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Chapters (48)
  1. Cover
  2. PRAISE FOR ALEXA MARTIN’S PLAYBOOK SERIES
  3. Titles by Alexa Martin
  4. Dedication
  5. AUTHOR’S NOTE
  6. Prologue
  7. One
  8. Two
  9. Three
  10. Four
  11. Five
  12. Six
  13. Seven
  14. Eight
  15. Nine
  16. Ten
  17. Eleven
  18. Twelve
  19. Thirteen
  20. Fourteen
  21. Fifteen
  22. Sixteen
  23. Seventeen
  24. Eighteen
  25. Nineteen
  26. Twenty
  27. Twenty-one
  28. Twenty-two
  29. Twenty-three
  30. Twenty-four
  31. Twenty-five
  32. Twenty-six
  33. Twenty-seven
  34. Twenty-eight
  35. Twenty-nine
  36. Thirty
  37. Thirty-one
  38. Thirty-two
  39. Thirty-three
  40. Thirty-four
  41. Thirty-five
  42. Thirty-six
  43. Thirty-seven
  44. Thirty-eight
  45. Epilogue
  46. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  47. About the Author
  48. What’s next onyour reading list?

“Cosigned.” I lift up my plate, giving her the option to dip, which she takes me up on.

And even though I’ve kind of resigned myself to the idea that I will not be working with the Mustangs come the end of the season, I really need to figure out a way to make sure these women are forced to stay friends with me.

I might be a bigger fan of the Lady Mustangs than I am of the actual Mustangs.

Twenty-six

I don’t know if it was the positive affirmations like Greer assured us or the Mustangs were just that much better than Cleveland, but it was a blowout. So much so that Jax fell asleep during the third quarter and I hitched a ride home with Vonnie in the middle of the fourth.

But despite the fact that we left early and I didn’t drink nearly as much as I wanted to, thanks to Greer’s judgy side-eye—even though she ate almost all of Jett’s gummy bears and half of my chips—I still had a terrible case of the Mondays all week long. And now, of course, this is the bye week, so there is no game and I have two back-to-back meetings on a Saturday. I’m supposed to meet with Paul after them, but I fake being sick and cancel instead.

It has nothing to do with today still being Halloween, no matter how many times I tried to get it to not come this year.

Who am I kidding?

It has everything to do with it being Halloween. I’ve been teetering on the cusp of tears all week long. I had no idea the depths of grief until I experienced it myself. I wish I didn’t know how the smallest things could set me off. Or how logic has failed me all day and I keep hoping my phone will ring and my dad will be on the other end. I wish I didn’t resent all of my carefree coworkers and hate them when they wandered through the office with a painted face or ridiculous hat. I can’t even talk about how much I wanted to punch Paul when he offered me a piece of candy from his pumpkin-shaped bowl yesterday. What he thought was nice felt like he was mocking my hurt.

I really need to call my therapist again because I am not properly equipped to handle this. Not even close.

I get home midday and kids are running all over the complex, probably counting down the minutes until they can trick or treat. I keep my sunglasses on as I make my way up the stairs, trying to decide whether or not I want to be a curmudgeon and keep my outside light off and eat the candy instead of handing it out.

I want the candy.