I glance over her shoulder towards the team. They all start gesturing something about blow jobs. I nearly gesture back to them, but stop myself just in time.
“It’s not that strange, is it?” she asks, taking a sip of her Diet Coke.
“No, course not,” I assure her, having no idea what she is talking about. “In fact, I’d like to hear more about it. But shall we order first?”
I signal the waitress over to take our orders and she is hot, with a skirt barely covering her arse, and a white shirt that I would love to rip clean off her. My cock hardens as I imagine fucking her right on this table. I snort. Yeah, Rhonda would love that.
“I will have the steak,” I decide, barely even looking at the menu. “Rare. And baked potato and a green salad, please. No dressing.”
“Yes, Mr. Tanner, will there be anything else?” She raises an eyebrow. She’s obviously hot for me, and I love that she knows who I am, but I’m stuck talking to Rhonda about God knows what.
“I’ll have the double cheeseburger and fries with a side of onion rings, please. And another Diet Coke,” Rhonda says, too engrossed in the menu to notice that I can’t take my eyes off the waitress as she walks away. Man, look at that arse!
I turn back to Rhonda, who is staring at me, a defeated expression on her face. Aw, shit. My conscience kicks in and I start to feel guilty about this whole thing. She legitimately thinks I’m into her; poor girl. I can get that waitress in bed any night—maybe even later tonight, but for the next few hours it’s going to be all about Rhonda. I have to look at this as doing my bit for the girls who would never have a chance with a guy like me. And I honestly don’t mean that to sound horrible. I genuinely want her to take away good memories from tonight.
“Great to see a woman who isn’t afraid to eat,” I say, complimenting her. “Most chicks are afraid to eat in public, in case they seem human.” The type of girls I date, at least. I’m genuinely impressed, but, at the same time, I can't help thinking it wouldn't hurt her to eat a salad.
“Yeah, I enjoy my food,” she says blushing. I chuckle. I can tell.
“So, what were you saying?” I ask. The more she talks, the less effort for me. I can eat my dinner, make some excuse about my sick rabbit, and then leave. Laughter echoes across the room, coming from the bar. I scowl at the guys, who enthusiastically wave back. Cocksuckers!
“I was telling you about my cats. Do you like cats?”
“No, but I love pussy,” I joke. Rhonda stares at me, clearly mortified by my comment. “Sorry. Yeah, cats are okay. They taste especially nice with barbeque sauce.” Oh God. It’s like I can’t stop myself.
“That’s not funny,” she frowns. “Not liking cats is kind of a deal breaker for me, since I have five of them.” She sighs, and I swear I see tears in her eyes. What’s wrong with this chick?
I can’t help myself and zone out as the waitress walks past again. She drops her notebook, then glances back at me before bending over to get it, giving me a great view of her black lace panties. For fuck’s sake, this is torture. I glance back at Murray, wondering if this is part of my punishment too.
Come on Jake, pull yourself together.
I turn back to Rhonda and force myself to listen as she rambles on. She’s still talking about her cats. The way her face lights up, she really seems to care about them.
“I’ve never met a girl who loves her pussy so much,” I mutter. She glares at me again and I chuckle.
“Well, I mean, what's not to like?” she asks, ignoring my poke. “They’re so loving and gentle. Well apart from Mr. Snickers. He’s anything but gentle. But I still love him. They all came into my life when I was going through a difficult patch. Like Fluffy, she was a stray that turned up at my house after my mum died. I got home from her funeral and she was just sat there on my doorstep and refused to move. It’s like she knew I was in pain and wanted to help me. So I took her in. She’s slept on my pillow next to me ever since. I tell her everything, and sometimes she even talks back.” She takes a deep breath, pulling a tissue from her bag. “I don’t usually tell people about my gift this early,” she says, laughing nervously. Out of nowhere, she lets out a low wail and starts crying into her tissue.
“Uh, are you okay?” I ask, not exactly sure what’s going on. She’s actually pretty sweet—albeit a little loopy. I feel bad that I’m messing with her because it sounds like she’s been through a lot.
