Playbook (The Holland Brothers 2)

The event spans the parking lot of the Mavericks’ stadium. Tents are set up along the front and people are everywhere.

Brogan leads me through a private entrance where we’re handed VIP lanyards. It’s weird seeing my name printed on the badge. Somehow that little detail makes it all seem too real.

My date doesn’t seem to notice that I’m in my head, freaking out. Brogan chatters away, pointing out people he knows, introducing me to some, waving to others. He’s well-liked, which isn’t all that surprising. He has some inside joke or camaraderie with everyone from the parking attendant to the coaches. And I feel all their questioning gazes on me like the force of a thousand suns.

But none of that prepared me for the moment we stepped into a group of his teammates.

“Six!” They yell in unison. A couple of them look familiar from the club or the bar, but all together they look so big and intimidating that it’s hard to focus on any one for too long.

Each of the guys is wearing their jersey, showing off wide chests and thick arms. The closer we get, the smaller I feel.

The largest guy steps forward and I gulp as he bear-hugs Brogan, lifting him off the ground and shaking him like a ragdoll. The others laugh it off, so I guess he’s not going to die, but ouch. My bones hurt just watching the interaction. Brogan is six foot three, broad and muscular, and he’s being tossed around like he weighs nothing. It’s impressive really.

I catch one of his teammates staring at me with a curious expression on his face. It’s not disbelief exactly, but he does look surprised. I’m not sure if it’s because Brogan brought a girl or if it’s specifically because he brought someone like me who so clearly doesn’t fit in. The few other women in players’ jerseys have that look. Perfect hair, perfect bodies, perfect smile. I’m not insecure normally, but this is all just a lot.

“Okay. Okay. Down, boy.” Brogan’s voice is tight and he inhales deeply as his feet are returned to the ground. He sounds like he ran a mile…or had the air forced out of his lungs.

“You commanding me like I’m a dog, Six?” the giant asks with a lift of one brow. He has an easygoing smile, but I think he could crush Brogan’s head between his colossal hands if he wanted to.

Brogan obviously doesn’t value his life because he pats him on the head and says, “Good boy.”

That has the guys all laughing again, and Brogan steps back to my side. If he’s going to die, I guess he’s taking me along with him.

Slowly, each of their gazes slides to me. I don’t usually blush, but I can feel my face warming and I have to fight the urge to use Brogan as a shield.

“This must be her,” the giant says. “I thought you were putting us on. Damn, she’s beautiful. What’s she doing with your ugly ass?”

Brogan scoffs. “I’m a fucking catch. Right, London?”

My eyes widen and I open my mouth to speak but I have no clue what to say. Luckily, it doesn’t seem like he’s really expecting an answer.

He continues, unfazed, “But you’re not wrong, she is gorgeous.”

My face is officially on fire.

“These are my teammates,” Brogan says, bringing a hand to my lower back. The light touch keeps me from bolting, but just barely.

“I could have guessed,” I say with a small laugh. I smile and let my stare travel quickly over all of them. “Hi.”

The giant is the first to approach.

“I’m Slade,” he says. “Nice to meet you. Sorry I roughed up your boy.”

“I’m sure he deserved it,” I say, surprising myself with how easily the words tumble out. Then second-guess myself. Maybe I should be quicker to defend my fake boyfriend.

Slade lets his head fall back and he lets out a laugh that makes my insides shake.

“I like her.” He winks at me and smiles at Brogan.

Another guy edges in front of him. “Tripp. Glad to see the rookie here finally screwed his head on right.”

I have no idea what that means so I just keep smiling and lean into Brogan a bit like I’m snuggling up to him, but actually I’m just trying to keep myself upright. These guys are a lot.

“We better get to our spots before the head of PR comes looking for us,” another guy says. “Nice to meet you, London. I’m Cody. Let me know if the rookie needs to be kept in line.”

“Will do,” I promise.

Brogan takes it all in stride. A few of them cuff him on the shoulder as they head off.

One player hangs back. He’s the one that had the curious expression earlier. He has dark brown hair that has a reddish tint in the sunlight and hazel eyes that seem to see through me. He isn’t as tall or as broad as Brogan, but he’s still both of those things.

