Not Playing Fair (The NOT Series Book 2) Read online

  After popping my hatch, careful this time not to let it close on me, I looked around for Ryan but he was nowhere in sight. He hadn’t said a word to me since the water break, and I was certain that Fletcher must have interfered. Something he had no right to do.

  Dropping into my driver’s seat, I huffed and wondered why men had to be so annoying. Then I shoved the key into the ignition and mumbled, “If I knew the answer to that one, I’d share it with every woman ever and save us all the trouble.”

  Trudging up the stairs to my apartment, I felt as if I were dragging a boulder along with me. I slid my bag into the closet, kicked off my shoes, and went into the kitchen to find food. I should have been starving since there hadn’t been time to eat before practice, but nothing sounded good. I definitely didn’t want to cook, and there were no leftovers in the fridge that I could quickly heat up.

  Checking the pantry, I stared at the shelves for several seconds before making an emotional decision I would probably regret later, but tonight called for chocolate frosting and a large spoon. Treat in hand, I took a seat on the couch and stared at the letter teetering on my lemon-yellow throw pillow. The letter stared back, taunting me.

  You know you want to read me. You know you do.

  I flipped the pillow to hide the envelope and scooped a heaping serving of frosting into my mouth. “I never asked you to send me a ledder,” I said with my mouth full.

  Two bites later, I picked up the phone and called the person this letter affected the most. Other than me, of course. Dad picked up on the third ring.

  “Hey, pumpkin. Is everything okay?”

  I didn’t normally call him when he was at his convention. Dad started selling insurance around the time I went to kindergarten, and every September he attended his company gathering, which changed locations every year. This time they were in Dallas.

  “I’m good. How’s it going down there?” I asked, not ready to admit my reason for calling.

  “It’s good. Really good.” Someone spoke in the background and he mumbled a response I couldn’t make out. “Some of us are chatting in the bar. Let me step out so I can hear you.”

  The notion of Dad in a bar did not compute, but then this wasn’t some seedy dive on the North Side. He was at a Hyatt Regency, after all. There was a shuffling sound, a couple of excuse mes, and then he said, “Okay, I’m out in the lobby now. What’s going on?”

  I never meant for him to think this was an emergency. Though, was it? Did hearing from your mother for the first time in two decades require a 911 call to the parent who’d been there the whole time? And if I told him about said letter, would this ruin the rest of his trip? Knowing Dad, he’d insist on coming home immediately. I didn’t want that. This trip was his one annual indulgence. I would not let Geraldine Pendleton take that away from him. She’d already taken enough from both of us.

  “I had my first practice of the season tonight,” I said, regretting making the call. “I know most of the team, and the coach put me at second base right away.”

  Between my height—or lack thereof— and my gender, I’d had to fight for my position on more than one team over the years. It had been nice to not face that fight this time.

  “That’s great, pumpkin. They should all know how good you are by now.”

  He was my dad. He had to say that.

  “How did your presentation go? Or have you given it yet?”

  “That was today and it went well. Everyone in attendance left knowing more about the Schedule P Reserve than they probably wanted to. And no one fell asleep this time.”

  I loved my dad, but even his colleagues found his fascination with all things insurance a little odd. He’d found what made him happy and I loved that for him.

  “Now are you going to tell me the real reason you called?” he asked, as clairvoyant as ever. Anyone who said only moms had that intuition thing hadn’t been raised by James Knox.

  I went with a half-truth. “I got something in the mail today that I wanted to talk to you about, but it can wait until you get back.”

  “Is it an insurance matter?”

  “No, it’s something else. Nothing important.” This was quite possibly the first lie I’d ever told my father.

  He didn’t respond, and I feared he’d push for more details. “Are you sure? I have plenty of time to talk.”

  As if on cue, I heard someone call his name before he said, “We’re at a table in the back corner on the left. Go on in.” To me, he said, “I can go up to my room where it’s quieter.”

