Playbook (The Holland Brothers 2)

“That was the luckiest fucking throw I’ve ever seen,” Hendrick says as we sit around the bar. He has one arm around his wife, Jane, and the other is draped on the table, fingers around the beer bottle.

Knox and his girlfriend, Avery, are across from them, and Archer and I sit at the ends. They all drove up for the first home game of the season. It was a trip knowing they were in the stands tonight. Sure, they came to lots of our college games, but this was different. It was special. Family making time for family.

I glance at Archer to see if he feels that too, but I can’t read his expression tonight. He’s not even trying to keep up with the conversation like normal. Because of his hearing loss, he usually watches closely to read lips or we sign for him. But he’s not watching for either. He’s been battling an ankle sprain all week and didn’t get the minutes he wanted tonight. I think he’s disappointed, but it’s just the first game. There will be lots of opportunities for him.

“The throw was lucky, but the catch was all skill. I’ve got good hands,” I say with a smirk, signing too, just in case Archer looks up.

The entire table laughs. Knox rolls his eyes. “I didn’t think your ego could get any bigger. Guess I was wrong.”

“A nationwide underwear ad will do that to a guy.” Jane leans forward on her elbows, but angles her face so Archer can read her lips. “Tell the truth, did they make you stuff your crotch?”

“You cannot ask other guys about the size of their dick, wife,” Hendrick says, then to me, “Don’t answer that.”

I keep my mouth shut until he looks away and then mouth to Jane, “All me.”

She giggles good-naturedly. She’s about as interested in my dick as Hendrick is, but she’s fun. I miss her. I miss all of them.

“How’s Flynn?” I ask. It’s his first week of college classes. It feels weird without him here.

“Good,” Knox answers. “Or that’s his standard answer when I ask anyway.”

Baby Holland has never been that talkative, which I’m sure is annoying the shit out of Knox now that they’re a thousand miles apart.

“Yo, Ave. Did you catch that backflip in the end zone?” I ask Knox’s girlfriend, and then take a long gulp of my beer. I swear it tastes better tonight after catching the game-winning touchdown.

“I sure did,” she says, smiling. Her blue eyes sparkle with pride.

She’s a gymnast, and when I got drafted by the Mavericks, I asked for some tips on perfecting my touchdown celebration. It was between a backflip and a little dance I choreographed myself. I guess my dance moves left something to be desired.

My phone is buzzing in my pocket. It has been nonstop since we got here.

“I’m gonna grab another beer. Anyone else ready for another?” I ask, glancing around the group.

Archer is the only one that raises his hand, and I slip off to the bar to get our drinks. While I wait, I pull out my phone.

Unknown

Hey, it’s Sabrina again…

That uneasy feeling claws up my spine. What the hell does this girl want? Her texts, what I’ve read of them, don’t read flirty, but I have no idea why else she’d be so insistent to talk to me.

Not for the first time, I consider replying and asking…shit, I don’t even know what. Who are you? How’d you get this number? What do you want?

It probably doesn’t say a lot about me that I assume it’s something bad. Since I got drafted, nearly all random emails, calls, texts, and even snail mail have been bad news.

Sure, a few friends from high school have reached out to say congrats or ask for tickets to a game. That, I don’t mind. It’s the people who I know don’t give a shit about me and still think they deserve something from me that make it hard to trust some random stranger reaching out to chat.

I close out of the text from Sabrina and navigate to another unknown text as the bartender hands me my beers.

“On the house,” he says. “Great game tonight.”

“Thanks, man.” I dip my head to him in appreciation and shove all the cash in my wallet in the tip jar. I used to bartend back in Valley while finishing college. It was a cool job. I liked chatting up people and the energy on a busy night when The Tipsy Rose was the place to be.

I’d say I miss it, but nothing is as cool as getting paid to play football.

As I carry the beers back to the table in one hand, I return my focus to my phone. I stop in my tracks as I read the two texts from London.

