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Series: The Playbook #3
Also in this series: Blitzed
Publication Date: December 3, 2019
Cliffhanger: View Spoiler » No « Hide Spoiler
Content Warning: View Spoiler » Mention of Sexual Assault « Hide Spoiler
Genres: Contemporary Romance
Add It: Goodreads
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Maxwell has finally met an opponent that he can't best in this new football romance from the author of Fumbled.
According to Brynn Larson, Maxwell Lewis is more trouble than he's worth. She doesn't care if he's a football god with a rock-hard body that brings most women to their knees. After an encounter that ends poorly, she's not interested in giving him a second chance. The last thing Brynn expects is for him to turn up at her bar months later, hat in hand. It doesn't matter if he brings more customers to her business--she's still not going on a date with him.
Maxwell knows he made a mistake. He'd been waiting to make his move on Brynn since the day he laid eyes on her and he was finally ready to go for it until he screwed up. He wishes he could tell her the truth about what happened that night, but he just can't. He can't tell anyone, so he'll make amends and hope she'll forgive him.
Brynn's not like other women, though. Playing for the Mustangs doesn't impress her and gifts make her scoff. Max will have to bring his A game if he hopes to win her over.
Some people call me a workaholic.
And they’re right.
But considering I own a bar, it’s the best kind of “holic” I could be. Plus, my job consists of listening to other people’s dramas and hanging out with my girls damn near every day.
“Oh my god! Brynn!” Vonnie’s eyes scrunch and her entire face twists into an abstract painting. “Did you put anything besides vodka in there?”
“Gin.” I wink and write the latest failed martini recipe down in my notebook.
“Why are we taste testing again?” Charli asks as she leans across the bar and grabs the martini from Vonnie. Vonnie narrows her eyes, probably ready to scold her for her table manners . . . but when Charli gives it a sniff, takes a deep sip, shrugs, and then finishes it, Vonnie’s eyes grow wide and her jaw drops.
“Damn, Charli!” I don’t know if I’m impressed or disturbed. “I didn’t know you had that in you!”
“Don’t worry.” Poppy snatches the glass away from Charli and walks it around the bar like she still works here even though she quit months ago to go to school and better herself like a selfish jerk. “Shawn’s on standby. Final roster cuts come in tomorrow and he’s been bracing Charli for bad news . . .” She leans in closer as she passes behind me.
“Something she’s clearly not handling well.”
Reason 8,634 I could never date a football player.
Basketball? Maybe. At least their contracts are guaranteed and they’re gone so often I’d barely have to see them. Baseball? Possibly. I do love sitting outside and eating pretzels and drinking beer. Hockey? Nope, it’s basically football on skates—with more broken noses and less teeth. Luckily for all these athletes I’d have to let down ever so gently, none of them know who I am.
“Your crazy ass better drink some water,” Vonnie, always the mom of the group, tells her. “Besides, I think Aviana is coming, and who knows if she’s still filming.”
“Oh, fucking fuck me,” Charli moans. “That damn show is going to be the death of me and I’m not even on it.”
I can see Charli is clearly in a fragile state of mind, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t love everything about Love the Player. I kinda feel like, even though I’m not a cast member, I manifested the shit out of that show. I mean, the concept for HERS came to life as I was sitting on a shitty-ass date, watching a shitty-ass game, sipping shitty beer. All I wanted was to be out with my girls, drinking a fantastic specialty cocktail, and watching the latest Bravo reality show with a roomful of strangers.
And now, not only do we watch reality shows, HERS is a regular fucking setting for one. It just started to air, but the increase in customers is already noticeable. And people tried to tell me my love of trash television was a waste of my time. To that I say, HA!
“Speaking of the show, that’s what we’re doing here.” I push a much lighter, and brighter (hot-pink) cocktail down to Jacqueline, who, even though she’s always with us, is still the quietest person I know, and I’m pretty sure she thinks we’re all in need of serious therapy . . . which might be accurate. How Aviana talked her into starring in Love the Player is still a mystery. “I want to have a few cocktails named after the show ready.”
“Great, now the show gives me alcohol poisoning too.” Charli lays her head on the bar.
“You’re giving yourself alcohol poisoning.” Poppy pushes a glass of water to her and starts mixing up a drink of her own. “I know you and Shawn are smart with your money. If he gets cut, it won’t be the worst thing in the world. TK loves not playing anymore.”
I watch Jacqueline take a small sip of the drink, and almost do a happy dance when her eyes widen. She looks at the drink as if the recipe’s written in the cocktail, and takes another sip.
“Success, Jac?” I ask even though I already know her answer.
“So good, Brynn,” she says in her usual, muted voice.
“Yeah it is!” We do an air high five. “I’m naming that one Peter’s Angel. Wait . . . no!” I shout like she’s not right in front of me. “Fuck Peter. This is your drink. Model Behavior!”
The Playbook Series
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