“I’m fine,” she replies, looking down at her plate. “I just need to go to the ladies’ room. I’ll be back in a minute.” She gets up and turns to the direction of Murray and his little gang of clones, just in time to see them simulating doggie style on each other. Blushing, she glances back at me, then runs for the bathroom. Fuck. Standing up, I head straight for Murray, annoyed that she had to see that. My fist comes out of nowhere and hits him square on his nose. He’s floored instantly and screaming abuse at me.
“What the fuck,” he growls, through his hands which are covering his bleeding nose. He rolls around on the floor in what I hope is sheer agony. The other guys all stand there, shocked at what's just happened.
“You guys all need to piss off,” I growl. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done to that poor girl? She saw your stupid childish gestures and is probably in the bathroom crying her little heart out. It’s one thing to make me do this, but it’s not fair on her to make her look like a fucking joke.”
Why am I so angry about this? There’s something about Rhonda’s vulnerability that makes me want to protect her from these assholes. They can tease the fuck out of me, but what they do to her could scar her for life.
I glare at Murray, then turn back in the direction of the table. Rhonda stands a few feet away, watching the whole thing. I examine her red, puffy eyes and wonder if I did the right thing sticking up for her.
Murray is helped to his feet by a few of the players as he curses under his breath. I ignore them and gesture to Rhonda to sit back down at our table She does, wiping her eyes and smiling through her tears.
“I always knew I’d find my prince.”
Say what? I swallow hard. Shit, now I’ve done it. How the hell do I get out of this?
“Rhonda, it’s been great chatting with you, but I don’t think I’m ready for anything serious,” I say. I’m trying to let her down gently, but I get the feeling it’s not going to be easy.
Her face falls, but she recovers quickly. “I can wait. When something is meant to be, you can’t fight it, right?” She gets up and grabs her jacket, clutching it tightly with both hands. “I’m going to go because I don’t want you to say anything you might regret. I had a great time, Jake.”
She gives me a shy smile, before rushing for the exit. Shaking my head, I get to my feet, glad that date one is finally over. As I walk out, I pass the waitress I’ve been eying all night.
“Your date finish early?” she asks, her tone light.
“She’s my cousin,” I lie. “And I’m hoping my night is just beginning.”
Chapter Eleven
Abbey
“Dinner. Tonight.” Mel speaks in her best ‘don’t argue’ voice.
“Tonight?” I repeat with a sigh.
“You’ve been so focused on work that I don’t see you anymore,” Mel whines through the phone. “I know you’re chasing a promotion, but live a little, damn it. I’m determined to force you to let loose, if I have to.”
I make a face because I know she’s right. I’ve been neglecting my friend, but it’s not why she thinks. Work, as usual, is just a distraction from everything else going wrong in my life, but I can’t tell her that. If I do, she’ll ask questions I’m not sure I’m ready to answer. Then there is the whole Playbook thing. I can’t talk to her about that either.
“Fine,” I grumble. “When and where?”
“Dolci’s, at six,” she replies, satisfied. “And wear something nice. You never know how many sexy waiters are working the Friday night shift.”
I roll my eyes and end the c
all, turning my attention back to my latest masterpiece, a review of the top five incontinence aids on the market. At the moment, it’s a toss-up between Depends and Natural You.
This is why I spent the last five years studying my ass off. The worst part? I’m actually expected to try these things on for comfort. Kill me now.
The last thing I want to do is go out, but I know if I cancel, Mel will be over here dragging me out by my hair, so I begrudgingly get in the shower. After my shower, I throw on a pair of jeans and a light blue top that highlights my eyes. Hardly dressy, but it’s at least a pass. I run a brush through my thick, tangled hair until I’m presentable enough to get through the doors of the semi-classy restaurant.
I arrive at the restaurant five minutes early and give Mel’s name to the waiter. I don’t bother checking to see if she’s there already, because if she is, it will be a first. I’m glued to my phone while I wait to be seated. It’s possible I might’ve become slightly obsessed with checking my email—just in case any new emails need my urgent attention and all.