“London, this is my brother, Archer,” Brogan says with more affection in his tone than earlier.

“Oh.” I glance between them. They don’t look that much alike, though they are both handsome in their own ways. Brogan has a more playful air about him while Archer appears more serious, almost broody. Though he smiles at me now, and I’m rethinking my initial assessment. Charm must run in the family. “Hi! It’s so nice to meet you. I didn’t realize you played for the Mavericks too. That’s rare, right? Two brothers on the same team?”

Archer glances at Brogan and then me. I feel like I’m missing something, but I don’t know what.

“Well, I’m not doing a whole lot of playing lately.” Archer glances toward his right leg and when he does, I notice the hearing aid. When he looks back up, his hair falls back over it. “I’ve been struggling with an ankle injury,” he says. His smile falls and then reappears, though not as believable. “You two were pretty convincing walking in here. I don’t think anyone will suspect it isn’t for real.”

A flare of panic rises, but as quickly as it comes, it goes. Brogan said he told Archer, and it is nice to have one more person I don’t have to pretend in front of.

“Of course not,” Brogan says. “I told you we could pull this off.”

I wonder what those conversations were like between the brothers. Does Archer think this is a terrible idea? If he does, he doesn’t say so now.

“Ready?” Brogan asks, and he looks almost giddy about spending the day pretending to be my boyfriend in front of all these strangers.

“I guess so.” I am not nearly as giddy. Brogan is great, but I am way, way out of my element.

The three of us walk toward the event together, but we’re stopped by a man in crisp black dress pants and a red polo shirt with the Mavericks logo on the left side of his chest, and a lanyard like the ones we were given. He has that frantic energy about him of someone in charge. The clipboard in his hands also is a telltale sign.

“Archer, Brogan,” he greets them and then scans the paper attached to the clipboard. “Archer, you are in the autograph tent, and Brogan…” He looks up and from Brogan to me. “You are in the autograph tent at eleven. Until then, you and your partner can help in the free health evaluation tent. Cody talked to you about the dunk tank?”

“Yep.” Brogan gives the man a nod.

“Perfect. We’ll slot you in there after you finish signing.”

“Thanks, Anthony.” Brogan claps him on the shoulder, and the guy startles a little and stumbles to regain his footing.

“Mingle and have fun!” he calls after us.

“I’ll catch you two later.” Archer turns, walking backward away from us. “Might want to hold hands or at least walk a little closer.”

Brogan’s laughter dies off as his brother gets out of hearing distance. I wipe my palm on my shorts in case he decides to take my hand. He steps maybe an inch closer, but keeps his hands to himself. We talked easily on the drive over, but now that we’re alone again and on display, I can’t find a single thing to say to Brogan as we cross the parking lot.

People are starting to walk around the large circle of tents and activities set up. I have to guess by the sheer space allotted for it that many more people will be coming today. A crowd has already formed at the autograph tent when we pass by it. Young kids are grinning as they get the jerseys on their backs signed, plus hats and footballs, and other miscellaneous items. Some adults are waiting too. They shake hands with the players and pose for pictures.

A local radio station has music going and it provides a euphoric background to the warm summer day.

“What do you want to do first?” Brogan asks like we’re out on a real first date with no agenda instead of on a tight schedule run by the polo-shirt-wearing Anthony. He’s wearing a big grin and looking more excited than his teammates had. “Are you hungry?”

He points at a snow cone truck. Next to it is a food tent with long cafeteria-style tables set up. The scent of hot dogs and hamburgers fills the air as we pass it.

I shake my head and bring my hands up in front of me. While twisting my fingers together, I glance over at him. He looks so comfortable in his own skin. I get that we’re on his turf, so to speak, but there isn’t any environment yet that I’ve seen him look any other way.

And I’m still nervous. I can’t put my finger on exactly why. No one is watching us and his teammates seemed to accept me easily enough, but this feels like a big deal, and I’m wondering if we can really pull it off.

“I have a surprise for you.” That boyish grin of his widens as he turns to face me.

I can’t help but smile back. He has that kind of pull, causing me to mimic his actions without being conscious of it.

