The Playbook

“Dean?”

“Yeah, mate?” he turns to look at me, expectantly.

“I’m not your fucking mate.”

Chapter Nine

Abbey

I'm sitting at the end of the bar watching all the hot guys walk in and look around the room, as if they’re weighing up their options. Nobody seems to notice me here, and I guess I kind of like it that way. I can sit here and observe, and try to guess what their story is. Like the guy who just walked in with the sexy brunette. He keeps glancing back at her friend, who walks a few feet behind them. She catches his eye every now and then. I’m convinced they’ve got something happening on the side, and the poor brunette has no idea.

I take a sip of my cocktail and glance at my phone. Mel was supposed to be here half an hour ago, but I’m used to her standing me up. Besides, I’m having fun just enjoying my own company.

My eyes widen when Adam walks in. He stops in the doorway and looks around. He spots me and waves. My heart begins to pound as he walks in my direction. I wet my lips and smile, hoping I look more in control than I feel.

“You’re fucking beautiful,” he murmurs when he reaches me. I gasp as he sweeps my hair back behind my ear, keeping his hand on the side of face. He kisses me, my lips tingling as his touch mine. “Abbey, I’ve been wanting to say this for so long.”

“Yes?” I urge him as his fingers trail down over my breasts. He smiles lazily and leans closer to me.

“Beep! Beep! Beep!”

I sit bolt upright in bed, panting furiously. What the hell was that? I don’t know if I’m disappointed or relieved it was only a dream. The empty feeling in the pit of my stomach tells me it’s more of the former.

Sighing I get out from under the covers, still fully dressed. I throw my hair back in a clip and take my laptop out to the kitchen, where I make myself a coffee as I wait for it to load.

I juggle my coffee and laptop, while checking my email, over to the couch. Sitting down, I let out a squeal. That can’t be right! I have six hundred new emails.

“Fuck me,” I say quietly to myself.

“I’ve got to be still dreaming,” I mut

ter, my voice getting louder with excitement. I’m not sure which is more unbelievable—hooking up with Adam or this.

As I read through the emails, I’m elated that they are all really quite positive, thanking me for speaking up. I have emails from women who have been with men just like guys I’m calling out. Finishing off my coffee, I spot a few emails headed with names. Names that I recognize—more footballers, like Tom Pritchard and Matt Denson, both top players for their respective teams. I click on one of them and start reading.

Dear playbook,

I loved your email outing Asher - and I want to urge you to continue with your quest.

I recently went on a date with Matt Denson and suffice to say he was an awful person. He talked down to me, treated me like shit in front of his mates, only to turn it around and treat me like a princess when they had left. If only I had realised that it was to get me into bed. The worst part is that I let this happen. I feel so stupid. I can’t prove it, but I think he even took photos of us having sex. I’m terrified they’re going to wind up in the wrong hands and ruin my life.

You have to stop him from doing this - please if you are doing another article, let it be Matt.

I can give you more info if you want it, so please call me.

Sandy

I take down her number and name in my notepad. I’m sure I’ve heard Mel go on about Matt in the past. I wonder if she knows anything? Not that I can exactly ask her without her getting suspicious.

Clicking open the next email, I read a couple of paragraphs about Tom Pritchard. I add his details to my notebook, already sure this guy’s only crime was not proposing to the girl at the end of their date.

Picking up my phone, I punch in the number Sandy put in her email and send her a text.

Me: Hi Sandy. Can you meet me at Thrive in an hour? I’m interested to hear more. The Playbook.

I get a reply almost instantly.

Sandy: Wow, really? I’ll see you there. Thanks so much.