by Alexa Martin
TK comes inside, his hair all over the place like his hands haven’t stopped running through it.
“Hey.” I walk to him, my steps hesitant.
“Hey.” He closes the distance between us and wraps me in his big arms. “Sorry I left like that.”
“It’s fine.” I release a breath I wasn’t even aware I was holding. “Are you okay?” I ask after the thumping of his heartbeat starts to slow beneath my ear.
“I should be asking you that.” He steps back but keeps his hands around my waist.
“I’m used to your mom being the worst to me.” I smile, trying to lighten the mood.
It doesn’t work.
“I’m so sorry she brought that shit to you.” He looks so guilty . . . so sad. His normally bright eyes are dull and glassed over with unshed tears.
“Not your fault, so don’t apologize.” I grab the bottom of his shirt and invoke as much feeling as I can behind the words.
He closes his eyes and sucks his lips into his mouth, his fingers flinching at my sides, but he doesn’t say anything.
So I do.
“I didn’t text you, how’d you know to come home?”
“Donny.”
Now it’s me who’s growling. “Well, maybe if he kept his big mouth shut and didn’t give her my address, he wouldn’t have had to send a distress signal your way.”
TK finally cracks a smile.
“He does have a big-ass mouth.”
“I’ve only met him once and I know that to be fact.”
“My mom drives him nuts.” He tells me what I don’t find to be surprising. “I think he wanted there to be fireworks.”
“Tell him next time he wants fireworks, I’ll drive up to Wyoming and buy him some. But if he ever sends your mom on an ambush mission to my house again, I’ll light them after I shove them where the sun doesn’t shine.”
Now that doesn’t get another smile.
It gets laughter.
Body-bent, perfect-teeth-baring, eye-crinkling laughter.
And it makes my toes curl and my heart explode.
“Wanna have a quickie before I have to get Ace from school?” I ask once his laughter starts to die down.
He doesn’t answer.
Instead, his hands go back to my waist and he lifts me up and throws me over his shoulder before running down my hall and tossing me on the bed.
I don’t get my coffee or my bath before work.
But I do get a shower.
With TK.
So even though I leave the house with the ache more noticeable between my thighs, I do it admitting I’d happily spend the rest of my life with it never going away.
I also do it smiling.
Until I open my garage and see the same bouquet of flowers from my front porch in the alley behind my house.
Only this time it’s bigger.
And beside it is a cut-up Moore jersey. The bottom half of the jersey’s missing and the edges are black and charred from where it was burned.
I know the smart thing to do is to run back inside, tell TK, and then call the cops.
Hell.
I’m sure jumping in my car and running over it would be a better idea than walking straight to the flowers and searching for the card.
It’s not hard to find.
The sender made sure it was sticking out of the flowers and encased in a bright, you-can’t-miss-me envelope.
I’ll give it to them. This note is much more efficient and effective. And they did it in two words: Dump him.
Thirty-three
“Whoever the fuck is doing this knows who you are.” TK takes an angry gulp of his root beer—which, to be fair, I’d also be angry drinking, because root beer is gross—and glares at everyone in the general vicinity of his barstool.
As if all the poor customers at HERS had pitched in for the flowers.
I throw the towel I was using to wipe off the bar in a bucket and plant both of my fists on my hips. I’ve tried to be nice, to let him have his feelings, but he’s driving me crazy.
I usually love when TK is off on Tuesdays, but he disappeared into the alley yesterday after I told him about the flowers. When he came back, he glued himself to me and he’s been driving me crazy since.
“They know me? You think?” I don’t bother hiding the sarcasm in my tone and TK’s eyes narrow even further. “Did them having my address and name give you that idea?”
He ignores me and keeps talking. “We don’t have the alley monitored, they must have known.”
“Or the alley’s already creepy, and adding burned football paraphernalia only adds to its natural ambiance.” I walk around the bar, abandoning my job, and position myself between TK’s legs. “You have to stop thinking about it. We filed a report, I’m not going to walk to or from work alone anymore. It’ll be fine.”
