The Playbook Read Free Page A

after the show,” I say, winking at her. In my usual form, I assume it’s all about me. At least, I’m sure that’s what everyone thinks. The reality is, sometimes my cockiness is just a cover for my anxieties. Serj snorts next to me, and I shoot him a glare, annoyed at him for ruining my game. He shrugs, his eyes laughing and he gestures for me to continue. I smirk. Who knows. Maybe he’ll learn a thing or two. I turn my attention back to my distraction from reality just in time to see her roll her eyes.  
    “Mr. Tanner." Her tone is cool as she arches her eyebrow, her heel clicking against the floor impatiently. "If you can please follow me I will show you to your seat.” Even unimpressed, her voice is like silk and it sends a shiver right down my cock.  
    I follow her like a dog in heat, undressing her in my head. She says something to a passing cameraman and flashes him a smile, all the while I imagine those lips wrapped around my dick. I bet she could take it all in. And trust me when I say that's no easy feat.   
    “Here is your seat Mr. Tanner," she says, directing me onto the small stage. "Will there be anything else you require? Her eyes lock onto mine and she raises an eyebrow, which I, of course, take as an invitation.  
    I lean closer to her so that my lips are millimeters from hers. My fingers run along the edge of her face as I whisper into her ear, “Not right now, but if you come by my place later I'll show you what else I require.”  
    I slip a piece of paper into her pocket with my number on it, sliding my finger out slowly. Her face flushes with color and just like that her cool, I-don't-give-a-shit exterior is blown.
    Just like she'll be doing to me later.    
    As she walks away, she turns to look back at me, blushes again and then disappears into the crowd of reporters. Fuck! I'd nearly forgotten why I was here. As I sit in my seat, my arms crossed casually across my chest, I try and ignore the nerves building in my stomach. Here we go.
    I take a few deep breaths and wait for this circus to get underway.  

Chapter Three
    Abbey    
    “Skinny Latte please, with a shot of caramel,” I say to the barista at my favorite coffee shop, Little Bella Café, whilst trying to subtly straighten out my dark skirt, handcrafte d fro m Italian wool. I shift my feet, running my hand over the curve of my hip, uncomfortable at how clingy the damn fabric is. I’d spent half my pay on it the week before. But if it does what I need it to, then it’s worth it.
    “Sure thing, Abbey. Hey, you look nice today; what you all dressed up for? You got an interview or something?”
    I shiver, excited that he noticed. Apart from the amazing coffee, Adam is what keeps me coming back here every day. He brushes his wavy brown hair from his eyes, his lips curving into a grin that sends my heart racing. The only thing sexier than his smile is the little dimple that pops out whenever it appears.
    No interview. Just you.    
    “Ah, just meeting up with friends after work,” I say, thinking on my feet. I’m already regretting not having a backstory prepared, especially with my habit of oversharing when I’m nervous. I’m a reporter, for god’s sake. I should be the queen of bluffing by now.    
    After years of late study nights completing my degree, I finally landed my dream job last month with a respected monthly magazine. Well, dream job might be a little misleading, but it’s a step in the right direction. I’m a junior journalist at Over Eighties, the leading lifestyle magazine in the United Kingdom for people, you guessed it, over the age of eighty. I spend my days chasing riveting stories like “How to Make the Most of Your Pension,” and “Internet Dating” for our loyal readers. It’s hardly the hard-hitting journalism I want to be doing, but it pays the bills.    
    “Oh yeah, where are you off to?” he asks, sounding genuinely interested.     
    His question catches me off guard and