Playbook (The Holland Brothers 2)
Chapter 13

I’ve never been to a dinner with parents before. Not like this. Two families with both parents, everyone happy and laughing, having a good time. The only one not having fun is London. She sits next to me, quiet and pushing her food around her plate.

The parents are in a conversation about a new pickleball court; Sierra and Ben’s friends are talking animatedly and laughing, and Sierra is watching me with her sister carefully. I’m not sure she’s totally buying us together because London looks miserable.

“So how did you two meet?” Ben asks, draping one arm around the back of his fiancée’s chair.

“Ooooh. Yeah, I want to know too.” Sierra sits taller.

I reach for my water glass and take a drink while I wait to see how London is going to react. A flash of panic crosses her face and I drop one hand to her thigh under the table. I meant it to be reassuring, but she jolts in her seat at my touch.

“Do you want to tell them or should I, baby?”

Her eye twitches a little at the endearment. “Go ahead, pookie.”

I can see we’re going to have to workshop some better nicknames. London shifts in her seat, reminding me I still have my hand on her bare thigh. Her green dress is just a few shades lighter than her eyes.

She’s close with her family. I can tell that, even if she’s barely spoken to them tonight. It’s a peculiar thing, watching them all interact. I don’t think I ever went out to dinner with my parents. Not once. Not even to McDonalds or some other cheap fast-food place. And while I shared plenty of meals with the Holland brothers and their mom before she passed, the dynamic here is different.

When we all sat down I expected some Hallmark-style dinner where everyone talked and shared stories, and while for the first twenty minutes or so it was sort of like that, there’s a nuance to how it’s evolved as the dinner has continued.

The parents are having their own conversations and we’re having ours. I think it must take a certain kind of security that I’m unfamiliar with. London and Sierra don’t worry about engaging the parents or fight for their attention; they’re content to just sit at the other end of the table and be together.

“We met at a club,” I say finally.

“You went to a club?!” Sierra asks her sister, and it’s clear that’s out of character for my girlfriend. Interesting.

“With Alec,” London clarifies, perking up slightly.

“Ah. I should have guessed.” Sierra nods, then waits for me to continue.

“I took one look at her and knew I had to get her number.” I glance over at London.

Her lips press together like she’s fighting a physical reaction that’ll give us away.

“That’s a bit of a stretch,” she says. “He had a line of women vying for his attention. It took me almost five minutes to approach him.”

“You approached him?” Sierra is even more surprised by this piece of information.

London stills like she realizes she’s made an error. I doubt she wants to tell them the truth—that she was coming over to yell at me because she was getting my mail, including other women’s panties, which by the way—still weird.

I cut in to save her. “She thought I was someone else.”

“Who?” Sierra is hanging on every word.

London hesitates for only a second before she decides how to answer.

“I thought he was this guy I know from work.” A slow smile lifts one corner of her mouth.

“She was calling out, ‘Dave! Dave!’ and waving at me.” I do a dramatic reenactment that has Ben and Sierra laughing.

“Only you wouldn’t recognize Brogan Six,” Ben says, giving his head a shake and me an apologetic smile.

I catch the wary gaze Chris is shooting us. Ignoring him, I shift my chair closer to his ex-girlfriend.

I like that she didn’t know who I was. I got to see unfiltered London in a way I don’t always get from people who know that I’m a professional football player.

“What’d you do?” her sister finally asks me.

“I was confused at first, but I wasn’t letting her go without buying her a drink.”

“You mean the drink you spilled on me?”

My smile hitches up as London finally comes alive. There’s a spark in her eyes that’s been missing all night long. She’s getting into the story, weaving a tale that’s part truth and part fiction.

“I’m a lot of things, but clumsy isn’t one of them,” I say, looking into her eyes. The dark green color continues to remind me of four-leaf clovers and the bright green of grass in the spring.

“Someone must have bumped your arm, then.” She doesn’t break my stare.

“Must have.”

We’re only about a foot apart and both leaning in. I don’t know if she’s acting or not, but I’m happy to play my part. My gaze drops to her lips. Tonight they’re painted a pinkish-red that makes them look poutier than ever.

“Then what happened?” Sierra’s question finally drags my attention away from London.

Suddenly everyone at the table is listening in, enthralled. Me too. Chris is the only one that doesn’t look happy to hear the story of how we met. I don’t know if it’s because he’s jealous or just annoyed by me. Either way, I do my best to ignore him and focus on London.

“We spent the whole night talking and dancing, getting to know each other. We closed the place down and then I took her to breakfast.”

“London doesn’t like breakfast food.” Chris pauses with his glass up to his lips.

Well, shit. I said too much.

“I like some breakfast food,” London says with a little grit in her tone. “And besides, I would have agreed to anything to spend more time with him.” She places a hand on my forearm.