  Dad had no social life outside of work, and I would not take these rare moments away from him. “Really, it’s fine. Go have fun with your friends, and I’ll see you when you get back. Your flight lands at three thirty, right?”

  “Unless there’s a delay. If you change your mind, you can call anytime. I might not answer right away if I’m in a panel, but I’ll call back as soon as I can.”

  A girl couldn’t ask for a better dad. I considered throwing the letter away and pretending it never came, but the curiosity would drive me crazy. I would read it, but not alone. Not without him.

  “It can wait a couple more days; don’t worry. Go back to your friends and have a good time. I’ll see you on Sunday.”

  “Love you, pumpkin.”

  “Love you, too, Dad.”

  The call ended and I dropped the phone next to my leg before going back to my frosting. This had been one eventful day. First the threat to the programs, then the letter, and whatever that was with Ryan at practice. This was not typical for my life. I was used to maybe one mildly interesting event a couple of times a year.

  Like Becca getting a second chance at love. Or a bestselling author making an appearance at the library. Yes, I gave both of those events equal billing because Becca had been through hell when she’d lost the love of her life two years ago, and seeing her happy again was better than all the bestselling authors in the world.

  Two more bites of frosting and I carried the container back to the kitchen and put it in the fridge before heading to the bathroom for a much-needed shower. Sleep would not be a problem tonight. On my way through the living room, I stopped and checked under the throw pillow, silently hoping the letter would be gone. No luck. I had the fleeting thought that a warning should be printed on the outside.

  Danger—may turn life of recipient upside down.

  After shoving the letter into my purse, I grabbed my phone and shuffled into the bedroom for my pajamas. The potential time bomb would have to wait, and so would the woman who sent it.

  Chapter Five

  When I’d made my list of curveballs from the previous day, I’d forgotten about Fletcher’s text message and odd behavior. Josie had not forgotten.

  “What happened at practice?” she asked before my butt hit the seat of my chair. “Did he try to talk to you?”

  “He who?” said Donna as she joined us. “Are we talking about Fletch the Wretch?”

  She’d given him that moniker within a week of our breakup. Donna Bradford was a force of nature. A photographer and leading female entrepreneur, she made a living shooting weddings, but her passion was in using her art for racial activism. As a biracial woman, she understood the struggle in a way the rest in our group never would.

  “Wait until the others get here,” I said. “I don’t want to tell this story more than once.”

  What I didn’t say was that the letter burning a hole through my purse was a much bigger deal than my ex sending me a text message, but I still hadn’t decided if I was going to tell them about it or not. With anything else, I wouldn’t hesitate, but a part of me felt like it was wrong to tell them before I told Dad. Then again, keeping it from them would be weird. We told each other everything.

  The waitress took our orders while we waited. We’d eaten together so many times that each of us could have ordered for the others and never gotten it wrong. As the server walked away, Becca and Lindsey arrived.

  “Sorry we’re late,” Becca
said. “Lindsey tried to break the sound barrier on the way here, and we got pulled over.”

  “You what?” Donna said.

  Lindsey waved a hand as if this was no big deal. “I got a warning. And I was not trying to break the sound barrier. I was only going twelve miles per hour over the speed limit.”

  “Where?” Josie asked.

  “On the Parkway,” Becca replied as she unfolded her napkin and spread it across her lap. “We were talking and she was so oblivious, we didn’t even know the cop was chasing us until we reached the top of the Greentree exit.”

  “Can we move on?” Lindsey chimed. “I didn’t get a ticket. We’re all here now. Let’s eat.”

  Mendoza’s was Lindsey’s favorite Mexican restaurant. We took turns picking the meeting place, and she always chose this one. None of us minded since they had the best huevos rancheros in town, which they served any time of day.

  “Yes,” Josie said. “Let’s move on. Megan, spill.”

  “What is she spilling?” Becca asked.

