“THEN HE COMES down the stairs with his—”
“Stop!” Layla shouts, covering her ears. “I can’t hear any more of this.”
“I wasn’t even to the good part,” I laugh, setting down my bottle of beer. “Come on. Just let me finish.”
“No,” she laughs. “No. No more. I can’t.”
Poppy wipes tears from her eyes from laughing so hard at my tale from the locker room. Finn stands next to her, watching me tell the story. He knows half of what I’ve just said isn’t one hundred percent true, but it was good enough to entertain the girls. And him. He was laughing too.
Music plays on the overhead system as we shoot the shit. Finn brought back beer and steaks for the grill from his earlier trip to Linton. While the girls made some dips for chips and some vegetables Poppy apparently insisted on that almost caused bloodshed in the grocery, Finn and I worked the grill. It’s been one of the best, most relaxing afternoons I’ve had in a long time.
“Tell them the story about the direct message with the donkey nuts,” Finn requests.
“Okay, so this girl—”
“Answer me this,” Layla cuts me off. “Do you ever get normal messages? I mean, these stories are insane. Is your inbox full of crazies?”
“It was until those pictures of the commissioner’s daughter got leaked last year,” I grimace, thinking back on the mess I had on my hands from that little episode. “After that, Coach made us all shut off our inboxes on social media.”
“I thought that was a lie!” Poppy exclaims. “Seriously? Those pics of her were real?”
I grin. “The pictures were real. But her tits weren’t.”
“Good to know,” Layla flinches, swirling wine around in her glass.”
“Nah, it wasn’t that good,” I say, the look on her face making my stomach ache. “I wish I hadn’t fucked around with her at all, to tell you the truth. Caused a lot of headaches.”
Poppy stands in front of Finn and leans back, her back against his chest. He catches my eye over her head and shoots me a wink.
“Hey, Branch,” Poppy says. “Why do they call you Lucky?”
“Because he’s lucky someone hasn’t killed him by now,” Finn cracks.
“So funny,” I say with a poker face. “The year Finn and I started in the league, we played our division rivals the very first game thanks to a mistake by the people who set the schedules. That game usually doesn’t happen until later in the season. Anyway, two of our wide receivers were out with injuries, so I was in. We were down by a touchdown and time was ticking.”
I think back to that moment, my skin breaking out with goosebumps. “So, a pass was made that got deflected. The ball shot up in the air, maybe ten yards downfield from where I was. Somehow I get under it, but only as it was almost hitting the ground. The defense started making the ‘incomplete pass’ sign, just trying to sway the refs, you know? And I jumped up, demanding I caught it.”
“You were running around screaming it, if I recall,” Finn snorts. “He was pointing at the screens overhead, forcing everyone to watch the replay.”
“I wasn’t letting them not see it. I caught that thing.”
“Did they give you the catch?” Layla asks.
“Yeah, after a review. Everyone kept saying it was the luckiest catch ever and the name kind of stuck.”
“Do you think you’re lucky?” Layla’s voice is quiet, almost thoughtful, against the music and Poppy’s giggling at whatever Finn is whispering in her ear.
I sink into a chair beside her. Setting my beer on the table, I peel at the label. “I don’t know that I believe in luck, really.”
“Why not?”
“I think luck is just being ready when an opportunity presents itself. There are a lot of people that could be lucky if they spent more time preparing and less time moping or bitching or being scared.” Taking a deep breath, I stop fucking with the bottle and look into her gorgeous eyes. “Does that make any sense at all?”
The way she looks at me makes me want to come undone. It’s like she cracks open my outer shell and watches me bleed in front of her, something I don’t do for anyone.
People can’t handle that level of truth, that vision of what you look like or say that isn’t what they think it’ll be. When you’re a public figure, everyone thinks they know you and you better live up to that or they’ll call your ass out. It’s a burden to keep that façade up, but I always have to.
“It does make sense,” she agrees. “It’s easy to call people lucky because it doesn’t give them anything. Like, it doesn’t acknowledge anything about them—their work ethic, or decision making skills, or sacrifice. It’s just they’re lucky. I’ve always thought it was kind of bullshit.”
“You and me both,” I whisper.
Before things can get any deeper, her phone buzzes on the table. “Oh, shit.”
“Who is it?” I ask.
“Callum.”