“Ma’am? This way, please.”
Just as I’m about to follow the waiter through the crowded dining area, I stumble under my feet. Glancing down, I see a pair of my lacey knickers curled around my ankle. Yikes. I swiftly bend down to retrieve them, shoving them deep into the safety of my purse. That’s what I get for rushing to get dressed.
The waiter leads me to a table near the back. I glance around, feeling underdressed. This place is nicer than the type of place she’d usually drag me out to. I hope she’s planning on paying.
“I’ll show your date over when he arrives,” he promises. Date? I glance at the flickering candle in the centre of the table, surrounded by bright red rose petals and swallow a laugh. They obviously got their wires crossed, unless Mel is planning on confessing her feelings.
“Thanks,” I say, not bothering to correct him. He’ll find out soon enough.
A few minutes pass and no Mel. A cheer erupts near the front door. I crane my neck to see what’s going on. Is that Jake Tanner? And Murray Pennerson? I count at least half a dozen high-profile footballers I recognize—a number of whom I’ve named and shamed on The Playbook.
“Go get em, Jakey Boy,” Murray’s voice booms through the restaurant. I roll my eyes and pretend to busy myself with my phone, but I can’t take my eyes off Jake Tanner. I watch as he walks toward the back of the restaurant—in my direction—seemingly oblivious to the attention he’s receiving from everyone. His eyes meet mine and I start to panic. He’s walking directly for my table. He couldn’t know who I am, could he? I swallow hard, not sure what other explanation there could be.
“Sorry I’m late,” he grins, falling into the seat opposite me. I glance behind me. Is he drunk? Or has he lost it completely?
“Um, pardon?” I ask, using all my energy to muster up my voice.
“We said eight, didn’t we?” he asks, cocking his head.
I’m about to ask him if he’s okay when it clicks. Mel still isn’t here, but Jake is. This is her idea of taking care of it? Setting me up with Jake Tanner? I can’t breathe. There is no way I’m sitting though dinner with him. Never mind the fact that he’s oh so hot. He’s a cockhead, and this has to be a joke.
“I’m sorry,” I apologise. “I was under the impression I was meeting a friend here tonight, and I’m having trouble getting my head around why you’re here instead.”
The poor guy looks confused. “You mean you didn’t arrange this? Wow, this is embarrassing,” he mutters, running his hand through his hair.
“More for me than you,” I promise him. I pause, dying to know how the hell she got him here. None of this makes any sense. “I’m not exactly sure how Mel got you to agree to come on a date with me, but I’m not really interested in sticking around to find out. If it’s all the same to you, I’m going to take off.”
I start to stand, not expecting him to argue with me, because I’m sure he’s just as keen to get away as I am.
“Hey, wait a minute. You’re here. I’m here. Is there any harm in having something to eat before we split?”
I can think of plenty of harm.
“I guess not,” I finally respond. At the very least, who knows? I might stumble upon another story. We order, complete with a very expensive bottle of imported sparkling water that Jake insists on. I laugh as the waiter pours two glasses. “Somehow I never thought of you as the sparkling water type,” I tease.
“Yeah, well, as of last week, I don’t exactly have a choice,” he replies, making a face. “I’m guessing you know who I am?”
“I know you’re a cocky, arrogant so and so who is used to getting what he wants?” I offer. His eyes widen, and I’m not sure who is more shocked: him or me. “Sorry,” I mumble.
“Don’t be,” he laughs. “I can be that guy, but only because it’s what everyone expects of me.” His eyes sparkle as he takes a mouthful of his drink. “What else do you know about me, Abbey?”
“I read the papers, so it’s safe to say I know a lot,” I reply.
“And do you always believe everything you read?” he asks.
“I believe everything I see,” I retort. “You’d be surprised how many reports come with photographic evidence.”
“Photographic evidence,” he repeats. He leans back in his chair, a grin on his lips. “You like studying photos, do you, Abbey? They tell you a lot about a person?”
I nod. “A photo doesn’t often lie.”
