Page 13 of Playbook
Another woman wraps her arms around me from behind, pulling my attention away from everyone else. I can tell it’s Georgia by the pear-scented lotion she’s always wearing.
“Come dance with me,” she shouts over the noise of the club.
“I’ll be out in a few. I want to finish my drink first,” I tell her, looking over my shoulder and lifting my beer to show her I just got a fresh one.
The girl that was standing next to me bumps into her and shoots her a dirty look. “Excuse me, but I was talking to him.”
Georgia flashes me a smile, then gives the girl the same one. Not letting go of me, she says, “Honey, no need to get the claws out. He’s not taking me home tonight.”
The other girl does seem to relax some at that knowledge. It’s a new thing having women fight over me. I hooked up often enough before, but I wasn’t that guy that had a trail of women following me around. I don’t hate it, but sometimes it does feel odd. It’s hard to distinguish whether they’re actually interested in me or just in sex with a pro football player. I know, I know. What a sob story. Trust me, I’ll dry my tears in one of these girls’ tits later tonight. It’s not that I expect sympathy, it’s just weird.
“Excuse me,” I say to the woman with the dog, then I angle my body toward Georgia.
Georgia from Savannah, Georgia. She’s one of the first people I met when I moved here. Archer and I were at a bar near our first apartment—a small place that the team rented for us while we found permanent lodging. She marched up to me, asked me to buy her a drink, and then we spent all night drinking and getting to know each other.
“I can’t believe you’re leaving,” I say to her.
We weren’t ever official or anything, but for about a month we were inseparable. We partied and hooked up. She was a shot girl at a popular spot and knew lots of people. Guys were always giving her invites to big parties and events around town. That’s how I met a lot of people—through Georgia. I have her to thank for the attention I’ve gotten off the field. She took me to parties where I met important people around the city, and with each event I mademore and more contacts. At one of those events I met a woman casting for an underwear model and that’s when things really took a turn.
Suddenly my face, and body, were everywhere. I was Brogan Six—sexiest new NFL player. Also weird. I don’t quite understand how it all snowballed the way it did, but I know I owe Georgia a lot. We fell out of our situationship the same way we fell in, easy and uncomplicated. I got busy with team stuff and she moved on to someone new. She’s not any more ready to settle down with one person than I am.
“I know.” She sticks her bottom lip out and her Southern accent sounds more pronounced when she adds, “I can’t believe this is the last time we’re going to see each other.”
“Yeah, me neither,” I tell her honestly. We were never destined for anything serious, but I’m sad to be losing a friend here. “What does Georgia have that Arizona doesn’t?”
“My family,” she says, sighing dramatically. “My parents are going to cut me off soon if I don’t move back and start learning the family business so I can take it over someday.”
She wrinkles her nose, but a pang of something close to jealousy hits me. What would it be like to have family across the country, begging me to move back, and wanting to gift me something like an entire business? Don’t get me wrong, I know the Holland brothers miss me in their own way and they’d do anything for me, but it’s just not the same. There’s this sense of tradition and generational belonging that I can’t help but wonder, what would it be like to have that?
She moves an inch closer. The other girl leaves with a huff and I decide naming a pet after me might be a compliment but it’s alsoa little bit creepy.
Georgia laughs as she watches her go. Her black hair bounces around her shoulders.
I wrap one finger around a curl. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay over one last time? For old time’s sake?”
“My flight is super early tomorrow. Besides, if I am going to show up at the airport on no sleep, I sort of had my heart set on Merrick being the one keeping me awake all night.” She tips her head toward my teammate. Maybe other people would be offended by her honesty, but that’s just not how Georgia and I have ever been together.
“Yeah?” I am surprised that of all my teammates, it’s Merrick she has her eye on. He’s a quiet guy who doesn’t love going out. He’s actually a nice guy, but he’s got resting asshole face.
“Yeah, he’s got this whole serious, angry vibe about him. I really want to see him come undone.”
I laugh under my breath. “I’m going to fucking miss you.”
She grins. “Me too. I’m the OG Six girl. It’s the end of an era.”
“OG Six girl?” I question, one brow rising.
“Yeah, like Ursula Andress, the original Bond girl. Not Bond’s first lover, but the first after he became Bond, ya know?”
It’s a strange comparison, but I understand her logic.
I glance over my shoulder to where Merrick is standing, hanging back from some other teammates, looking miserable.
“Yo, Thomas.”
His bored gaze slowly moves to mine and he gives me a chin lift as he steps toward me. In the commotion I notice the brunette woman from across the bar is now standing a few feet from me. Her piercing green gaze is focused on me. I give her a half smile that shedoes not reciprocate. But she keeps staring. I can usually read signals pretty well, but I’m not sure if she wants to fuck me or tell me how much I suck. It’s an odd thing, but I do get the occasional football fan who can’t resist telling me that I’m overhyped or shouldn’t have been a second-round pick or whatever other grievance they’ve found in my professional career.
“What’s up?” Merrick asks, drawing my attention away from the pretty brunette.