She almost spits his name, her eyes narrowed as she watches it glow. Finn and Poppy are too busy in their own world to notice the way Layla just tensed up.
“He called earlier and I told him not to call me back. I mean, he’s in fucking Tahiti with another woman. Why would he even want to call me?”
“For this reason right here,” I say, spinning the phone around on the table. “It keeps you talking about him.”
“I don’t want to talk about him. I want him to die.” She looks at me. “Not really. I don’t need that karma on my head. I just . . . I wouldn’t be sad if something really bad happened to his knee, okay?”
Laughing, I pick up the phone with a crazy idea. “Let me answer it.”
“What?” she squawks. “Why would I do that?”
“Because it would be fun.”
“I don’t know . . .”
“Oh, come on,” I say. “You aren’t dating him, right? What do you have to lose?”
“What do I have to gain?” she counters.
“A little amusement.”
She gives in, unlocks the phone, and swipes the call. Handing me the phone, she tilts her head like she’s second-guessing her decision. I grab it before she changes her mind.
Callum is a complete dick. His reputation around the league sucks, stories float around about him every year in regards to the way he treats his team. I’ve seen him at clubs throughout the years and watched him interact with different people. It’s a wonder someone hasn’t rung him up.
A little shot of adrenaline hits me as I bring it to my ear. “Hello?”
I keep the phone pulled slightly away so he doesn’t hear my breathing. There’s no reason to distract him from the fact a man just answered her phone. Let that sink in a little.
“Who is this?” he says finally.
“Who is this?”
“I asked first.”
“True, but you called me,” I remind him, winking at Layla whose hands are folded together and hovering near her mouth. “Seems to me you should introduce yourself.”
“Where the hell is Layla?”
“She’s . . . preoccupied,” I say, getting entirely too much enjoyment out of his irritation. “Can I help you with something?”
His breathing rackets through the line like a linebacker watching you across the field, ready to take you out. “Put her on the phone.”
“She’s really not in a position to talk right now. Can I give her a message?”
“Who the fuck is this?” he snaps.
“Branch Best.”
The stunned silence gives me all I was after, a little shock to the cocksucker. If anything, it’ll make him realize he’s not God. If anything more, maybe he’ll leave Layla alone.
“What the hell is she doing with you?”
“Oh, just the usual . . .”
“Just the usual, huh?” he jeers.
“Well, usual for me. Not sure what usual is for you. How are you doing, anyway? We haven’t talked for a while. We should totally hang out more . . .”
I think it’s the friendliness in my voice that he knows I don’t mean that causes something to break on his end. The sound of glass shattering in the distance shouldn’t make me laugh, but it does.
“Bad day, Callum?’
“Fuck you, Best. Fuck. You.”
“So hateful.”
The line goes dead.
“Was he pissed?” Layla asks.
Finn and Poppy are watching, having caught on to what was happening. Finn shoots me a look and I know he and I will discuss this later.
In the meantime, I turn back to Layla. “Do you think he was pissed? He’s an angry boy.”
“Ugh,” she groans, taking the phone from me. “Maybe he’ll stop calling me now.”
“Tell him to call me,” Finn demands. “He’s just trying to keep you on the hook, Lay. Just cut all ties with him.”
“I’m trying. I didn’t answer earlier or text him back yesterday. I’m over it.”
Finn’s right, but I want to chime in and tell her the exact game he’s playing. Hell, I’ve played it before. He’s going to string her along until he’s ready to dip his stick in her again.
She sits next to me, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Her forehead is pinched as she turns her phone completely off and I find myself wishing I could do something to make him stop bothering her. But I can’t. It’s not my place.
Poppy’s face breaks into a smile as she looks at Layla. “Glad to hear it. Come on,” she says, heading towards her and offering her a hand. “Finn, turn this music up.”
Finn does as instructed and a new hit song floats through the house. Layla gets to her feet and joins Poppy in dancing through the kitchen, shaking their asses and laughing their heads off.
I grab a beer and sit down and watch Finn join them, dirty dancing with Poppy as Layla pours another glass of wine. The laughter is a constant here, as is the comfortable, homey mood. I wonder what Christmas would be like here with a giant tree in the living room, one so tall it hits the ten-foot high rafters. I consider being snowed in with a fire in the stone fireplace or watching fireworks over the water on the Fourth.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I chuckle, bringing the beer back to my lips. “Get your ass in check, Best.”