I stare down at her fingers. Her nails scrape against my skin as she pulls back and I feel a tingle roll down my spine.

“Awwww.” Sierra’s voice brings me back to reality—the one where we’re only faking. I pretend to be smitten, but it’s not all that hard honestly. I smile at London’s sister, and we share a nice moment. I like her. I like how happy she is for her sister. She lets her head fall over onto Ben’s shoulder as she says, “That’s so sweet.”

The rest of dinner goes by without any more questions for us. Conversation turns to Sierra and Ben, people asking about details for the wedding: has she picked out her dress, what kind of reception are they having, what color scheme is she using, and on and on.

Most of the questions are fielded by Sierra, and eventually Ben turns back to me to talk football. Turns out, he’s been a fan of the Mavericks a long time, and by the end of the dinner, the only person in London and Ben’s families that I don’t like is Chris. Even his girlfriend seems cool.

We stand from the table and I shake hands with Ben while London hugs her sister. Chris and Gretchen stand off to the side. Even if I don’t like the guy, it isn’t in me to be rude, so I go over to him and extend a hand. “Good to see you again.”

He eyes my hand for a moment like he’s trying to figure out how to politely tell me to fuck off, then grasps mine with more force than necessary. What a prick. I smile at his girlfriend as I step back. “It was nice seeing you again too.”

“Bye,” she chirps, completely oblivious to the glare Chris is shooting in my direction.

I guide London through the restaurant with a hand at her back. When we’re outside, I say, “Well, I’d say that went pretty well.”

She hurries down the sidewalk, heels clicking with her short, quick steps. Once she’s a good twenty feet away, she glances back like she’s checking to make sure we’re alone and then exhales.

“Thank you,” she says.

“For what?”

“I don’t know…being convincing. Although I feel terrible lying to my sister. I could tell she likes you.” She fidgets with her hands in front of her and her mouth twists into a concerned pout.

“I like her too.” We reach my truck parked next to her car. I walk her to the driver’s side door of her car and open it. “Not bad for our first fake date. Although I almost blew it there by saying too much. What kind of person doesn’t like breakfast food?”

A short laugh accompanies her smile. “It isn’t that I don’t like it, exactly. I just prefer other foods. I like French toast!”

Leaning against the frame of her door, I smile back at her.

“And croissants.”

“You like sweet breakfast food then?”

“But not cereal or pancakes or waffles or…” She trails off with a shy smile.

“No, keep going. I’m making a list in my head.”

“What’s your favorite breakfast food?” she asks me instead of continuing with her likes and dislikes.

“I’m not picky about food. Most mornings I have a protein drink with oatmeal and peanut butter in it.”

She wrinkles up her nose.

“It’s good.” That might be overselling it, so I tip my head to the side and say, “Okay, maybe not good, but it’s an efficient way to get protein, carbs, and fats, and I can drink it on the drive to the stadium.”

The breeze blows her hair into her face, and she pushes it back with one finger, still smiling at me. “I like my coffee for the same reason. I get my essentials, caffeine and sugar, in one delicious mug.”

Our laughter drifts off and we continue to stare at each other over the top of the door.

“So…” she says finally.

I’m replaceing I don’t really want to leave. I enjoyed hanging with her tonight, even if the circumstances were odd. We don’t have any other fake dates set up to see each other again and though I hadn’t planned on it, I replace myself asking, “Do you want to come back to my place?”

Her lips part, then she closes them again. “As your fake girlfriend?”

“Just to hang. Nothing official.”

“Thank you for that.” She waves a hand toward the restaurant. “You were great. My sister and Ben loved you, and I appreciate that you were so chill about everything. Especially considering I was so nervous.”

“But?” I know she’s not coming home with me by the look on her face, but I still want to hear why. Maybe I can change her mind.

“I’m exhausted and tomorrow I promised to help Sierra with flowers for the wedding.”

“Ah,” I say, shoving my hands in my pockets. She’s blowing me off, which can only mean that she’s just not interested. Major bummer.

“When is your next team event?” she asks.

“A week from today. I’ll send you the details.”

“Great,” she says, but she looks nervous. “Do all your friends and teammates know about us now?”

“Archer is the only one that knows the truth.”

“Your brother and roommate?”

I nod. “Yeah. I tell him everything.”

“And everyone else?”

“Most of my teammates have heard through the rumor mill at this point.”

She presses her lips together to stifle another laugh. “I wouldn’t have thought football players liked to gossip.”

“Oh, they’re the worst,” I tell her. “Big fucking mouths, all of them. Especially my buddy Tripp.”

More of that sweet laughter trickles out of her.

I finally move away from her car and step back toward my truck. “Later, lover.”

“Oh, god no. That’s worse than baby.” She shakes her head as she ducks into the car. “Good night, honey.”