Fumbled (Playbook, The)

by Alexa Martin

  “I hate this sport.” The words fall out of my mouth before I have a chance to stop them. I clench my eyes shut, feeling like an idiot and hoping I didn’t just burn the only bridges I’ve built. “Shoot. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean . . . it’s just . . .” I fumble around my words, not sure how to recover.

  “No.” Charli grabs my hand. “I hate it too.” Her voice is hushed, but Vonnie hears her.

  “So do I,” she agrees. “Justin and I fight all the time about whether or not the boys will play.”

  “Ace isn’t playing.”

  Vonnie’s eyes widen at my declaration, whether in surprise, admiration, or disbelief, I’m not sure. “And TK’s good with that?”

  “He has to be,” I say. “It’s nonnegotiable.”

  “Good for you, girl.” She purses her glossed lips. “Justin has been playing in the league for eleven years. It’s obviously been good to us and he loves it. But I see the way he limps when he doesn’t think I’m watching or the way he’s starting to forget little things more and more. It’s a fucked-up sport.”

  Charli doesn’t say anything, she just nods her head, her eyes still trained on the scene playing out on the field.

  Then, almost as fast as it happened, the Mustangs rookie is loaded up on the back of the cart and making his way off the field. To everyone’s relief, his arms are moving animatedly as he talks to the trainer sitting next to him. The crowd cheers and the chatter around the tent returns as if nothing happened. On the field, the players circle around the coaches at the fifty-yard line before clapping once and yelling “Mustangs” in unison.

  The poor rookie is long forgotten as fans make a mad dash to the newly opened autograph section. A few volunteers in bright orange vests and matching navy blue collared shirts guide a group of about fifty children to the gated-off area in between the end of the field and the front of our tent. “Everyone get a spot along the fence and have your jersey or ball ready for the players to sign,” one volunteer tells the children, who are wearing expressions of either pure bliss or complete disinterest.

  “Ayden! Ayden! Move to the front!” a dad screams at his kid from the general fan area. “No! Pay attention! Get over, move!”

  “Oh yes,” Charli says, seeing what must be a look of complete horror on my face. “Some of the Mustangs Kids Club parents are insane. Listening to them go nuts is a yearly tradition for me. Kind of like hanging the stockings at Christmas, except instead of the promise of Santa, these poor children will get a visit from a therapist.”

  “Is it really that serious?” I ask, staring out at the crowd, trying to find poor Ayden’s crazy dad.

  “To some of these people, absolutely,” Vonnie answers for Charli. “Come on, let’s take these boys to run off the rest of their energy on the field.”

  “That’s allowed?”

  “Trust me,” Vonnie says, pulling me toward the tent exit, where Ace and her boys are trembling with excitement. “The personnel here are amazing. And they know a happy wife is a happy player. They keep them away from us for three weeks, so they know better than to limit our access when we do have a chance to see them.”

  “All righty then.” I nod my head, not willing to go against Vonnie in anything. “Would you mind Ace going down with you? I think I’m just gonna hang back here.” You know, out of the sightline of thousands of Mustang fans.

  “No, you’re coming with me.” She tugs my hand. “I need someone to talk to, otherwise a fan is going to call me over and rope me into a conversation I don’t want to be in.”

  “Fine,” I grumble, sounding an awful lot like Ace does when he doesn’t get his way.

  “You girls have fun. I already warned Shawn the only place he’d find me is in my air-conditioned car.” Charli waves us off.

  “See you soon.” I wave back, feeling a foreign sensation of excitement thinking about our upcoming plans.

  “Go, boys.” Vonnie gives all four boys the permission they’ve been craving and they dart down the small set of steps and onto the field. Jagger, Vonnie’s seven-year-old, and the most experienced training camp veteran, runs to the sideline and snags a couple of footballs for them to play with. They all take off to the field opposite us, where the two kickers aren’t practicing drilling the ball through goalposts.

  The hot Colorado sun and dry summer air grope my sunscreen-less body. I dig my knockoff sunglasses out of my cross-body purse. I might have a nasty sunburn later, but maybe the glasses will stop all the wrinkles caused by squinting too hard from permanently settling on my face.

