Playbook (The Holland Brothers 2)

The following Wednesday night, I’m in the apartment alone while working on an illustration for a client. I get up to take a short break. Carrying my phone with me to the kitchen, I pull down a glass and pour myself some wine. I drink it in sips, stretching my neck from side to side and marching in place while I scroll social media. I sat for too long, and my body is tense from the inactivity.

Finishing off the wine, I set the glass in the sink and start back for my room. My phone rings in my hand. Who even calls anymore except spam numbers? Even my grandma knows to text first, but I freeze when I see the name on the screen. Brogan.

Why is he calling me?! Since our agreement, I haven’t talked to him. I kind of hoped he’d wake up the next morning and change his mind. I don’t think I have the acting skills to pull this sort of thing off.

The phone continues to ring. I have no idea what I’m going to say to him so I swipe to hit ignore, but accidentally hit accept instead.

“Oh shit,” I whisper-hiss, still staring down at the phone. I watch the seconds tick across the screen. I expect him to hang up. Maybe he didn’t really mean to call me. Maybe it’s a butt-dial?

I pick up the phone tentatively and put it to my ear. There’s faint music in the background.

“Hello?” I ask quietly. I don’t want to say it too loud in case he doesn’t realize he called me.

“Hey, London.” That voice. A shiver skates down my spine.

My heart rate picks up and I open my mouth to reply, but I can’t seem to come up with anything.

“You there?” he asks.

“Sorry, uhh, who is this?” I ask, playing dumb while I pull myself together.

“It’s Brogan.” He lets out a low chuckle. “I’ll try not to be too disappointed that you didn’t save your new pretend boyfriend as a contact in your phone.”

“Hi.”

There’s a pause that feels painful, at least from my end.

“Why are you calling me?” I ask. Oops. I guess I’ve lost my tact along with my ability to speak coherently.

Another deep laugh rolls through the phone. “Damn, girl. You really know how to make a guy feel special.”

“Sorry. It’s just that no one calls me except telemarketers and my mom when she wants to guilt trip me.”

“I’m too tired to text,” he says, like that explains everything.

“O-kay.”

“I’m bored, was thinking about you, thought I’d call so we can work out the details for this weekend.” I’m still quiet and he adds, “That cool?”

Back in my room, I sit in the chair in front of my desk. “Yeah, it’s fine. Creepy, but fine.”

“Talking on the phone is creepy?” There’s a hint of humor in his voice and I can almost see the playful smirk on his face.

“Uhh…yeah,” I say defensively. “Nobody calls anymore.”

“I’m bringing it back,” he says. “Old school, just like the letters I wrote you.”

This call, just like him sending me letters, feels like something I dreamt up instead of real life.

“What are you up to tonight?” he asks.

I consider lying because saying I’m sitting home alone by myself drinking wine and working feels kind of pathetic, but then I remember where the last lie got me.

“I’m home. I just poured my second glass of wine, and I’m about to watch Survivor while I finish up a work project.”

“Nice,” he says. “With your roommate?”

“No, he had a date tonight.”

“Mine too. My brother left me alone, and I don’t know what to do with myself.” He sounds so despondent. I bet this man spends very few nights alone.

“You’re home alone on a Wednesday night?” I gasp dramatically in mock shock.

“Eh, it’s fine,” he says. “I have practice in the morning anyway.”

“I wouldn’t have pictured you home by yourself even with practice the next morning. Your brother certainly didn’t think he needed to stay in.”

“I’m trying something new,” he says. “And now that my teammates think I have a girlfriend, I can’t exactly hit up the bars like before.”

“You told them?”

“Just a few of the guys that were at the bar and saw us together. The others will have heard by the end of the week, I’m sure.”

Oh god. I’m going to have to tell people we’re dating. Sierra. My parents. A rush of panic shoots through me and I close my eyes and concentrate on breathing.

“Sorry to hinder your social life,” I say dryly, trying to keep the panic from seeping into my voice.

My sarcasm is lost on him or maybe he just doesn’t know what to say. The line goes quiet. This is the strangest phone call of my life. I’m talking on the phone to Brogan Six. My fake boyfriend.