  With a sigh, I said, “Fletcher sent me a text message before practice yesterday asking if I wanted a ride.”

  Lindsey loaded guacamole onto a corn chip. “Please tell me that was a literal question and not a euphemism.”

  “Literal,” I replied. “I haven’t heard from him in nearly eight months, and less than an hour before the message came, I found out that he has a new girlfriend.”

  “Oh, Meg,” Becca said, patting my hand.

  “She’s on the team, too,” I added.

  “That peckerhead.” Donna dropped her chip on her appetizer plate and brushed her hands together. “Did he know that you knew?”

  Excellent question and one I hadn’t thought of. “I have no idea. Thomas told me at work, and he’d assumed I knew, but I’m not sure how I would have. I don’t associate with many of our mutual friends anymore so I’m out of the loop.”

  The truth was that they had been Fletcher’s friends and once we were no longer together, most of them had dumped me as well. Which was fine. I had all the friends I needed right here.

  “You didn’t take the ride, did you?” Lindsey asked.

  “Of course not. I told him no.”

  “Just no?” Donna said. “Not hell no, you boil on the butt of humanity?”

  “You know she’d never say that.” Becca dabbed at her chin with her napkin. “Do you want me to have Jacob beat him up for you?”

  The question was so ridiculous that we all laughed. “I appreciate the offer,” I said, “but there’s no need to get your boyfriend an assault charge on my behalf.”

  “He’d do it,” she added. “I’m pretty sure you’re his favorite in this group.”

  “Hey,” the other three protested.

  “I’m the one who helped him rework that 401K,” Josie argued.

  “I’m the one who took those pictures of the two of you before he left for Korea back in July,” Donna said. “For free, I might add.”

  “Those pictures were for your exhibit,” Becca reminded her. “And Megan is the one Sophie loves, so she’s Jacob’s favorite.”

  Sophie was Jacob’s six-year-old daughter from his previous marriage. She was beautiful, smart, and loved to read. As a librarian who spent a great deal of time with children her age, I’d brought along a collection of books the first time we all met her, and she and I had bonded immediately. Sophie didn’t like me more than she liked Becca, but I could tell that I was a close second.

  News to me that I’d won her father over as well.

  “I appreciate the offer, but no thanks. At least not yet.” I still wanted to know what Fletcher said to Ryan. If he pulled some ‘stay away from her’ crap, then I wanted to keep my options open. “At practice he said he was glad I decided to play. I think he wants to be friends.”

  “And I want chocolate cake that won’t go to my hips,” Donna said. “We can’t all have what we want.”

  “Do you want to be friends with him?” Becca asked.

  “You can’t be friends with an ex,” Lindsey said before stuffing another chip in her mouth. Four sets of eyes turned her way and she caught the stares with a wide-eyed look. “What? It’s true. If you could be friends, then you wouldn’t have broken up in the first place.”

  “Aren’t you still friends with Zach Dugan?” Josie asked.

  “And Robbie Winters,” Becca added.

  Lindsey shook her head. “Those don’t count.”

  The rest of us exchanged confused glances. “Why don’t they count?” I asked.

  “Because I was never serious about those guys. I never considered marrying either of them.”

  Josie lifted her glass. “You practically lived with Zach when we were in college. Don’t even try to pretend you weren’t hearing wedding bells when he took you to meet his parents.”

  “In the Hamptons,” Josie added.

  “That’s when I knew we would never get married,” Lindsey said. “A girl from Carnegie was never going to be good enough for the Dugans of West Chester.”

  Becca tapped her shoulder. “Then you did think about marrying him.”

  “Please,” she said, loading up another chip. “He was awful in bed. I would not have signed up for a lifetime of that.” We all had a guy from college who fit that description, and an understanding nod went around the table. “Now can we get back to Megan’s story?”

  “So you met the girlfriend?” Donna asked.

  “Wait, she didn’t answer my question,” Becca cut in. “Do you want to be friends with Fletcher?”