  Vonnie and I are talking about a lot of nothing, watching the kids running around, when a pair of strong hands settle on my hips.

  “Sparks,” TK says before turning me to face him.

  I saw TK Moore running around on the field. His thick thighs flexing with his long strides as he raced down the sideline and leapt into the air with heights that defied gravity, his ass looking like a shelf in those padded white pants. But here, only inches in front of me, I see TK.

  I see the same TK who would run to me after every high school football game, his green eyes alight, happiness almost tangible. And a pang of longing, of sadness at missing out on years of his career, sharing this joy with him, shoots through my heart.

  His hair is pulled back into a loose ponytail, and even though I know it’s brown, it looks black from either sweat or water dumped on his head . . . probably sweat. His beard is noticeably longer and scruffier than it was just a few days ago, and even though I know he’s sweaty and smelly, all I want is to feel it under my fingertips and against my face. He’s never pale, but his skin is noticeably more tan since I last saw him, though Ace and I still have quite a few shades on him.

  But it’s his jersey and shoulder pads in his hands, leaving his chest and abs exposed, keeping me tongue-tied. I don’t know if he really has no clue what he looks like topless or if he’s messing with me to get a reaction, but I don’t think I could summon the energy to care either way. He’s not flexing, yet his abs are on full display. All six, hell, maybe eight of them carved out of stone underneath his tan skin glistening with the sweat of a hardworking man. Covered by just a sprinkling of chest hair trailing off under the waistband of his pants settled so low on his hips, the sexy V of his is summoning me to the promised land.

  All in all, he’s a freaking masterpiece.

  “Poppy,” he says, his voice shaking with laughter. “My eyes are up here.”

  “Yeah.” I glance up at him, not even a tiny bit ashamed to be caught ogling him. “But the rest of you is down here.”

  “Well.” He steps in closer, letting his equipment fall to the ground behind him. “Can’t say I’m not happy you’re enjoying the view.”

  “Whatever.” I roll my eyes, but I don’t deny it. I don’t know if it’s the sun or TK making me so much hotter, I just know the pull to touch the man in front of me is too strong to ignore.

  “You look good.” His voice drops to a whisper even though the screams of the fans calling out for autographs make it impossible for anyone else to hear our conversation. “I almost fell over when I saw you walk down the steps in these.” His fingers graze the tops of my thighs right where my white denim shorts stop.

  “These are the only shorts I have.”

  “Lucky for me, I guess.” One of his hands moves to my lower back, pulling me in so close I can feel his sweat dampen my tank top.

  “Good.” I exhale the word.

  TK’s lips curve up into a knowing smile.

  Not cocky.

  Sweet and hopeful. Like I’m not the only person wanting to cross this line, wanting to pretend we don’t have years of strife to overcome, that right here, we’re just like every other couple happy to see each other . . . to touch each other.

  He tilts his head to the side, silently asking for permission. In answer, I lift my chin and roll onto my toes. His li
ps part, showing off the smile I know braces perfected, right before he drops his head, touching his mouth to mine in one soft, perfect kiss that causes my knees to go weak.

  “You looked good out there,” I say, once I’ve caught my bearings.

  “Thanks.” His hand lingers on my back and I’m not eager for the contact to end. “Did you have fun?” He’s watching me, concern evident. I guess talk of some of the cattier wives gets around.

  “I actually had a lot of fun.” I continue on when he lifts a single, disbelieving eyebrow at me. “No, really.” I point to Vonnie, who’s having a very animated conversation with her husband. “I sat with Vonnie and Charli, they’re hilarious. We’re actually getting together Sunday and watching the game.”

  He drops his eyebrow, but I can’t read his expression anymore. A thought that hadn’t crossed my mind all day pops in. We aren’t a couple—what if he doesn’t want me making friends with these people? They are his co-workers, after all.