I damn near trip over my chair as I reread them, shuffling back to my seat.

“Walk much?” Knox asks dryly, catching my chair before it topples over.

“Shit, sorry.”

My smile grows as I take a seat.

When I finally look up, everyone is staring at me.

I slide Archer his beer and he shoots me a puzzled look. “Georgia?”

I’m glad to see him engaging in conversation a little even if he still looks bummed. “No. You remember that chick from the club?”

“The one who thought you were buying used panties?”

“One and the same,” I say with a wince.

“Gross, really?” Jane asks with a look of horror on her face.

“I don’t,” I clarify. Then I explain the situation with the PO Box. I got it after the underwear ads started popping up. I started getting a lot of mail and didn’t love the idea of people having my real address. Archer and I had a good laugh over a few of the letters from women who asked for a lock of my hair or detailed out the things they’d like to do to me (or me do to them), but then I just stopped opening it. It was too much.

Arch and I moved shortly after and I closed the PO Box and started using my agent’s address on my website and other public sites. He forwards a few things. Letters from kids that want autographs or who say that I’m their hero. I hadn’t given the rest of it much thought since then. Until London.

“Wait.” Avery holds up a hand. “People send you their dirty panties?”

“Oh yeah.” Arch answers for me. “And that’s not even the weirdest thing. One woman photoshopped images of them together. It was pretty convincing.”

“That’s weirder than crusty undies?” Jane asks. “I’ve received some strange fan mail, but that’s just nasty.”

Jane was a child TV star. She has this amazing voice and a flair for the dramatic.

“They were naked photos,” Arch says, one side of his mouth pulling up in a smile.

“Oh, that’s creepy.” Knox shakes his head and grimaces. He pulls Avery closer to him. It still catches me by surprise sometimes when I see him all lovey-dovey. I never thought he’d fall so hard for a girl, but Avery is perfect for him. She takes no shit, and Knox…gives a lot of shit.

“Why is she texting you?” Jane asks, bringing me back to the texts on my phone.

“I sent her tickets to the game as an apology.”

“Smooth, bro.” Hendrick nods his approval, grinning.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t think she was there. I looked for her right before the game started and didn’t see her, but she texted to thank me for the tickets and said nice game.”

“Is she hot?” Jane asks.

“He wouldn’t have sent her tickets if she weren’t,” Knox pipes up.

“That’s not true. I felt bad.” I still do. I messed up by not forwarding my mail and I wanted to own that. Also, I really don’t like being on anyone’s shit list. Not Billy Boones’ and especially not hers.

“She’s hot,” Archer confirms.

I glare at him. I didn’t tell him I thought she was hot, so those are his words. I feel a little hit of jealousy, which is absurd. She’s about as interested in me as Jane is in my dick size. At least according to her letters.

But still…she came tonight and she texted.

“What does she look like? I need a visual,” Avery says.

Knox laughs. “Are you tired of me, princess?”

“What? No, of course not. I just need to live vicariously through other people now that I’m off the market.” She refocuses her attention on me. “Hair color?”

“Brunette,” Archer answers.

“Dark brown, just a hint of red to it,” I clarify. Brunette sounds too boring to describe anything about London.

“Long or short?” Avery is leaning forward, taking in all my answers.

“Long-ish.” It came down past her tits is on the tip of my tongue. Instead, I motion to about where it hung.

“Eyes?”

Hendrick laughs. “Do you have a picture? Might be easier.”

“Sorry I didn’t think to snap one while she was yelling at me. And her eyes were this stunning shade of green. Like a four-leaf clover.”

“Like grass? Her eyes were the color of grass?” Knox smirks.

I flip him off. “It was the first thing I thought of.”

“Maybe don’t use that line on her. Or do. It’s fun when girls turn you down.” He turns to Avery. “Your eyes are the color of the sky on a sunny day.”

He’s clearly making fun of me so I continue to flip him off.

Avery shakes her head. “All I heard him say was that her eyes were stunning.”