“What?” I ask.

“I wasn’t sure how into the whole hanging out with strangers thing you’d be. Or hanging with me for that matter.”

“I’m fine,” I say quickly, hoping to reassure him. The last thing I want is for him to worry about me when he should be working. “I can hold my own and I promise I won’t embarrass you or anything like that.”

One of his dark brows arches and his smile twists into an amused smirk. “You think I’m worried about you embarrassing me.”

“You’re not?”

“That’s funny. Seriously. It’s endearing that you think you could possibly embarrass me when anyone who knows me would say there’s no way you could embarrass me more than I embarrass myself on a daily basis.”

A little of the tension I’ve been holding eases. Brogan’s gaze dips down over me and lingers on his jersey. “You look incredible, and after the way you handled my teammates, I don’t think I need to worry about you junk-punching anyone that gets out of line.”

I arch a brow. He expected people to get out of line? I thought this was a community event.

“No one will mess with you,” he says as if realizing where my thoughts had strayed. “But I feel better about leaving you alone now.”

“Leaving me alone? Where are you going?” The questions come out in a panicked squeak.

We’re standing just past the food tent and my anxiety spikes at being left to fend for myself. Despite his faith in me, I don’t know if I can handle that. What if I say the wrong thing to someone? I don’t know that much about Brogan and his time with the Mavericks.

“I’m not going far. I’ll be right there.” He tips his dark head toward a large white tent in front of us. Signs indicate free health evaluations, and I can see a line of kids waiting to have their hearing and vision tested, and some older folks having their blood pressure taken.

“And where will I be?” Hopefully not in the dunk tank.

He turns then and I do the same. Two women sit at either end of a table with children seated in front of them. Paints and brushes are scattered on top of the table. A little boy has half the Mavericks logo painted on one chubby cheek, and the girl on the other side is going for a pink heart.

“I signed you up to face paint,” Brogan says, stepping closer. It’s hot out, but I enjoy the extra warmth radiating off him. “Is that okay? If you’re not into it, I can tell Anthony that we’re so in love you can’t stand to be away from me for that long.”

I tear my gaze from the table to him. Something about his expression tells me he isn’t kidding. And I can see where a girl might fall for him hard enough for that sentiment to be true.

My mouth opens to reply with some witty, cutting remark, but I can’t find the words. I’m oddly touched that he considered how I might want to spend my time at this event even though I’m here for him.

And the other thing…I think I’m disappointed that I won’t be spending the day with him. Weird. Then again, I doubt any of the children waiting in line are going to ask me about Brogan’s latest stats so that’s a plus.

He’s still waiting for me to say something, so I shake the thoughts from my head. “It’s perfect, actually. Thank you.”

The proud smile on his face makes my stomach flip.

“I’ve never painted anyone’s face, but hopefully it’s not that complicated.”

“I have no doubt that you’ll be awesome at it. Maybe later you can do me.”

Does my mind go straight to the gutter? Yes, yes it does.

“Maybe,” I squeak out, and I could swear by the way he fights to keep his laughter in check that he knows exactly where my thoughts went.

“Jenna.” He looks around me and the woman sitting closest to us lifts her gaze from her work and smiles at him in the way I’m noticing all women do. Even ones that don’t consciously realize they want to sleep with him still are affected by him.

“This is my girlfriend, London.”

His girlfriend. I wonder if I’ll ever get used to him saying it. Likely not before this whole thing is over.

“Hi.” She turns her attention to me and waves a paint brush. She has long blonde hair and a friendly smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“You too.”

Brogan leans in and his scent of cedar and citrus comes with him. “I’ll be in there if you need me,” he says and points again at the tent. “Good luck.”

“Are you sure you don’t want your face painted first?” I ask him, raising my voice over the noise as he moves away from me. Frankly, the practice sounds nice. Also, each of his big steps away from me has me wanting to run after him and attach myself to his side. I stop myself. I am a smart and independent woman, dammit.

But I am not exactly a kid wrangler. Sierra got all the maternal instincts. Kids kinda freak me out if I’m honest.