  “Shoot.” I wince. “I don’t have to go over there if you don’t want. I know we haven’t really discussed details, but I don’t want to overstep any boundaries here. This is your work and I—”

  TK cuts me off by dropping his mouth to mine once more. Out of all the interrupting techniques in the world, I have to say, I find his kisses the most enjoyable and effective.

  “Go.” He says the one small word like it’s the most obvious thing in the universe.

  “But they’re your teammates’ family—”

  “Poppy, are you or are you not my girl?” he asks, cutting me off. “If I didn’t want you here, you wouldn’t be here. You’re here because I want you making friends with my friends. I want our lives to become so intertwined we can’t figure out where one starts and the other ends. I want you and Ace around as much as I can have you around. I want you both.”

  Oh my god.

  Did he just ask me to be his girlfriend?

  “Did you just ask me to be your girlfriend?” I try to bite back the smile threatening to consume my face . . . and fail miserably. “I mean, last time you asked, you wore your best button-up and khakis. Is sweaty and kind of bossy your new version of romantic?”

  “Poppy.” He says my name like he’s already regretting making me his girlfriend. “Are you going to make me grovel in front of my teammates? Because if you do, I’m pretty sure they’ll never let either one of us live it down.”

  “Well, lucky for you, I appreciate the sweaty, shirtless method.” I let my eyes take him in, in all his glory once more. “So, okay. I guess I’ll be your girlfriend.”

  I feel the heat creep up my cheeks, and I don’t know if it’s from suddenly feeling shy or flustered by how good he looks standing in front of me.

  “Okay,” he repeats, moving a mass of curls out of my face. His smile is so bright that, even with the beard, I swear I can see that lone dimple on his left cheek. He starts to lean down again, but this time he’s the one interrupted.

  “TK!” Ace yells, bolting across the field and hurtling his little body into TK, probably hitting him harder than some of his teammates did today. “You were awesome out there! That one catch? Holy cow! You went up so high and with one hand!” Ace jumps up, doing his best imitation of his new hero. “It was so cool, you have to teach me!”

  “Thanks, dude.” TK rumples Ace’s curls, the same look of pride I have whenever I’m near Ace or hear his name written all over his face. And if anybody had questions about these two, they’re answered in this moment. “You have to come over to my place. I have a football launcher in my backyard so I can practice without having a quarterback. I’ll tell you all the family tricks, but you can’t tell anyone . . .” He bends down and leans into Ace’s ear conspiratorially. “Only us Moore men can know the secrets of greatness.”

  Ace doesn’t say anything, he just stares at him, jaw slack, eyes wide, as if Jesus himself had just appeared on this field and told him all of life’s greatest secrets.

  “Ace!” Jett yells across the field with his hands on his hips, not at all impressed by TK or the other Mustang players making their way to the locker room. “Come on! I can’t let my loser brothers win!”

  “Jett Damon Lamar, you better not let me catch you calling your brothers losers again!” Vonnie booms out. Not only is her tone one not to be questioned, but she used his full name.

  Not stupid, Jett is quick to shout, “I won’t. Sorry, Mom.”

  “Can I go play?” Ace asks TK.

  “Course, dude.” TK leans in again, whispering just loud enough for Vonnie and Justin to hear, “But you better not let Jett’s loser brothers win.”

  Justin barks out a quick burst of laughter. Vonnie, on the other hand, does not look amused. “You see?” She looks at me. “You see why my boys are so crazy? They have these big-ass man-children egging them on. And that one”—she aims a pointed-tip fingernail TK’s way—“is the biggest jokester of all. You sure you want to deal with all of that?”

  TK has always been that way. One time, in study hall, he snuck into Mrs. Hanson’s room during lunch and planted fart noise machines all around. Mrs. Hanson’s face got so red I was sure her head was going to explode. TK had in-school suspension for a week. I don’t know if it’s comforting or disturbing to know he’s the same way ten years later.

  I look over at TK, lifting an appraising eyebrow. “I think I’ll risk it.”

  “Can’t blame you,” Vonnie says. “TK, you’re a pain in my ass, but you are fine.”

  This time, it’s me and TK laughing and Justin standing there catching flies.