“Back up,” Hendrick says. “She yelled at you?”

“Oh yeah, she gave him an earful,” Archer says, and I swear he sounds a little too happy about it. I think he enjoyed it more than I did. And I fully enjoyed staring at her perfect face while she chewed me out. But I’ve enjoyed her letters even more. She’s feisty as hell. I swear I can hear her voice when I read her words.

All the attention suddenly has me hoping for a subject change. “Anyway, how are things with you guys? How’s the bar?”

Hendrick waits a beat like maybe he wants to keep pressing me but relents finally. “The bar is doing great.”

“We hung your jerseys up on the wall in the game room.” Jane beams at Archer and then me.

“Awww. I’m touched.” Arch holds his pointer and middle finger out in half a heart and Jane does the same, bringing her fingers to his.

We spend the next hour catching up. Hendrick wants to make sure we’re being smart with our money and not blowing it all on dumb shit. In truth, I haven’t spent that much. I bought a truck and some things for the apartment. The only stupid thing I’ve done was giving a chunk to my parents. They reached out after the draft. I hadn’t been in contact with them in years and I knew they were only talking to me to get some of my signing money, but I guess I hoped it would be different if I made a gesture of good will. That was fucking dumb. I didn’t do anything wrong that should have required me to make a gesture. I don’t think. Unless being a kid who wants his parents to want him is something to apologize for.

Not a word since I sent the money, but I know they cashed the check.

Archer bought a ridiculously expensive sound system and also got a vehicle. We probably could have done with one between the two of us since we work and live together. We shared one all through high school and college, but it was fun to pick out matching trucks. His is silver and mine is black. Everything else is identical.

Knox fills us in on how he’s spending the motocross off-season and praises Avery, telling us about how she’s going to dominate again this year. And Jane tells us about some upcoming concerts she’s going to do with pop star Penelope Hart.

I glance around the table in awe. If you’d told me as a kid that this would be my life, sitting around a table with a former pro baller, a famous TV actress, a motocross rider and his Olympic gymnast girlfriend, with my best friend and fellow professional football player…I would have looked at you like you were out of your mind.

By the time the conversation starts to die off, it’s after midnight and Knox says they should head back to Valley.

“You’re welcome to crash with us tonight,” I tell him. “I can take the couch. We just got a new sectional big enough for an orgy.”

“And with that, I think I choose sleeping in my own bed tonight,” Knox says.

“We’ll be back next month for the Seahawks game,” Hendrick says. “Take care of yourself. You’ve got a long career ahead of you. Proud of you.”

“Thanks.” My throat tightens.

I hug each of them goodbye, and Archer does the same.

We catch a ride back to our apartment. It feels too quiet after the excitement of the night. I grab another beer from the fridge and head for the couch. Arch joins me. He lets his head fall back, exhaustion lining his face.

“How’s the ankle?” I ask him. I nudge him to get his attention. He took out his hearing aids as soon as we got home. I sign the words and speak them again.

“Good,” he says but then winces as he lifts his right leg and settles it on the coffee table in front of him.

“You want an ice pack?”

I start to stand, but he shakes me off. “Nah. I’ll grab one before I head to bed.”

A little of my buddy’s usual happy smile returns. “That was some fucking game, huh?”

“Yeah, it really was.”

Silence falls between us. Arch is the only person in the world that I can sit like this with, not saying a word and feeling totally at ease. It’d actually feel stranger sitting in silence by myself than with him.

“I should head to bed,” he says finally. “What time are you heading to the field tomorrow?”

We don’t have practice until eleven, but we usually go an hour or two early if we have any meetings or sessions with trainers. I don’t have any of that tomorrow, but I know he needs to see the trainer for his ankle.

“I’ll ride over with you. I could use some time on the massage table.”

“All right.” He stands and chugs the rest of his beer. I listen to him throw the bottle in the recycling, grab an ice pack from the freezer, and then head off to his room.