“I don’t like it,” is his well-thought-out and mature response.
“I know. I don’t like it either.” I wrap my arms around his neck and tangle my fingers in his hair. God, I so love his hair. “Maybe tonight after Ace goes to bed, we can try and distract each other.”
I don’t even get to do the sexy wink (which probably isn’t sexy at all and might just look like I have something stuck in my eye) before his mouth is on mine. It’s fast and hard, but it confirms my plans for tonight.
I roll to my tiptoes, needing his mouth once more and maybe for a little bit longer.
“Get out of here, TK, you’re ruining the vibe of my bar,” Brynn interrupts us.
I burrow my head in TK’s chest, knowing if I look up, my cheeks are going to be bright red.
“You’re such a liar,” TK smirks, not at all fazed we got caught kissing at my job. “You should put a cardboard cutout of me in the corner, that’s how much all your customers want me around.”
I push out of TK’s hold and roll my eyes at his ridiculous comeback while also wondering where I could get a life-size TK cutout for myself.
“I forgot what a cocky fucker you are.” Brynn shakes her head, but the smile spreading across her face lets me know I’m not in too much trouble. “How you managed to land Poppy will go down as one of life’s great mysteries.”
She might be giving him a hard time, but that was so sweet I contemplate transferring my PDA to her.
“This is true.” TK’s voice and eyes soften. “I’m fuckin’ lucky.”
I don’t know if most great writers drop an F-bomb into their declarations of love, but unlike most of the heroines in those stories, I love nothing more than a well-placed “fuck” . . . in every way.
“Okay.” I look between the two of them. “Too many compliments and I don’t know how to handle them. You”—I point at Brynn—“that was really nice of you to say and I promise I won’t kiss my boyfriend on the clock anymore. And you . . .” I turn my attention to TK, who, now that I’m really focused on him, looks way too big to be sitting on the sleek, acrylic barstool. “Since you aren’t at work, go pick up Ace from school.”
Brynn is the shit for many reasons.
She created a kick-ass bar marketed and designed for women. She even put a photo booth outside the bathroom, for heaven’s sake. She manages to wear dresses, sneakers, and buns and look like a freaking model. She comes into work every day with next to no makeup on and has a genuine compliment for everyone who crosses her path. You don’t find that combination of beauty, success, and kindness in many people, so I don’t downplay any of this.
But what I love her for the most is, after hiring me on the spot when I’d just showed up, she went out and bought a small desk, chair, and extra computer for the back room so Ace could come here after school while I work. She lets me take a break every afternoon to walk to his school and bring him to work with me. And every day, when we walk into the back room, she has goodies from Fresh sitting o
n the desk, waiting for him.
Ace loves coming and he loves Brynn (he won’t admit it, but I’m pretty sure he has a decent-size crush on her as well). But Brynn, like me, does not come close to TK in Ace’s eyes. TK picking up Ace from school is the equivalent of the Spice Girls picking me up from school in that kickass bus they drove in Spice World. A freaking dream come true.
“I can do that.” TK drains the rest of the root beer from his glass. “What time does he get out again?”
“Three thirty.” I look at the time on the register behind the bar. “You still have a couple of hours.”
TK came with me to pick Ace up a few times, but I just forced him into the car when it was time to go. This will be his first solo school pickup and I can tell he’s nervous. The carpool line monitors are freaking intense. He’s seen me get scolded twice already.
“Cool. Then I’m gonna head home and take care of a few things, maybe run to the store and step up your junk food game.” He stands up and stretches his arms above his head, like sitting on the stool was even more uncomfortable for him than I originally guessed.
“We do not need any more junk food!” I wish I could hide the panic in my voice, but I am the kind of person who can eat healthy only if there’s no other option. The second Oreos enter the house, I lose any semblance of self-control. And now that I no longer have to work in lingerie, my discipline levels are lacking even more than normal.
