Chapters (48)
- Cover
- PRAISE FOR ALEXA MARTIN’S PLAYBOOK SERIES
- Titles by Alexa Martin
- Dedication
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
- Prologue
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-one
- Twenty-two
- Twenty-three
- Twenty-four
- Twenty-five
- Twenty-six
- Twenty-seven
- Twenty-eight
- Twenty-nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-one
- Thirty-two
- Thirty-three
- Thirty-four
- Thirty-five
- Thirty-six
- Thirty-seven
- Thirty-eight
- Epilogue
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- About the Author
- What’s next onyour reading list?
It’s week five of the season and the Mustangs are currently 4–0. And while yes, football is a team sport, a large portion of the credit is due to Quinton. Much to the dismay of his critics, who believe that his actions will distract from his—and his teammates’—performance, he’s on track to set a new record for the most touchdown passes thrown by a quarterback in a season.
The commotion is finally enough to pull Vonnie’s boys from the food, and they skip the steps until they’re at the front of the box.
The cheers explode as fire shoots from the sides of the tunnel and a real mustang runs onto the field being ridden by a woman in a full-on cowgirl outfit waving a huge Mustangs flag. The cheerleaders sprint onto the field, rubbing their pom-poms together as they split into two separate lines, a human extension of the tunnel.
“Here they come!” Jack’s voice, mixed with the screams and clapping, causes the floor beneath my feet to rattle. “YOUR DENVER MUSTANGS!”
A stampede of blue and orange bursts from the tunnel as players jump, sprint, or jog onto the field. They all raise their hands in the air, feeding the crowd, fueling up off of our energy.
“Look!” Jett points to the field before he starts waving. “There’s Dad!”
“And there’s Mr. Maxwell!” Jax shouts out.
The Lamar boys go crazy whooping and clapping up a storm and it’s not long until Brynn is standing next to them, blowing outrageous kisses to Maxwell. I look over to Vonnie, expecting her to be doing some version of the same, but instead, she’s doing the opposite. She’s not even looking at the field. Her focus is on her phone, like she’s looking at the most interesting thing ever. But since I tried with no avail to check my emails earlier, I know there’s no service here. In the back of my head, I know I should look away. Leave her be. I mean, I don’t even know her.
Her shoulders that were held back, in line with her perfect posture, are slumped down and the grip she has on her phone is so tight that her hand is shaking. Her legs are crossed and her Louboutin-booted feet won’t stop bouncing. Everything about her says this is the last place she wants to be right now. But it’s when I notice the glassy sheen of her perfectly lined eyes, that my heart breaks a little for her.
I look away as fast as I can and pretend I don’t notice anything when I see her wipe away a tear out of the corner of her eye.