  “What?” Vonnie purses her lips. “Look at him. Over there all topless, trying to impress Poppy. I’m supposed to be immune to all that?” She draws air circles around TK’s abs. “I’m married, not dead.”

  “Put your shirt on, asshole,” Justin yells, chucking a black Sharpie that only just misses TK’s head. “Out here lookin’ like fuckin’ wilderness Fabio.”

  “Aww, shit!” TK runs in place and brings a fist to his mouth. “You got jokes, Lamar? You mad ’cause you’re fifty-five and still haven’t shaved?” He drops his hand and turns to Vonnie. “Tell your man that women don’t find jealousy attractive.”

  “Women don’t find jealousy attractive, babe.”

  “Whatever,” Justin pouts. “I’m gonna go shower. We don’t have meetings for a couple of hours, you and the boys want to grab something to eat?”

  “If you think I’ve been dirtying the kitchen, cooking a nice dinner, only for those boys of yours to tell me they don’t like it and want chicken nuggets while you’re gone, you are mistaken. We’re eating out no matter what. The only question here is if you’re coming or not.”

  “Damn, Von,” Justin groans. However, even the reporters on the sidelines could see the smile he’s doing a terrible job of disguising. “You could at least pretend to miss me. Treating me like this in front of TK. You know he never shuts the hell up.”

  “Boy, bye.” Vonnie laughs. “You better take your stinky self to the shower and meet me in the parking lot in twenty. The boys snacked all practice long, but you know they’ll probably be whining about being hungry again in less than thirty minutes.”

  Boys.

  Glad to see Ace isn’t the only miniature, never-ending food pit.

  “I’ll be out in fifteen,” Justin counters, leaning in and planting a quick, sweet kiss on Vonnie’s forehead. And for just a second, all the sass drains from Vonnie’s body and I watch her eyes go soft as she looks up at her husband.

  It’s an oddly private moment to take place in the middle of such a public event. And I feel a little guilty for watching, but I know that even if they were circled by hundreds of screaming fans and flashing cameras, they wouldn’t notice any of it.

  I don’t know if it’s because, in my heart, I knew after I left TK, I’d never have something like that again, but seeing happy
couples used to cause jealousy to course through me. But now, standing next to TK and hearing Ace’s peals of laughter, it’s not there.

  I’ve been so nervous to let TK back into our lives. I said it’s because I don’t want Ace hurt, but if I’m honest with myself, it’s my heart I’m worried about. I know the kind of man TK is, and he’s a good one. I know he will never bail on Ace. What I don’t know is, after all his time as a party boy, star football player supreme, if he’s ready to settle down. It might seem fun to play family man now, but how long until the novelty wears off and he wants his VIP club status back? I locked my heart away and convinced myself I was fine with a lifetime of one-night stands and flings, and I was fine until TK trotted his sexy ass back into my life. One glance at him, dripping with booze, angry eyes and all, and I knew he had the power to break down the walls I’d spent ten years building up.

  I just didn’t know he’d do it so fast.

  And it terrifies me as much as it thrills me.

  “Sparks, you good down there?” TK’s damp skin brushes against my bare arm and his padded legs bump into my hip, breaking me out of my thoughts.

  “Really?” I pull my sunglasses to the top of my head, giving him an unobstructed view of my glare. “A short joke? That’s what we’re doing right now?”

  “Who?” His green eyes go wide and he moves a callused hand to his chest. “Me?”

  “Oh, don’t play innocent with me, Moore. I’m not Vonnie, I’m not falling for any of . . .” I gesture to his glistening, tanned, lightly dusted with chest hair, rock-solid chest. “This nonsense.”

  Lies.

  I want to lick him.

  “You’re a shit liar, Sparks.” He smirks, totally cocky this time. And I’d be lying if I said cocky TK isn’t my kryptonite.

  “I know.” I don’t even try to lie because, well, because TK is topless, smirking, and leaning down like he’s about to kiss me.

  He doesn’t kiss me.

  “You and Ace want to go eat?” he asks.