“You mean do I want you to do me?” He winks. Damn him. He knows exactly what he’s saying, and my face is getting hot again. “Later, sweetheart.”

Blowing out a breath, I watch him disappear into the tent across from me.

Jenna gives me a quick rundown of the brushes and paints, plus a handy sheet with different art pieces the kids can pick. Most of them are pretty basic—footballs, the Mavericks logo that I’ve already seen several little boys and girls proudly wearing, unicorns, hearts, and a variety of other adorable animals.

I’m feeling as confident as one could expect until the first little girl sits down in front of me and demands I make her into a butterfly. She looks to be around four or five, but she has a whole lot of sass and determination in her little body. When I ask if she wants it on the right or left cheek, she corrects me, and that’s how I end up spending way too much time doing a full-face paint. The end result is pretty great, if I do say so myself, but the line has grown exponentially. And one full-face paint turns into another and then another. I get faster with each one, but I’m damn near sweating as I try to keep up with the other two women painting faces.

The kids are bouncing in place impatiently and some of the parents look annoyed.

I stand between customers to wash out my brushes and walk closer to Jenna. She gives me a knowing smirk and I shoot her what I hope is an apologetic one.

“I’m so sorry. I couldn’t tell her no and now they’re all asking for it.”

“Are you kidding? It’s amazing. Look at that line.”

Yeah, that’s what I’m worried about. “I’m going as fast as I can.”

“Don’t sweat it.” She waves me off. “You’re working for free and there are lots of other things they can go do if they’re tired of waiting.”

“Thank you.”

Her smile widens. “You’re good at this. Have you done it before?”

“No. Never.”

“Brogan said you are an artist though, right?”

I don’t know how Brogan knows her so it’s hard to speculate what else he might have told her. Maybe she’s also aware we’re not really dating. Whatever the scenario, I’m filled with pride that he chose to add that piece of information about me when talking to people. It’s silly, but with so many others in my life not believing in my work, Brogan so easily calling me an artist means something. Which is why I don’t give her any of my usual canned responses that I just do freelance work.

“That’s right. Graphic design, mostly illustrations.”

“And now face painting.” She holds up a paint brush with flair.

“My turn! My turn!” A little boy plops into the seat in front of my chair and bounces excitedly.

“I guess I better get back to it.”

She blows out a breath that sends her blonde bangs up into the air. “They’re cute, but demanding.”

After two hours of painting the faces of mostly adorable small children, my time slot is over. I offer to stay since the line has only gotten longer, but Jenna thanks me profusely and then shoos me toward the tent that Brogan disappeared into earlier to “spend time with my man.” I guess maybe he didn’t tell her that it’s all an act.

The health evaluation tent is packed, but I find Brogan easily. He’s in the back right corner surrounded by kids. The only reason I am able to see him is that he’s several feet taller than all of them.

My smile inches higher as I navigate through the crowd toward him. I just knew he’d be wherever the most people are. While one of his teammates is standing behind a table with inflatable footballs and other free swag, looking uncomfortable every time someone approaches, Brogan is laughing and chatting away with a little boy wearing red headphones over his ears at the front of the hearing test line. The boy is sitting in a chair and behind him a man presses buttons. The little boy raises his right arm, then his left in response to the test.

The line for the test rivals the one for face painting, and my guess is that has more to do with the Maverick player helping out than a wave of interest in having their hearing evaluated. My steps slow as I get closer to him. Brogan helps the boy remove the headphones and then holds out his hand for a high-five.

The glee on the boy’s face is so sweet as he smacks his tiny palm against Brogan’s much larger one. I can see now why the Mavericks do this for the community and I have newfound respect for the organization and the players.

Brogan reaches for a roll of stickers on a folding table that blocks off one side of the test area. When the boy stands from the test, Brogan takes one and presses it to the kid’s shirt.

“Nice job, little man.”

“It was just like you said.” The boy grins, showing off two missing front teeth. “It didn’t hurt at all.”

“You were amazing and so brave.”

He bounces off and Brogan turns slightly. His gaze scans over me and the line of waiting kids to my right, then he does a double take back to me as if just realizing who he saw.

