m Poppy,” I correct him, regretting giving him my name the second it leaves my mouth.

“I know. Poppy Patterson, TK Moore’s new piece, which is why you weren’t at the Emerald Cabaret last time I was there and asking for you.”

I hear his friends snicker and feel my friends’ eyes on me, but I can’t tear my gaze away from Jacob. A smile, or more like a snarl, pulls on the corners of his mouth and he’s watching me like I’m some wounded animal he’s about to attack.

“What?”