Page 16 of Playbook
“I’m a big fan,” he says to me finally, stepping forward and holding out a hand. “Alec Macormick. I work at Channel 3, and this is London Bennett.”
“Alec,” the girl hisses.London.
I like her name. I like her. She’s all fiery and not afraid to walk across a bar and call out a guy she doesn’t even know. I respect it.
Alec clears his throat and stands tall, letting his hand fall back to his side. “Was a big fan.”
“Is everything okay?” Cody steps up beside me. He’s a grumpy asshole, but he has my back and it’s obvious something is going down. I spot Archer eyeing up the situation as well.
“Fine,” I tell him.
“No, it isn’t fine,” London says, shifting her weight and drawing my attention back to her hot as fuck red shoes.
I drop my voice. “I am sorry about the mail. I forgot about the PO Box.”
“You forgot?!”
All right, not the right thing to say.
“I’m sorry.” Short and concise. Say less, Brogan.
She closes her eyes and shakes her head. It makes her long brown hair fall over her shoulders. “I don’t need you to be sorry about the used panties stuffed into my mailbox every day; I just need you to make it stop. Maybe you could let your girlfriends know you’ve moved?”
“I don’t have a girlfriend,” I say dumbly. Did she say used panties? Yikes. Things have really escalated.
“Just hundreds of women with whom you engage in kinky mail play?”
“Kinky mail play?” I mouth the words, barely whispering. I hold my hands out. “I think you’ve got the wrong idea.”
Cody cackles beside me and suddenly more people are listening in. I think I catch one person with their phone out recording. Perfect. Billy Boone will have a field day with this.
“Look, I’m not interested in what gets you off or whatever explanation you’re about to make up on the spot now. Your secret is safe with me, just for the love of god please keep it out of my box.”
And with that, she turns on her sexy red heels and stalks off.
I don’t know what the hell just happened, but I am undone.
FIVE
“Oh my gosh.” Paige is folded over with laughter. I sip my wine, a resigned smile tugging at my lips. Tuesday night happy hour with my best friend is exactly what I needed. I feel lighter than I have in days.
“Shut up, it’s not that funny.”
“You yelled atthisguy.” She holds up her phone and aims the screen at me. A picture of Brogan in his Mavericks uniform stares back at me. He’s holding his helmet in one hand, and his brown hair is sweaty and pushed away from his face. He’s ridiculously good-looking. I’d think this photo couldn’t possibly be real if I hadn’t seen him in person.
Three days have passed and I still feel an odd mix of pride for standing up for myself and embarrassment for yelling at a local hero. Or at least that’s what Alec called him after he weleft the club.
“I’m sure that he’s already forgotten about the whole interaction.” And it’s not like I’m ever going to run into him again.
“Of course he has women sending him their used panties, I mean look at the guy.”
“Oh, I’ve seen him.”
“Better or worse-looking in person?” She sets her phone in her lap and leans forward.
An image of Brogan flashes in my mind. The look on his face as I yelled at him, the way his shirt pulled across his broad shoulders, the warm brown of his eyes. He’s photogenic in pictures (I spent the night after the incident looking him up and scrolling through every picture I could find), but in person, he just has something about him that makes him larger than life, irresistible even.
“Better,” I admit finally. “Probably the hottest person I’ve ever seen in real life.”