“Don’t worry,” TK says, knowing about my sweet tooth. “I’ll get man snacks. You won’t want any of them.”
“A man snack?” I ask at the same time Brynn asks, “What the fuck is a man snack?”
“You know.” TK shrugs, pulling his beanie out of his pocket and tugging it over his head. “Mountain Dew, beef jerky, oversize candy bars, that kind of shit.”
I narrow my eyes. “Mountain Dew is disgusting, but I know plenty of women who drink it and you know I’ll snack on some jerky and candy bars . . . especially the king-size ones.”
This is also true. It doesn’t even matter if I’m not a fan of the candy, hand me anything in its king-size form and I’ll eat it.
“I know.” He walks around the bar even though Brynn is right there and drops a quick kiss on my lips. “But it’ll all be gone when you get home. Hence it being a man snack.”
I shake my head, trying not to be mesmerized by the crinkle of his eyes and the lingering sensation of his beard against my face. “You’re an idiot.”
“You love it.” He winks, turning before I can confirm or deny it. “Can I borrow your key? I forgot mine because you were rushing me out the door.”
“It’s in my purse in the back.” I point to the office door. “Next time you forget yours, I’m going to put it on a necklace for you.”
“I do look good in jewelry.” He sticks his tongue out like a toddler before turning to walk away. “Later, Brynn.”
“Later!” Brynn waves. “Tell Ace I said hey.”
“Will do,” he calls over his shoulder, oblivious to the way the heads of the customers turn and follow his fine ass through the front door.
I’m not oblivious.
But I can’t be mad.
He does have a fantastic ass.
Thirty-four
I don’t know what I was expecting a Lady Mustangs meeting to be like, but I can say, with one thousand percent certainty, I did not expect this.
It’s my own fault, really.
Brynn, Charli, and Vonnie all tried to warn me. But did I listen? Nooooo. And this is what I get.
I figured after training camp and the couple of games TK’s weaseled me into, not much could shock me.
Again.
So freaking wrong.
“I’m scared,” I whisper into Vonnie’s ear.
When we show up at the games, everyone is in their designer jeans, fancy purses, and blinged-out jerseys. And when I say bling, I don’t mean a few rhinestones glued on. No. These things are cut and manipulated and doused in crystals. Not rhinestones, CRYSTALS. This is not some Hobby-Lobby, I-got-bored, crafting crap either. I’m talking spending hundreds and hundreds of dollars on a football jersey. They’re tailored to fit perfectly around their curves, the V-neck is cut a little—or a lot—deeper, some have ruffles added to the bottom, others are turned into straight-up dresses worn with heels that are also bedazzled with a heart and their player’s number on them. Dresses and stilettos at football games! I might be a slight hater because they are gorgeous, and I will never admit it to Sadie, but even I love a little sparkle.
So with all the extra-ness I’ve seen at the stadium, I didn’t think there was a chance in hell it could be upstaged. I mean, HERS is just a small restaurant-bar in Five Points.
But when I walked in, after passing by all the Mercedes, BMWs, and Porsches lining the pothole-riddled street, not only was I met with the usual designer-covered women with their hair long and flowing and their faces polished, but there was also a camera crew.
Not like a “Say cheese!” camera. Like a “Put this mic on and let us interview you!” camera.
What. The. Hell.
“Girl, bye.” Vonnie brushes me off. “You better order another cocktail and settle in, we haven’t even gotten started yet.”
My eyes bulge out of my head at this news. We’ve already been here for forty-five minutes. “How long do they go?”
“Feels like years, but usually two or three hours.” Charli drains the remnants of her Skinnygirl margarita . . . which should’ve been the first sign I was in trouble—you know, after Brynn’s repeated warnings of “Poppy, you’re in trouble!”—since I’ve only ever seen Charli drink wine. Tequila should’ve sent sirens roaring.
