Playbook (The Holland Brothers 2)
Chapter 19

“You really didn’t have to do this,” I say for what is probably the hundredth time in the span of the twenty minutes since Brogan arrived at my parents’ house.

It’s been a week since I saw him last, but we’ve talked almost every day. Stupid things, a text to tell me about something one of his teammates did or to ask me to show him my work or a funny reel. I hate to admit it, but I kind of missed him.

“Are you kidding? I love family get-togethers.” He’s grinning so big that I believe he’s one hundred percent telling the truth.

I lead him through the kitchen and outside where most everyone has gathered. Sierra and Ben are in the pool, as is my aunt Corinne. Grandma is kicked back on a lounge chair with a big sun hat covering most of her face.

“Want to swim?” I ask him. He has on red swim trunks that show off his thick, muscular thighs.

“Yep. Are you wearing that sexy red lingerie again?”

“I have a suit,” I say, not bothering to mention, let alone think about, that night in the pool with him.

At the sound of the back door slamming shut, everyone turns. My steps slow. I can feel their gazes. Neither of my parents said much about me dating Brogan. I think they were too shocked and didn’t really know what to say.

“Too late to turn back now, sweetheart,” Brogan whispers, that cocky smirk never leaving his face. “They’ve seen me. Better act like you like me.”

“I do like you,” I say. Over the course of hanging out the past few weeks, I’ve come to realize what a good guy he is. A helpless flirt and an unapologetic playboy? Yes. But he’s hard not to like.

At my admission his features light up.

“I’m still not sleeping with you,” I add because I can read the look on his face. “But being your fake girlfriend isn’t so bad.”

He smacks my ass, trying to play it off as cheeky flirting, but the shock on my face makes it a little less believable.

“What the hell?” I whisper-screech. “What was that for?”

“For saying that being my fake girlfriend ‘isn’t so bad.’” He shakes his head. “I’m a fucking great fake boyfriend.”

“And so humble too.” A small laugh leaves my lips.

He winks. “Now be a good girl, sweetheart, or I’ll have to put you over my knee later.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” I narrow my gaze on him.

The look he gives me—he would. He so would.

By the time we reach the table where my parents are sitting with my uncle Steve, my face is poised back in a smile, and Brogan and I are holding hands.

“Hi,” I say as they stare shamelessly at him. “Uncle Steve, this is Brogan.”

“No shit,” he says. “Your parents told me you were seeing each other, but I thought they were joking.”

He laughs and my dad joins in too. My uncle stands and extends a hand across the table. “Nice to meet you. Hell of a game today.”

“Yes, sir, it was.”

Oh shit. I totally forgot to ask him about it.

“Did you win?” I look over at Brogan.

My family’s laughter makes heat bloom in my cheeks. Brogan’s smile widens, but he doesn’t look offended that I didn’t keep tabs on him. I was too busy freaking out about him hanging out all afternoon with my family.

“By a landslide,” Uncle Steve says. “That run you made in the third quarter was a thing of beauty.”

“Thank you, sir.” He almost looks embarrassed by the compliment. A look I wasn’t sure he was capable of.

“I’m going to go put on my suit,” I say, needing to extract myself from the questioning gaze my mother is shooting me and the hero worship on everyone else’s face. The man walked right into a houseful of his biggest fans.

“Want me to come with you?” Brogan asks with a wink. “I can help.”

“I think I can manage,” I say, wanting to murder his ass. Doesn’t he know you don’t basically proposition a girl in front of her parents? My face grows warmer. Oh my god. Does my dad think Brogan has seen me naked? Of course he does, because he thinks I’m really dating him. Groan.

I hightail it away from them, leaving Brogan to fend for himself. Something tells me he isn’t going to have any trouble managing on his own.

In the kitchen, I grab a glass and fill it with water. Sierra hurries in after me. A towel is wrapped around her wet body and she’s dripping on the floor.

“Oh my gosh. You two are so cute together,” she gushes.

“I cannot believe you blackmailed me into bringing him. Did you see Uncle Steve? He’s probably getting his arm signed so he can tattoo it.”

“No, but I wouldn’t put it past Grandma.” Sierra motions with her head out the window where our grandmother has a hand on my boyfriend’s bicep. Even from this far away I can tell she’s flirting with him.

“Dear god, no wonder I don’t date.” I catch myself. “Didn’t date.”

“I think it’s sweet.”

“You would.”

The sound of car doors shutting out front draws my attention.

“Who else is coming?”

She pulls her bottom lip behind her teeth looking guilty as hell. Panic flares even before I know why I’m panicking.

“Don’t be mad, but Ben invited Chris and Gretchen.”

“Sierra!” How many times am I going to be blindsided by my ex? Two years without running into him and now he’s freaking everywhere.

“I know. I know. I’m sorry. He really wants you two to bury the hatchet before the wedding.”

“We’re fine,” I say, waving her off. “We don’t need to bury anything.”

She’s not having it. “You can’t even be in the same room together.”