“How is your week?” he asks, like we’re old friends playing catch-up.

“My week is fine,” I say. And because it seems like the polite thing, I add, “Yours?”

“Not too bad. Practices have been killer as we gear up to play Dallas Monday night.”

I don’t even know how to relate to that. Yeah, my days sitting at a desk and creating graphics for a website refresh have been brutal.

“What are you working on tonight? Another drawing of me?”

“Didn’t you say you wanted to work out details for this weekend?” I ask, pulling his attention back to the point of the phone call.

“Yeah, but first show me something you’ve done recently. I’m curious now.”

With a small laugh, I set the phone down and put him on speaker. Then I pull up a character illustration I did for one of my author clients. It’s an early draft that didn’t make the final cut, so I don’t think she’d mind me sharing.

After I fire it off to him, I say, “Now, let’s talk⁠—”

He cuts me off mid-sentence. “Whoa. You made this. No jokes?”

A small laugh slips free. “No jokes.”

“This is incredible. You’re really talented.”

“Thanks.” The compliment is so simple but sounds so genuine. Then I remember who I’m dealing with. Brogan knows just what to say or do when it comes to making women fall at his feet. “So, this weekend…”

We talk logistics for a few minutes. There isn’t really that much to work out. We decide to meet at the restaurant since he has practice just before and I give him an overview of everyone that will be there.

“Chris, you’ve already met,” I say. “My sister, Sierra, and her fiancé, Ben. Plus our parents. A few of their close friends maybe too.”

“Cool. Sounds fun.”

Is he for real? “Going to dinner with a group of complete strangers sounds fun?”

“I know you, and me and Chris are practically BFFs.”

“Ha!” I bark, and then uneasy laughter follows.

“I’ll be fine. I can talk to anyone.”

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.”

“Can I see more of your work?”

Thrown by the request, I hesitate. “Why?”

“Because I think it’s interesting. What if your family asks if I’ve seen your work?”

I scoff. “They won’t.” They never ask about my freelance projects.

But I send him over another design anyway, this one completed.

“Badass,” he says when he receives it. “Is this for a cover?”

“No, I think he’s using it for some marketing materials to promote the book.” I’m pretty proud of this particular design. It’s a vampire hunter with magical abilities, and the pose is of her staring off into the distance with a look of determination and purpose. Knives strapped to her pants and blood on her hands.

“I love it. Wait, is your job the reason you have the PO Box? For your legions of fans? Do art fans send panties too?”

“Yes, I have it for work, and no. It’s so I can use it as my business address, mostly.” I can’t help but laugh at the thought of people sending me panties.

“You have such a cool job.”

“That feels like a weird compliment from someone who gets paid to play football.”

“You think my job is cool?” he asks.

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“You didn’t seem that impressed the other night.”

“You obviously put a lot of hard work into what you do, and I think that in itself is impressive.”

“Thanks,” he says, then asks, “Highlight of the week?”

“What?”

“What has been the highlight of your week? Totally fine if you want to say this conversation.” He says it in a way that I know he’s teasing, but god is he cocky.

“I had a really great club sandwich for lunch today.”

He snorts. “Fine, fine. I see how it is. And low point?”

“Wait, you didn’t say what your highlight has been.”

He goes quiet for a moment and then says decisively, “I had a nice video chat with my brothers.”

“How many brothers do you have?”

“Four.”

“Four?!”

“Yeah. Do you just have the one sibling?”

“Yep. Just me and Sierra.”

“That’s nice.” He hits the FaceTime video request button.

“Seriously?” I ask. “I thought we were doing this old school?”

“Super old school. Like back when people didn’t have technology and had to talk face-to-face…just through the phone.”

I still don’t accept it.

“Come on, London.” He always uses my full name, and I like the way it sounds when he says it.

“Fine, but if you’re naked or sniffing panties or something, I’m hanging up and then blocking your ass.” I hit accept and his amused face fills the screen.

