Page 12 of Playbook
“He just said, ‘thanks.’ Do you think he’ll call?”
“If he has any sense at all.”
The blonde makes a face that’s somewhere between hopeful and nervous, lifts one hand in the air to show her fingers crossed, and then they both peer not so discretely at the other side of the bar.
I follow their gazes to the guy they’re talking about. It’s the guy from VIP, the one in the white shirt. From far away he was handsome, but up close this guy is in a whole other league.
His shoulders are broad and he’s at least a foot taller than anyone else nearby. His brown hair has a mind of its own. One curl flops around his forehead as he chats and talks. He doesn’t run his fingers through it or try to tame it in any way. And I get the sense that’s not because he’s unaware, but because he just doesn’t care.
I’m still vaguely listening to the girls chattering on about him when one of them says, “God, I can’t even imagine what it’d be like to spend one night with Brogan Six.”
The name registers with a sense of alarm. I’m certain I must have misheard them. But I keep listening to see if they'll repeat it.
“I heard he had a threesome with that sports reporter and his fiancée.”
“I heard it was the fiancée and one of her friends.”
I feel like I’m listening to an episode of a really good reality dating show or a really bad daytime soap opera.
“Excuse me,” I interrupt. I’m unable to hold myself back a second longer. Their heads swivel to me. “Did you say Brogan Six is here?”
Instantly I feel silly. There’s no way that could be who they said. I mean, what kind of name is Brogan Six, anyway? I assumed it wassome kind of pseudonym.
They glance at each other before returning their gazes to me, then nod in unison.
“That guy…” I tip my head toward him. “The one in the white shirt with the…” I gesture to my biceps and then to my hair. “Is Brogan Six?” I enunciate his name carefully.
“Don’t you recognize him?” the brunette asks in disbelief. “He’s only the hottest football player on the entire Mavericks team.”
They look to me like they expect me to say more. I shake my head, then go back to sipping my drink.
Alec is taking a long time to get back. He probably ran into someone else he knows. I try to focus on my drink and not stare across the bar, but it’s futile.
Brogan Six.
He’s real and he’shere.
I don’t know what exactly I was picturing my mysterious former box owner would look like, but this isn’t it.
He’s young and attractive—too attractive to need to carry on long-distance relationships with dozens of women. Seriously, what the hell?
God, of course. I see all of his interactions differently now that I know who he is. The way he smiles as pretty women approach him, the lingering hug he gives another woman. He’s a total player. Player isn’t even the right word. He’s a creep. He could get any girl he wants, but apparently, that isn’t good enough. He needs to string them along via snail mail too?
The longer I watch him, the angrier I get.
All of it has me wanting to give this guy a piece of my mind. And you know what? Fuck it. It’s been a day and this guy made mesmell like old lady perfume on top of it. In fact, my purse still stinks. It’ll never be the same.
Alec finally returns, sidling up to the bar beside me. He takes his drink.
“What’d I miss?” He studies my expression, one side of his mouth crooking up. I can’t imagine what my face is saying right now, but it can’t be good because he asks, “Are you okay?”
“Fine. I just saw someone I need to talk to.” I thrust the rest of my drink toward him, so I won’t be tempted to toss it in Brogan Six’s face.
FOUR
There’s a gorgeous brunette staring at me from across the bar.
I noticed her on the dance floor earlier, but she was dancing with some guy so I thought she was taken. I am happy to have been wrong. She has this whole hot girl glare thing going on. I dig it. It’s making it hard to concentrate on the woman next to me who has been telling me about her dog, which she named Brogan. I can’t decide if that’s a compliment or not but the way she’s touching my arm, I think yes.