“Which is why we’re fine. As long as we don’t have to see each other, everything is great.”

Sierra tilts her head to the side and gives me a sympathetic smile. “Do you want me to tell him to get lost?”

I’m fairly certain she would if I asked her to, but then that puts her in a tough spot with Ben.

“No.” I sigh.

“If you change your mind, say the word.”

I won’t but the offer is nice.

“Look at it this way, he gets to see how happy you are, and you get to rub it in his face. I mean, you’re dating a freaking professional football player.”

“Right,” I say, not trusting myself to say more. Even if it weren’t all fake, Chris is too full of himself to be bothered by me dating anyone.

I shake off my irritation. Today, and until the wedding is over, at least, I am going to be the bigger person. After that, I can go back to loathing him and hopefully never seeing him.

“I love you, Lo Lo.” She throws her arms around me and squeezes me tight as the front door opens.

I meet Chris’s gaze through the headlock she has me in. His brows inch higher in amusement that speaks of a familiarity with Sierra’s and my bond. Sierra steps back and then lifts a hand. “Hey! So glad you two could make it.”

While she rushes forward to properly greet Chris and Gretchen, I empty my water glass and set it in the sink.

I take a cleansing breath before I attempt to play nice.

“Hi.” The bubbly word comes out a little too forced.

“I love this neighborhood.” Gretchen scans the living room with a smile. “Baby, we should totally look at houses over here.”

Luckily, I know how much Chris detests the traditional southwestern style houses in this neighborhood, because if he moved in nearby, I’d have to spend my weeknights egging his house.

“Yeah, maybe,” he says.

I want to snort at the dismissive way he plays it off.

“Excuse me,” I say, leaving them in Sierra’s much politer presence.

In my old bedroom, I go to the dresser and pull out my swimsuits. I keep them all here since my apartment doesn’t have a pool. None of the options feel appropriate. Too-small bikinis I bought because they were good for tanning, and old ones that are too tight in the butt since it got bigger after the rest of me stopped growing.

I have to remind myself that it doesn’t matter. Brogan isn’t some guy I’m interested in. There’s absolutely no reason to try to impress him.

I pick a black one-piece that I bought to do water aerobics with Grandma last summer. I mistakenly thought I needed something more appropriate than a string-tie bikini. But I only wore it once because when I showed up the first day, half the old ladies were rocking bikinis and tankinis. Plus, I figured if I was going to brave the heat, I should at least get a decent tan.

When I walk back out into the kitchen, I pause at the window. Brogan is sitting at the table with my parents while everyone else is in the pool.

Perfect. I let out a long breath. I guess it’s showtime.

Outside, I head straight for Brogan. His mouth curves up when he spots me. I slide into an empty seat next to him.

“Nice day,” my dad says, turning his face up to the sky. It is a beautiful day. I love the fall in Arizona when the temperatures start to drop from unbearable to just hot.

“What’s Alec up to today?” Mom asks. “I’m surprised he didn’t tag along.”

My mom loves Alec. He lets her fawn over him like a mother hen, something Sierra and I stopped allowing years ago. And he’s completely himself around her, giving her all the gossip and insight into his dating life.

“He’s at a company picnic.”

“For Channel 3?” Her brows knit in confusion.

My anxiety arises at the mention of my job. Me and my big mouth. “Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you go?” she asks, leaning forward in that way that tells me she has an opinion about me skipping a company function.

“Because I’m here spending time with my family.” And because I didn’t want to see everyone in the stupid shirts I designed. My attempt to play it off like it’s not a big deal isn’t working.

Dad shifts in his seat. “Social events are a great way to rub elbows with the executives, network and make connections. It shows loyalty and initiative.”

“It’s just a picnic.” Irritation slips into my tone. He wants to believe that all companies and managers treat their employees with respect and loyalty but that’s just not true.

Dad’s gaze quickly darts to Brogan and then back to me. Whatever he wants to say, he’s tempering his words for my boyfriend’s benefit.

“How can you expect to move up in the company when you don’t make an effort? Your generation thinks things are just going to be handed to you. That isn’t how it works.”

“I know, Dad. I do. I work really hard at my job and I’m thankful for it, but I’m not even sure I want to move up. I think I’d rather work for myself.”

Both of my parents sigh, quietly, but their disapproval is so loud.

“You want to spend the next thirty years scraping by and worrying about getting work? Being your own boss is nonstop. The job doesn’t end.”

Mom is never as vocal as Dad in her disapproval, but they are a united front. She has this downturned mouth, worried expression every time we talk about it. “Very few artists are able to support themselves,” she says.

Dad jumps right back in. “You have to get your own health benefits and keep track of your finances, do your own taxes⁠—”

“I know,” I cut him off. My face heats. The last thing I want is to have this conversation in front of Brogan.

When I glance over at him, he’s got a sort of shell-shocked expression like he’s trying to figure out what’s happening. I rest my hand on his. “Want to take a dip with me?”

“Yeah.” He’s quick to agree. I can’t blame him. I want to get far away from this conversation too.