Shit. I almost wish he were doing something gross because he’s just so hot.

“I question the guys you’ve been talking to,” he says. He holds the phone out in front of him. He’s wearing a gray T-shirt with the Mavericks logo and his jaw is lined with stubble. I can see a little behind him. I think he’s on a leather couch.

“You mean you?” I fidget, wishing I had another glass of wine to take the edge off. I feel a little self-conscious with him staring at me. My hair is up in a messy bun and I have on an old T-shirt from a vacation with my family to San Diego years ago. It’s faded and worn thin. Not exactly the kind of thing women wear to impress a guy like him.

“You talk to other guys, don’t lie. Look at you. You probably have a line at your door right now.”

An unladylike snort erupts from me. “Yep, they’re about to break it down. Help me!”

He laughs lightly, mouth pulling into a big smile. “I know you’re fucking with me, but I promise you, there’s a line even if you don’t think there is.”

I don’t know what to make of that, so I change the topic. “Four brothers, really? That sounds chaotic.”

“In the best way.” He nods. “What has been the low point in your week?”

“I had to do a three-hour training at work on how to avoid phishing schemes,” I say quickly, trying to cruise right by any other questions. “Yours?”

“It’s been a pretty good week,” he says. “But I did have a run-in with Marissa that left me wishing for a quick death.”

“Is Marissa an ex?”

Smiling, he shakes his head. “Masseuse. That deep tissue shit hurts.”

“Somehow I don’t feel sorry for you.” I roll my shoulders instinctively. I could use a good massage.

“Fair.” His smile doesn’t falter. “So, anything else you want me to know for Saturday, girlfriend?”

A lump forms in my throat. Good god, are we really going to do this? I consider telling him not to worry about it, but then I picture walking in alone and facing Chris and having to admit I made it all up.

I’m never lying again. Nothing good comes from it.

I hear the front door of the apartment open, and then Alec’s voice calls out, “Are you home?”

“I gotta go. My roommate just got home, which means his date must have been a disaster. I think we’re good for this weekend. I’ll text you the details.”

“Ah, gossip time. All right.”

I stand, carrying my phone with me. “You’ll be able to keep yourself occupied until your brother gets home?”

“Yeah, I’ll find something to do.”

“Call the next girl on your list and ask her if it’s creepy to call without texting.”

He laughs. “Can’t. I’m a one-woman man now.”

I groan and his laughter continues.

“Later, London.”

“Sorry. Practice ran late.” Brogan buttons the black dress shirt as he comes to a stop in front of me outside of the restaurant.

We’re standing out of view from anyone inside, namely my family. I spotted my parents’ vehicle, as well as Ben’s, so I know they’re all here already.

“It’s okay,” I say. Nerves make my voice sound strained and tight. I’ve spent every day since agreeing to this questioning my sanity. I cannot believe we’re going through with this. I can’t believe he’s going through with this. I really expected him to bail at the last minute.

“You look stressed. Anything else I should know before we go in?” he asks.

“No.” I shake my head and try to clear out my anxiety. “They know it’s new, so they aren’t going to grill you or expect you to remember their names or anything.”

“Mom is Renee. Dad is Wes. She’s a middle school principal and he’s a lawyer.” He grins. “I remember.”

“Sierra is two years younger than me. She’s starting law school this fall. Following in my father’s footsteps. Her fiancé, Ben, is a zookeeper.”

“Got it.” He finishes buttoning his shirt and then starts to unroll the sleeves.

“Leave them rolled up,” I say. “What about you?”

“Me?”

“Your family? I should probably know something about them.”

He gets a blank expression on his face like he hadn’t considered that, then shrugs it off.

“They won’t come up. And if they do, just say you haven’t met them yet.”

“Okay.”

“We’ve got this.” He takes my hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze. Unfortunately, his touch elicits a whole other kind of anxiety. I’m so aware of him and how good he looks and how good he smells and how nice he’s being. It’s too much.

He drops my hand and fixes the sleeves on both arms. “Better?”

Dammit, his muscular and veiny forearms scream professional athlete. “Let’s see one rolled down.”

