Page 20 of Playbook
I received your letters. Consider this your read receipt. My box being panty and perfume-free is all I need, so thanks, but no thanks to the dinner or drinks. Might I suggest you invite one of your other pen pals?
London
It’s the weirdest letter I’ve written in my entire life, but I don’t take time to rewrite it. Instead I fold it and rummage around until I find a stray envelope that probably went with a greeting card I never sent. Once it’s addressed and stamped, I feel better. Sayonara, Brogan Six.
The following Tuesday, I get another letter. My surprise and annoyance quickly turn to amusement as I read. He’s funny. I don’t remember that about him.
Dear London,
Would you believe me if I said I’ve never written back to any of them? Well, none that sent panties. There are occasionally other types of mail I get. Just the other day I got a letter from Conner in Missouri. He said he was my biggest fan, so I sent him a jersey and a signed photo. Wait. Does that make me sound cringe? I hope not,but honestly sometimes it feels cringe. It’s still weird to me that people want my autograph.
Anyway, I know you said it was fine but I feel like I need to make it up to you. Since I’ve forwarded the mail, I’ve gotten an idea of what you were dealing with and I’d say that deserves a drink or maybe I should just buy you an entire winery? Let me know.
Brogan
Brogan,
An entire winery, wow. Okay, fine. I want that. In case there aren’t any good wineries looking to sell, I sent something along. Now we’re even.
P.S. It’s a little cringe, but also nice? Please tell me the signed photo was from your underwear modeling ads?
London
By Friday, I’m opening my mailbox with so much anticipation and excitement hoping for another letter. I’m enjoying this letter war entirely too much. I don’t know what that says about me, but when I spothis now familiar handwriting, I am downright giddy. He’s different than he seemed in person. Though to be fair, I didn’t give him a lot of room to say much when we talked at the bar.
London,
What kind of pervert do you take me for? Actually, don’t answer that. I definitely didn’t send a child a picture of me with a sock stuffed in my underwear.
Speaking of underwear, I was delighted that you sent along your grandmother’s. I can only assume that’s who these belong to? I haven’t seen good quality white cotton like this since my second-grade teacher came back from a bathroom break with her skirt tucked into her underwear.
No, I’m afraid we still aren’t good. I’ll keep an eye out for wineries for sale. Do you prefer something small—a hillside mom and pop, multi-generational operation where college kids go on the weekend to get drunk—or something more upscale where people dressed in suits say things like “this has a hint of oak”?
In the meantime, I’m sending tickets to assuage my guilt. Hopefully that’s not also cringe. If it is, then sell them and buy yourself a nice bottle of red. At least then I’ll have bought you the drinkI owe you.
Brogan
“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” I mutter to Alec, and then give my apologies to everyone already sitting in their seats as we shuffle past them to the center of the row. We’re late. We were in line for drinks at kickoff, and now that we’re finally down here, people are leaning right and left to see around us.
I’m still clutching the tickets in my hand. Honestly, I keep waiting for someone to stop us and tell us the tickets are fake or we messed up the seat numbers.
“I can’t believe I had to talk you into this.” Alec sits first. His eyes are big, taking it all in, and his smile is huge. “These seats are incredible.”
“We’re so close,” I say, stomach flipping. The Mavericks players not on the field are in front of us, their blue and red uniforms lined up down the sideline. Look, I know Brogan Six isn’t going to run by on the field and happen to look over at the fifty-yard line to check if I’m here, but we’re close enough that he could. And that makes me nervous. I didn’t want to accept the tickets, but once Alec found out, he wouldn’t hear of me not using them.
He had his own selfish reasons, of course. He’s a huge sports fan and turning down good seats to a game is like blasphemy.
“I could spit on the field,” he says.
We’re ten rows up, so yes, technically he probably could, but at the risk of hitting someone.
“Please don’t.” I let my gaze roam over all the blue jerseys. I don’t even know what position Brogan plays or what number he is, so looking for him in the sea of blue feels futile.
Alec chuckles and then leans back, taking a drink of his beer. “Do you think if you get more mail for him, he’ll get you moretickets? I mean, it’s not such a bad trade. You bring him his used panties and I get to go to games for free.”
“Whatever plan you’re concocting, don’t. I am here because I’m a fabulous roommate, but don’t push it.”
Alec’s warm laughter continues.
