CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVENMorgan
Morgan dialed Travis’s number the next morning. She didn’t look at the calendar or even the clock. She didn’t know if he would be sleeping or at practice, and she didn’t really care.
“Hello?” Travis answered, his voice groggy.
She’d woken him. A devious feeling of satisfaction hit her. “Travis. Hungover?” she asked harshly.
“Morgan? Wh-what?” He stuttered as though he was half asleep, because he probably was.
“The Falcons sure know how to party.”
“Wait, what? Morgan,”—he cleared his throat, probably trying wake up—“What are you talking about?”
How could he dare play dumb with her? Her voice dripped with ice, and she didn’t care. “Last night. It’s all over social media. Apparently you’re not the man I thought you were.”
“Oh, wait—Morgan, let me explain.” H