He doesn’t question my request, just pushes one sleeve down and buttons it at the wrist. When he looks up at me, it’s with one brow arched in question.

My gaze trails up his arm to where his bicep pushes at the material. The man is broad and muscular and there’s really no way to hide it. “Either way is fine.”

“Which does my fake girlfriend prefer?” he asks with one side of his mouth kicked up in a smile. “I think I’d be the kind of boyfriend that would consider those things.”

A snort escapes me before I can stop it. “I prefer anything that makes you blend in.” I wave a hand in front of him. “No one is going to buy this.”

“Your ex did.” He rolls the sleeves back up. The look suits him and what little I know about his personality. He still looks nice, but casual and relaxed.

“In a dimly lit bar for a few minutes.” This suddenly feels like the worst idea I’ve ever had. Does the man have to look so much like a superstar? Maybe my family would believe that I was dating some unknown, unheard of local athlete, but the Mavericks’ hot new rookie?

“We got this,” he says. “No one will know.” He steps toward the restaurant, but I don’t budge.

I don’t believe him, but it’s too late now. “Wait. We should go over our story one more time.”

He cocks a brow. “You’re overthinking this.”

“I just want to be prepared.”

“Or maybe you’re just stalling.”

I start to deny it, but he’s right. We’re here, it’s not going to get any easier, so we might as well get this over with. Anyway, tonight is about Sierra and Ben. Hopefully we can fly under the radar. I didn’t tell anyone Brogan was my date, so there’s a chance they might not even recognize him. I didn’t.

The hostess leads us to the back of the restaurant. My stomach is in knots as I spot our group. In addition to our families, a few of Sierra and Ben’s closest friends have joined, and they’re at a long table.

My mother spots us first, followed by my dad. I feel their heavy stares move from me to my date. I did warn them I was bringing someone, but Brogan is…well, he’s clearly not what they were expecting.

I break their gaze and scan the rest of the table. Chris and Gretchen are cuddled up together, seated next to his parents. Sierra and Ben are at the very end, surrounded by their friends, but when my sister sees me, her face lights up and she points to the two empty seats in front of her.

“Hi, everyone,” I say as I stand behind one of the empty chairs, as far away from Chris as I can manage.

“Oh, thank goodness. They wouldn’t take our orders until the entire party was here,” Sierra says. “I’m starving.”

“I’m afraid that’s my fault.” Brogan steps up behind me, warmth radiating off him. “I was running late, and London was kind enough to wait for me.”

Sierra’s eyes widen almost comically, and her mouth drops open. I feel a twinge of guilt that I didn’t warn her, but there’s really no way to prepare for Brogan Six. He’s a lot to take in. “That’s…wow….Hi.” She squeaks out the last word.

Several awkward seconds pass by while everyone at the table quiets and then just stares at him. I’d be amused if I weren’t also freaking out. Even more so when a big, beefy arm drapes around my waist. “Hi. Good to meet you all.”

That’s when I realize I need to introduce him. Ben notices too and is the first to cut the silence. He stands and extends a hand. “Excuse my fiancée, I think she’s in shock. I’m Ben. You’re Brogan Six.”

“I am. Hi. Congrats on the engagement.” Brogan’s body presses into mine as he leans closer to shake with Ben. Sierra snaps out of it, then lobs a wobbly smile from me to my date. I read the What the hell, Lo Lo? written on her face, but I ignore it.

“Everyone, this is Brogan.” I angle my body to him and say, “You met Ben, that’s my sister, Sierra, and our parents.”

Sierra takes over introducing her and Ben’s friends. A few more people get up to shake his hand, including my dad.

“Wes,” he says. “Glad you could join us.”

“Likewise,” Brogan says. He aims a charming smile at the entire group.

When the formalities are done, I pull out my chair. Brogan takes the last vacant one beside me. He drops a hand to my knee and I jump like someone took a cattle prod to my back. When I glance over, my date gives me a reassuring smile. He leans in and pretends to kiss my temple.

“Relax, we got this,” he says quietly.