I stay on the couch, finally pulling my phone out of my pocket. I go straight to London’s texts, rereading them, then programming her number in my phone.

It’s late, but I decide to text back.

Me

Thanks. Were you at the game? I looked for you during the pre-game warm up but I didn’t see you.

I rest my phone on my chest and close my eyes. A vision of her long hair and pretty green eyes—definitely the color of grass—sits in my mind. When a text buzzes a few seconds later, my eyes fly open.

London

Yeah. We were a few minutes late getting to our seats. The beer line is no joke.

We. She brought someone. I should have assumed that. I gave her two tickets after all.

Me

Does your boyfriend like football?

I’m clearly fishing for information, but she doesn’t call me on it.

London

No boyfriend, but my roommate—you met him at the club—is a huge fan. I think he’s hoping I continue to get your mail so you’ll keep sending tickets.

The guy that was with her that night at the club. Alec something or other. He does the weather for one of the local TV stations.

Me

Has any more of my mail slipped through?

London

Missing a few pairs of panties?

Me

Definitely not.

I’m not a germaphobe, but the smell of pussy is only sexy when I’m naked with a chick.

London

No, I haven’t received any more of your mail. My box does still smell like old lady perfume though.

Me

Dang. I forgot to spritz a little cologne on the letters I sent. Clearly I’m an amateur. Ah well, there’s always next time.

London

Next time?

Me

Well, yeah, it was kind of fun sending snail mail. I had to buy stamps and everything.

London

You really know how to have a good time.

Me

You have no idea.

London

Actually, I think I do. I’ve seen your mail.

I’m smiling at the screen. This is more fun than the letters. I like her dry humor, and I can practically see those green eyes piercing into me.

Me

Did you go out after the game? Do you have other roommates?

I’m happy to know there isn’t a boyfriend. Although now I’m questioning why she keeps turning me down, then.

London

No, we came back home. And just the one. Is this an interrogation?

Damn, she’s feisty. I’m glad my memories of her were accurate. In person, in her letters, and over text, she just does something for me.

Me

No, just friendly conversation. I live with my brother.

London

How does he feel about your panty collection?

Me

I don’t sniff and tell.

London

Gross lol

There’s a pause in the conversation. I wander around the apartment. I still can’t believe I live here. It’s a long way from the shithole I grew up in before I moved in with the Hollands.

Archer’s room is quiet. I should go to bed. We have practice tomorrow and a day full of film and meetings. But I don’t want to stop talking to London.

Me

Are you a night owl?

London

Sort of. I work at night sometimes.

Me

You’re working tonight after the game? What do you do?

I’m firing questions at her so fast, I’m probably freaking her right the hell out, but I can’t stop.

London

I’m a graphic designer. I work at Channel 3 but do some freelance on the side. That’s what I’m working on tonight, but I think I’m about to call it. My lines are starting to get wonky.

Me

That’s cool. Can I see?

London

You want to see my work? You don’t even know what it is.

Me

Definitely. Doesn’t matter.

Minutes tick by and I don’t think she’s going to do it, but then an image comes through. It’s a drawing of…me. The back of me in my uniform. It looks so much like me that I’m wondering if she traced it from something. But then I see my right hand. Instead of a football, I’m holding a pair of red panties.

My head falls back and I laugh.

London

What do you think? New logo for your website?

Me

You drew this?

London

I sketched it while we were talking. I was working on a fantasy book cover before.

Me

You do book covers?

Damn, this girl just gets more interesting.

London

Sometimes.

Me

What are you doing tomorrow night? Some buddies are having a party. You should come with me.

I want to see her again. I can’t believe she was at the game and I didn’t even see her.

London

Like drop by or go with you?

Me

With me, like a date or something.

London

And disappoint all your fans? *gasp*

Me

I think you got the wrong idea about me. I’m really not like that.

London

Says the guy with more panties than me.

Me

Come out with me and let me prove it to you.

I stare at the screen, waiting for her reply. It’s minutes before it comes.

London

Sorry, not interested.