Page 9 of Not By the Playbook

I giggle, and the tension in my neck uncoils the slightest bit.

Fifteen minutes later, we roll up to McCann’s corporate headquarters, the glass and chrome building that may house my future. I need, need, need this job. Right on cue, the woman who holds my destiny in her clutches strides to us. Someone from building security opens the rear door for Jenna, and she glides in with grace. I am both envious and impressed, It looks like no time has passed since this morning, not even a hair is out of place.

“Good evening, Rebecca, Logan.” Her crystalline accent matches the sleek edges of her cheekbones, another feature she shares with her brother.

I look over my shoulder and smile in greeting as Logan reverses out. “Hi, Ms. Barnes. Jenna.”

“Hey Jen,” Logan says. He skims the digital clock on the dashboard. “A minute and a half late.”

Jenna looks heavenward and shakes her head. Logan smirks and merges in with the traffic zooming by.

“I’m looking forward to meeting your parents,” I say.

“Mm-hmm,” Jenna murmurs. I look back, her attention is fixed on her phone screen.

An awkward silence reigns. My opportunity to wow Jenna with my wit and I have nothing. Logan is no help. All his focus is on the road—a good thing I suppose. Still, so much for being comrades-in-arms.

When we cross into Long Island, Jenna’s the one who initiates conversation. “So. How did you two meet?” Her gaze finds Logan’s in the rearview mirror. “Forgive me, but I wouldn't have guessed you ran in the same circles.”

I knew we should have rehearsed something.

I rush to answer when Logan doesn’t immediately respond. “Umm…Funny story, that…” My legs cross. Then uncross. I press clammy hands on my skirt so as not to repeat that action. Darting a look at my supposed co-conspirator, I swear I see his shoulder shake.

Logan finally gets with the program and flashes a quick grin my way. “We met at a club.” He places his hand over mine on my thigh, clearly visible from the back seat. I try not to squirm.

“My friend was having a…a going away party.” Jenna doesn’t need to think clubs are part of my regularly scheduled programming.

“They were getting drinks when a couple of guys went up to them,” Logan continues.

I’m this close to rolling my eyes, given that it was he and his friends who had approached us.

“They were making such nuisances of themselves.” I slide a look at him.

His lips twitch, his attention still on the road. “And of course, I stepped in like a knight in shining armor.” He starts to warm to his story, “She didn't know I was this big football hero—”

“And then we got talking,” I interrupt before he can sprout more bullshit.

Logan chuckles softly and squeezes my hand. “And the rest, as they say, is history,” he ends.

We are saved from more fiction-on-the-fly when Jenna's phone rings, and the rest of the drive passes in relative peace, except that Logan's fingers are still threaded through mine.

* * *

We pullinto the driveway of a Long Island home, a two-story brick structure in a gated community. The front door stands open, and a tiny woman in a green silk top and grey slacks is waiting. I assume she is his mother when she embraces me as soon as we’re out of the car. “Rebecca! I'm so, so pleased to meet you.”

I’m caught off guard at the effusive welcome but flip on a faux smile. “Mrs. Barnes, hello.” I wonder which of the Barnes siblings warned her I was coming to dinner.

“Call me Rhonda,” she says. “I can't remember the last time Logan brought a girl home!”

“Neither can I,” Jenna murmurs, low enough that only Logan and I can hear, but none of her angst seems directed to me.

“Oh, I'm not that bad.” Logan gives his sister the side-eye while he hugs their mother.

He introduces me to his dad, George. Logan and Jenna clearly get their looks from him because familiar blue eyes assess me, but his are free of the suspicion both his offspring dealt me earlier today.

Rhonda ushers us into the huge living room that screamsArchitectural Digestwith its oak floors, cream walls, and vaulted ceiling. Logan strides over to a deep red velvet couch and pulls me down beside him while Jenna takes a high-backed accent chair to his right.

“It will be a few minutes before dinner is ready. George, get the kids drinks.” Rhonda perches on the edge of the loveseat across from us.

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