Page 30 of Playbook
I nod. “Yeah.”
“You want to grab lunch?”
My stomach twists and growls at the same time. “Yeah, but something light.”
“So no tequila shots?” He bites his bottom lip as he fights a smile.
Fucker.
“You’re lucky that Wren was with you or you would have beenshit-faced too.” He took this new girl he’s been seeing out for the second time in a week. I think that’s a record. She seems cool enough. She’s hot and nice and all that, I’m just not sure she’s as into my buddy as she is hanging out with professional athletes.
But Arch isn’t an idiot. If he’s cool with that, then so am I. And it kept his ass out of trouble last night so there’s that.
“Maybe I need a girlfriend,” I say, feeling about a hundred years old. I could have ducked out early, spent the night in my bed with a gorgeous woman. Archer might be on to something.
He laughs loudly, head falling back as he shuts his locker. “That’s funny.”
Shouldering his bag, he pauses as I stand there staring at him. One brow rises. “You’re serious?”
“Well, I was, but your reaction is offensive. I could have a girlfriend.”
“You haven’t had a girlfriend since high school and that lasted, what, two months?”
“That’s because you’re my one true love,” I tell him, joking but also not. I’ve never met anyone that I like spending time with more than Archer. Casual has always been the best compromise because, well, sex. I love my buddy, but I don’t want to fuck him.
“Same, but I’m not going out with you.”
“You’d be so lucky,” I tell him.
“Speaking of chicks, whatever happened with that girl from the club you invited to the game? London.”
“We texted back and forth the other night, but I think the whole women sending panties to me through the mail thing scared her off.”
“No?” He gasps dramatically. Fucker. His lips curl into a smile. “Wren has some friends. Want me to ask her to set something up? We could double-date.”
“Nah.” I shake it off. “I’ll be fine. I just need to stay out of trouble.”
How hard could that be?
NINE
“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Sierra’s eyes are big with genuine concern as she clutches our mother’s old wedding dress to her chest.
When we were little and would play dress up, Sierra always gravitated toward the strapless white princess dress. I preferred our old Halloween costumes. I’m not sure what hidden meaning that points to about our characters or personalities, but I know it means that the dress has always been hers.
“I’m positive,” I tell her sincerely. “It’s yours. It always looked better on you anyway.”
“I can save it for you after my wedding,” she offers.
“Nah. That’s okay. If I ever get married, I think I want to go and pick out my own dress.”
“Oh, not me. When I close my eyes and picture walking down the aisle, the only thing I imagine is this dress.”
“Then it’s definitely yours.” I smile at her. “You’re going to look perfect.”
She stands and holds the dress up in front of her. She looks so much like our mom that it really does seem like it was made for her. Both she and Mom are several inches taller than me with dark blonde hair and bright blue eyes.
We’re at our parents’ house in their room. I’m sitting on the bed while Sierra rifles through the old oak chest with all the wedding stuff and some other sentimental mementos like our baby blankets and Dad’s old letterman jacket. Neither of them are here. They’re off with friends for a weekend in Pine Top.