As the kid at the front bounds forward and into the chair, Brogan’s smile widens on me. “Hey. How was face painting?”

“It was fun.” I move toward him and then hesitate. “Am I allowed to be in here?”

“Yeah, of course.” He wraps an arm casually around my waist and gives me a little squeeze. “I saw several of your pieces walking around. They look good. No shock there.”

“My pieces?”

He points toward a girl in line with the Mavericks logo on her face.

“Oh. Thanks. I was kind of slow and the others were way better at it, but I enjoyed it.”

“Take the compliment, sweetheart.”

It’s the second time he’s called me that today and my stomach does this weird flip. I like it. I think if this were for real, it would fit us.

He keeps smiling at me and we are in a stare-off until the kid in the chair singsongs, “Can I have a sticker?”

Brogan’s stare holds on me for another moment before he turns back around and drops his arm.

“As soon as you’re done with the test,” Brogan promises.

I stick close and try to offer the kid a reassuring smile as the woman giving the test explains that he’ll wear headphones and she’ll play a series of sounds and he’ll raise his right or left hand depending on which side he hears it. The kid looks a little nervous now despite being so eager and confident before.

“It’s a piece of cake,” Brogan says as he places the headphones over the boy’s ears with care. “Ready?”

“I don’t know…” He glances around. “What if I don’t pass? Sometimes I listen to the TV too loud and my mom says I’m going to hurt my ears.”

Most people, myself included, would probably blow off this kid’s concern and promise that everything is okay. But Brogan doesn’t do either of those things.

He squats down in front of him. “This isn’t a pass or fail test. It’s just to get more information.”

“But what if I can’t hear?” He puts both hands over the headphones protectively.

“You know what? My brother is deaf. He can’t hear well, and he’s still the coolest guy I know.”

“He can’t?” The boy’s eyes widen.

“He wears a special device on both ears to help, but without them, you could be shouting behind him, and he wouldn’t know. Being hard of hearing or deaf doesn’t mean you can’t do the things you want. He plays football, watches TV…and he uses his hands to communicate. What’s your name?”

“Michael.”

Brogan signs something then says, “I just said ‘It’s nice to meet you, Michael. My name is Brogan.’”

“That’s so cool. It’s like a secret handshake. Can you teach me?”

“I’d love to, but this nice lady has a line of kids waiting. Think you’re ready now?”

The boy nods and his face grows serious as he wiggles in his seat to sit straighter.

Brogan chuckles, pats the kid on the knee, and stands.

My heart melts to the floor.

It goes on like that for a while. Some of the kids are eager; others are nervous. I stand next to Brogan, observing more than helping. He’s good with the kids. He knows what to say or do to put them at ease. He’s funny and goofy, which most of the kids love, but the ones that need more reassurance get that from him too.

About twenty minutes before his turn at the autograph tent, another player arrives to take his place. Brogan leads me outside and we’re immediately engulfed in people. The sun is high in the sky and it’s a perfect blue-sky day without a cloud in sight. Which also means it’s hot.

In the food area, we grab lunch. I get a hot dog and chips, and Brogan gets two hot dogs, a hamburger, chips, and a large pickle. We sit in the shade next to a couple of misters. There are a few other football players also eating, but they’re scattered around among everyone else.

I’m surprised to notice that nobody approaches the players, even though they’re mere feet away from them. They all seem to want to respect their time while they eat. That doesn’t stop them from staring though.

“I don’t know how you ever get used to this,” I say as I open my bag of chips and do my best to pretend people aren’t watching us. Him, really, but me by extension.

“What?” he asks, completely oblivious. He takes a huge bite of the hot dog while he waits for my response.

“Everyone staring all the time. Is it always like this?”

He nods while he chews, then takes a drink of his water before saying, “Yeah, I guess so. But it’s all pretty new. No one was doing much staring before I was drafted, so I don’t mind. It’s a novelty that’ll wear off, I’m sure.”

The shrug that accompanies that answer is so him. So casual and unaffected by being the center of attention. It’s not like I don’t think he enjoys it. He obviously does. But he seems to have a good awareness that it’s this fleeting, amazing thing instead of it being his entire personality and reason for existing.