“I thought you said Jane took over?” My eyes find Jane, but she doesn’t look like she’s going to take charge. She looks like she can’t wait to get off the clock and drown in tequila her damn self.
“Jane brings clipboards.” Vonnie points to the table in the corner covered in about ten clipboards.
“What does that even mean?” I hiss.
“Jane just sets up the activities,” Vonnie starts to explain. “Tennis lessons are always there, you can sign up to host at your house for an away game, there’s probably a painting and drinking night, then the rest are different volunteer opportunities. I always sign up for the food drive before a game and the fashion show. The first makes me feel like a good person, the second makes me feel fancy and drunk.”
One could never fault Vonnie’s reasoning.
“Okay, so if we just have to sign our names on clipboards, then how does this take so long?”
“They need footage to play on the news before some of the events and to add to the Mustangs website,” Vonnie says in a way that I know I’m not the first person who has asked her.
“On the news!” I almost come out of my chair. I so did not sign up for airtime. “For what?”
“Brynn! Poppy needs another drink!” Vonnie shouts across the room and false-eyelash-rimmed eyes turn to me.
I wave to the room. “Afternoon drinking, am I right?” I half laugh, half mumble, fully mortified.
Then I turn and glare at Vonnie and Charli when I hear them snort beside me. “Assholes.” But I can only hold it for a second before I’m laughing with them. “Why am I so awkward?”
“It’s endearing,” Charli says.
“Doesn’t matter how awkward you are or aren’t. After this you go home to TK Moore and all these bitches are jealous.” Vonnie lifts her signature French martini with a splash of champagne (still classy AF) to her lips before saying, “Myself included.”
“Vonnie!” Charli slaps her and Vonnie gives her a glare when her martini splashes over the rim and lands on her white sweater. Charli might be one of the only people on this planet immune to a Vonnie glare. She ignores it and keeps scolding her.
“What? You telling me yo
u’ve never thought about TK’s bearded face and thick ass before?”
“Once or twice.” Charli blushes.
“Exactly. Anyways, she knows TK’s fine. A woman tells me she thinks Justin is sexy, I tell her thank you and go to our home and get to have fun with his sexy self for as long as I want. I love my man, but I’m not blind. And TK could get it, shit, so could Shawn.” Vonnie ignores the way color rises up Charli’s cheeks and keeps going. “TK is delicious in that big, wilderness, caveman way where I just know his ass is taking charge in the bedroom, doing all sorts of freaky shit. Shawn is fine in the clean-cut, preppy way where I’d probably have fun turning his ass out.”
“She’s not wrong.” I lift my glass and exchange cheers with Vonnie.
“Brynn! Drinks!” Charli stands up and crosses the room to the bar.
I can’t even pretend not to be entertained. I start laughing so hard, I have to push my seat back so I can lean over and clutch my stomach.
This lasts for only a couple of seconds, because before I know it, Charli’s seat is filled and not by Charli.
“Hi, Poppy, is it?” asks a brunette so stunning that I have to blink a few times to make sure she’s not a figment of my imagination before I nod.
“Y-y-yeah. That’s me,” I stutter like a fool.
“I’m Aviana West, no relation to Kanye and Kim.” She tosses her hair over her shoulder and throws her head back, laughing like it was the cleverest joke ever. “Though I was on a show on E!, so we’re kind of like cousins.”
She winks.
Vonnie rolls her eyes so hard, I think I actually hear them hit the back of her head.
I stare.
I knew she looked familiar!
“Oh my god!” I slap the table. “You were on that one dating show!”
Trash TV is one of my many vices and I don’t care who knows.
“Guilty.” She smiles her movie-star smile she’s probably been paid to endorse some teeth whitening kit on Instagram for. “But that was a long time ago. Now I’m married to Crosby West.”
I stare again, but this time not in reality television awe but with a blank one.