“You probably saw the photo of me in the dumpster last week, then. Did you study that one hard, from every angle? Photos don’t lie, Abbey,” he reminds me, his voice teasing. I blush and his eyes gleam. Is he trying to get me to admit that I think his package is impressive?
“Probably Photoshopped,” I say, eyeing him coolly. “I have a theory that you leaked that one yourself.”
He laughs and shakes his head. “Trust me, it’s all real. I’m sure plenty of women would attest to that.”
“Am I here just to boost your ego?”
MORE
I shake my head as I wander back out to my car. Did that really just happen?
I want to murder Mel for doing this to me, but I also want to kiss her for the same reason. My experience with footballers, although limited, is less than great, so I’m in shock at how much I enjoyed his company—even if he was a total cock. Where many girls would’ve been fangirling over his “status,” I refused to treat him like a god.
Jake Tanner just proved my theory that all footballers are arseholes. Who would’ve thought?
My phone rings just as I exit the parking lot. I pick it up and balance it to my ear, not taking my eyes off the road. I’m sure it’s Mel, dying to know how it went.
“I’m going to kill you,” I say with a laugh.
“I’d like to say that’s the first time a woman has said that to me, but I’d be lying.”
My eyes widen as I realise who I’m talking to. What happened to the three-day rule? It’s been ten minutes and he’s calling me? Wait a minute, how did he even get my number? Butterflies consume my stomach as I struggle not to sound like an idiot.
“S-sorry, I thought you were my friend,” I stutter. I cringe as I swing into my driveway.
“Obviously,” he chuckles. “You’re driving home?”
“Just pulled up to my house,” I confirm.
“You know it’s a hefty fine for driving without a license.”
“I have a license,” I retort, not sure where he’s going with this.
“Not on you, you don’t. Considering I’m standing outside the restaurant with your purse.” He pauses, “Nice panties, by the way. Does that mean you’re not wearing any?”
Shit. I open the door and flick on the light, dropping my coat on the floor. I empty the contents of my handbag onto the bench, looking for confirmation he’s telling the truth. No purse.
“Where was it?” I ask, ignoring his question.
“It was under the table. I’m thinking it mus
t have rolled out from your jacket. What’s your address?” he asks. “I’ll swing by.”
Here?
“No. The airport,” he chuckles. I’m confused for a second until I realise I must have spoken aloud.
“Right. Well, if it’s no trouble.” I give him my address and then survey the kitchen, mentally summing up how long I have to tidy up.
“See you soon, Abbey.”
The knock on the door comes only a few minutes later, just as I’m shoving the last of the dirty plates into the dishwasher. Thank God for modern conveniences. I quickly wipe my hands and then dash to the door, retying my ponytail on the way. Taking a deep breath, I turn the handle and open the door, my heart pounding at the thought of seeing him again so soon. What the hell is wrong with me? Since when do I swoon over Jake Tanner?
“Long time, Abbey. You’re looking good.”
The blood drains from my face. He doesn’t wait for an invitation; instead, he slides past me and inside. I shudder, the feel of him up against me surfacing all those old memories I fought to bury.
“What are you doing here?” I whisper. I feel sick as he turns to face me. His lips twist into a smirk. The bastard is enjoying how uncomfortable he makes me feel.
“I thought we could catch up. For old times’ sake.” He takes a step toward me, placing his hand on the curve of my thigh. I push him away, glancing back toward the open front door. Jake is going to be here any minute.
“Come on, Abs. You weren’t so tight the last time we were together.” He grins, as if reminiscing. “Far from it, actually.”
I feel sick. I can’t deal with this now. I have to get him to leave. “What do you want, Murray?” I whisper. Tears sting my eyes, but I refuse to let him see how much he’s getting to me.
“You’re going to help me with something, Abbey.”
Me? What could I possibly do to help him, and more to the point, why the hell would I, after what he did to me?
“You’re going to help me, because if you don’t, certain secrets might find their way into the wrong hands,” he continues. “Secrets that ruin friendships. You don’t want that, do you, Abbey?”
The Playbook Page 8