It makes me like him even more. He could easily let it all go to his head, but he hasn’t, and I hope he never does. He’s a really cool guy—words I am shocked to think.

“Your brother…Archer. He’s the one you were talking about with the little kid, right?” I ask, then add, “I noticed the hearing aid when you introduced me earlier.”

“Yeah. That’s right. He’d probably kill me for sharing so much, but he really is the best guy I know, and I don’t want kids to be freaked out by people that are different than them. People find out someone is deaf or has some other disability and that becomes their entire personality. I’ve seen it happen to Arch, seen the way he’s fought against it since we were kids. He learned to read lips because so few people around him knew ASL. He compensates a million different ways so that people don’t feel like they need to give him special treatment.”

“I get that.”

“Me too, but it’s bullshit. We should be happy to make simple alterations to accommodate people that need it. Everyone should learn sign language. At least the basics. And…” He stops. “Clearly I could go on and on about this. Sorry.” He offers a sheepish smile and then takes a huge bite to finish off one hot dog.

“No, you’re right. The world would be a much better place if we all had a little more empathy.”

He grins at me, mouth still full. We finish our food with neither of us mentioning Archer again, but I’m still thinking about what Brogan said as I watch him sign jerseys and hats for adoring fans and after when we head over to the dunk tank.

His brother is there and when he spots us, his smile widens.

“Shouldn’t you be doing something useful?” Brogan asks him as we stop in front of him. They have this teasing banter, but it’s easy to see how much they care about one another just in the easy smiles and goofiness they both slip into.

“And miss this?” Archer shakes his head. “Not a chance.”

Brogan sighs and glances at me. “I’ll be back in thirty minutes. If I don’t see you when I’m done, I’ll shoot you a text.”

My brows tug together.

“In case you want to walk around or whatever.”

“And miss this?” I ask, parroting Archer’s words.

Brogan lets his chin fall to his chest and chuckles. “Perfect. Only our second date and my girl is going to watch me make a fool of myself.”

“She might as well get used to it,” Archer says.

Brogan punches him in the arm as he walks away. Archer moves to stand beside me, still laughing quietly. “Are you having a good time?”

I remember what Brogan said about Archer reading lips so I angle myself so it’s easier for him. “I am actually. It’s obvious a lot of time and consideration went into planning it. Do you do a lot of big community events like this?”

“This is only the second one we’ve had to attend since we joined the team, but I think the Mavericks front office does a lot more.”

“Do you guys hate doing them?”

“It’s not that. I think it’s a great idea. It’s just…being forced to do anything makes it a little less fun.”

Brogan is getting into the tank now and sitting on a ledge with his feet dangling into the water. His grin is so wide you would never know that a minute ago he was worried about making a fool of himself.

“Does he know that?” I ask as I tip my head toward where the first kid is about to toss a mini football toward a target.

“He doesn’t know how to not have fun. In case you haven’t already realized that.” Archer’s smile speaks of a fondness and bond that cements what I already knew—they’re close.

“I think I’m starting to get that,” I say with a small laugh.

Archer’s face goes serious, still smiling but there’s a warning too. “Don’t let him fool you, though. He acts like everything is great even when it’s not.”

“Oh.” I glance back at Brogan. I feel like there’s more he wants to say, but doesn’t. “Is there something I should know?”

“No. You already know he’s struggling with his reputation.”

I nod because I do. Seeing him in action today, I’d forgotten. It’s easy to be with him and lose sight of our reasons for doing this.

“I’m glad you two are helping each other,” Archer says. “But I hope when it’s all over, this fake relationship won’t have caused more damage than it fixed. For both of you.”

“Me too. I promise to keep that in mind.”

He offers me a smile, and I can feel the weight of his relief. He cares about his brother a lot. I guess I’d feel the same if it were Sierra in my shoes.

“Speaking of helping…” I motion toward Brogan. I’ve been hanging back all day, not fully committing to this whole act. But the reminder of what’s at stake for him, has me moving toward the table where they’re selling chances to toss a ball at the target. “Want to help me dunk my boyfriend into a tank of water?”

One side of his mouth lifts. “Definitely.”