  If asked the same question back when the breakup first happened, I might have said yes. Today, I wouldn’t even consider it. “No, I don’t. And yes, I met Fiona.”

  “Fiona?” Josie repeated. “That’s a heck of a name.”

  “And she’s a heck of a woman.” I glanced over to Donna. “If you need a new model, she’s your girl. Perfect bone structure, beautiful black skin, and those green eyes that most of us could only dream of. She has to be pushing six feet tall, and Thomas says she played softball for Duquesne. Yesterday she hurled a ball from center field to home plate without a single bounce. She’s that good.”

  “Please tell me she isn’t nice, too,” Josie said.

  She was going to be disappointed. “She caught me after practice to introduce herself and said she hoped I didn’t hate her. Which I don’t. It isn’t as if he dumped me for her.” I’d finally put that concern to rest by dropping my pride enough to message Thomas and ask how long Fletcher and Fiona had been together. He’d said about three months.

  The waitress arrived with our drinks and everyone put in their orders, including a request from Lindsey for a refill on the corn chips. As the young woman walked away, Donna started talking about her neighbor moving out. She’d set him up with Becca back in May, and the date had not gone well. That had been before Becca met Jacob.

  Technically, they’d already met, but only as passing strangers who kept running into each other in weird situations. Jacob and Becca’s love story was one of serendipity and fate, and maybe a little divine intervention. Becca’s high school sweetheart had been killed in a horrible tragedy the day before their wedding so there was a good chance Brian was up there working hard to make sure she still got her happily ever after. If not with him, then with someone else who would love her the way she deserved.

  I tuned out in the middle of the story about the neighbor getting his massive gym equipment stuck in the stairwell. Staring at my water glass, my mind drifted to the letter in my purse. Dad had once told me how he fell in love with my mother the moment he’d met her. The girl he’d described had been bright and beautiful and loved to dance. As a young girl, I remembered feeling overwhelmed by the force of her presence. She would dress me up and put on music so we could dance around the house, but I’d always asked to go back to my room to read.

  Maybe if I’d known she was going to leave us, I’d have made more of an effort to be the dazzling, outgoing daughter that she
’d wanted. Not that I hadn’t tried. Geraldine had been a hard woman to please, and I paid the price anytime I failed to do so.

  “Hey,” said Josie, snapping her fingers in front of my face. “Earth to Megan.”

  I looked up to find all eyes on me. “I’m sorry. How did they get the weight thing off the stairs?”

  Lindsey snorted as Becca said, “She finished that story two minutes ago. What’s going on with you, Meg?”

  I hesitated, but these were my people. I had to share. Reaching for my purse, I pulled out the letter and tossed it onto the table. “I got this yesterday.”

  Josie picked it up first. “What is it?” Turning it over, she asked, “Who is Geraldine Pendleton?”

  “That’s my mother.” The words felt foreign on my tongue. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d said them. “As you all know, I haven’t heard from her since she sent me a card for my tenth birthday.”

  “It’s still sealed,” Lindsey mumbled around a chip. “Are you going to open it?”

  I told myself that I was waiting for Dad to get back, but part of me didn’t want to tell him. I didn’t know if what was in that envelope would hurt him. Or hurt me, for that matter. Was there an apology? An explanation? What if she needed money? I knew without a second thought that Dad would send her some. I didn’t have much to spare, but my gut said I wouldn’t give her anything no matter what was in my account. A childish, selfish thought, but too many years had gone by. Too many milestones missed. Moments when I’d needed a mom and she wasn’t there.

  Not that Dad hadn’t been the best parent ever, but there were moments in a girl’s life that only a mother could understand.

  “I decided to wait until Dad gets back from his trip. It feels like something we should do together.”

  “What do you think she wants?” Becca asked.

  I shrugged. “I have no idea. A million different scenarios have been running through my head, but it could be anything, I guess.”

  “She could be sick,” Becca suggested.