Page 89 of Play the Last Track
“Would you coach pro ball? You’d make one hell of an offensive coordinator. You know your shit.”
I think about his words as my eyes travel over the small crowd that’s still left. It’s nearing the end of the night. Most of the guests filtered out the moment the girls took to that microphone. Some of our teammates and Scott’s parents remain, looking over the dance floor with amusement.
Katie’s blonde hair is a mess of curls. She’s holding her dress up in one hand and her shoes have been tossed to the side. She’s laughing, her face flushed and her eyes bright. She’s happy.
I want to see her happy every day, for the rest of our lives.
“I think I’ll stick close to home for a while.” I smile as I watch her, and when her eyes lock on mine and I watch her bite down on her bottom lip, the air gets knocked from my lungs. “Maybe I’ll learn how to pour beers and spend all day staring at my girl.”
Beside me, out of the corner of my eye, I see Scott grin and shake his head. “You’re fucking worse than me.”
I’m about to dispute his comment when I hear a squeal over the music and then cheering from the teammates that are left on the dance floor. They’ve been egging on the girls all night.
I look up, my eyes finding Katie immediately. She’s standing on the fucking bartop, dress hitched up, microphone in her hand. She laughs, catching herself just before belting out the chorus of the song playing at the top of her lungs.
I watch, completely entranced as she throws her head back and sings. Her voice isn’t in key, she’s not trying very hard, and she keeps stopping to laugh. But she’s having fun.
That is, until I see her slip a little, looking like she’s more unsteady on her feet than I realized. I move at the same time as Scott, because Ivy’s decided she wants to join in on the bartop fun.
“That’s it. Calling it,” he grumbles as we head toward the bar.
“Yup, one of them is going to break a bone.” I swipe Katie’s shoes from the ground as we walk past them. When I reach her, I look up, my hand shooting out to grab her ankle in an effort to help keep her upright. “Let’s go, Rockstar. Time for bed.”
“No,” she whines, crouching down on the bartop so she’s almost face-to-face with me. “Don’t be a party pooper, Reed. I’m having fun.”
Next to me, Scott is gently coaxing Ivy from the bar. She gets down willingly.
“You’re going to break a bone if you’re not careful. Then who’s going to be the breadwinner of the house?” I point to myself and wink. “Unemployed, remember?”
“NFL money, remember?” She pushes a playful hand against my chest. I grab it, tugging her toward me. She comes willingly, letting me pull her off the bar and into my arms.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Katie
June
Thesunbeatsdown,blue sky stretching above us with not a cloud in sight. I sip on an iced-cold strawberry soda, my legs kicked up and ankles crossed on the curved bar at the back of the cart. The club’s cart girl just left, serving us these soda drinks and restocking the snacks that Ivy and I brought along for the day. She sits next to me, her Kindle on her lap, and she sips gently.
I stick my arm out, the warm sun heating my skin as I turn my arms over. The bracelet Flynn gave me for my birthday sparkles in the sunlight, and I smile. My eyes dart over the green to where the boys stand, both in shorts and polo tops, leaning on golf clubs as they discuss something in quiet voices.
Flynn was cleared to work out and play low-impact sports a month or so ago. He immediately decided golf, where he’s swinging a club back and forth in a repetitive motion, was going to be his new thing.
I lost my boyfriend to the golf course, and it hasn’t given him back, so the only logical option was to join him. Naturally, as Scott was being dragged along with Flynn in his new sporting venture, I dragged Ivy along.
“The sun feels nice today,” I say, my sunglasses sitting low on my nose.
Ivy doesn’t look up from her Kindle, taking another small sip of her drink as she gives me a non-committal hum.
I look back at the boys. Flynn is waving an arm around, pointing out towards the course and the hole they are currently trying to aim for. They’re both terrible at golf, but bless them, they try.
“What do you think they talk about all day while they’re out here?”
“Scott says Flynn just babbles about all the jobs he thinks he might try.”
I sigh. “He still keeps saying he just wants to be a bartender.”
“That would be hilarious.” Ivy snorts, finally laying her Kindle down in her lap and looking over at me. Her hair is tied into a high ponytail and she’s wearing a matching golf skirt to mine, just in white where mine is blue. Of course, we had to dress the part. “I think he should coach.”
