“Cool.” He sits on the opposite side of the couch, tossing the remote back to me. “Now I want to see what crazy shit Leslie’s up to.”
Crap.
So much for not giving in to the sexy man haze.
Thirteen
I’ve never actually been to a Mustangs game before.
Of course Marlee and Poppy and the rest of my merry crew tried to talk me into going over the years, but HERS was just getting started and I never wanted to feel like a pity date. So when I mentioned that I might be going to the game, I almost had to physically pick jaws up from the floor.
Maxwell offered me his tickets, but when I told Vonnie that I was going and she told me I could sit in the suite with her, I was all over it.
Poppy and Marlee had some weird thing about sitting in the stands and not wanting a suite.
It’s one thing we do not have in common.
Free food and drinks in a temperature-controlled room is much more my idea of a good time. And who knows when I’ll ever come to another game? I want the VIP treatment while I can have it.
Let me tell you, I am very content with this decision.
“This is fucking amazing.” I spin around the suite in awe. It’s actually nicer than my house. The counters are a beautiful white granite, the floors are those tiles that look like wood planks, the seating is plush with buttery soft leather, and there are three flat-screen TVs scattered around the room. Hell, even the bathroom has nicer fixtures than mine.
“It better be for how much we pay for it.” Vonnie pulls out a glass, pouring a healthy amount of rosé in it. “But with these monsters?” She waves a hand in the general direction of her kids as they pick through a bowl of gummy bears. “I couldn’t do it any other way.”
She hands me the filled-to-the-rim wineglass and I take it from her diamond-covered hands, feeling a little underdressed.
Witnessing the extravagance that comes with Wednesday meetings, I should have been prepared for this. But Vonnie is decked out in a way I’m not sure I could’ve prepared for. I thought maybe she’d be in a crystal-covered jersey and some heels.
So. Wrong.
She’s not wearing a jersey at all. Instead, she’s donning a black blazer that has “Mrs. Lamar” spelled out on the back, Justin’s number—94—on each sleeve, and the Mustangs logo over her right breast . . . all in crystals. But that’s not the end. The tight tank she’s wearing underneath also has a blinged-out 94 on it. Her Louboutins are covered in ombré crystals fading from navy blue to orange, and she has a Chanel bag that’s also been defaced.
Taking in her clothing and accessories that already cost an arm and a leg before sending them off to be covered in thousands of crystals, I decide it’s the level of rich I aspire to be. To be so rich I can just recklessly decorate items I can now barely afford to window-shop for.
I’m wearing a Mustangs hoodie and my navy glittered Keds that were on sale over the summer.
“So . . .” I take a much larger sip of my drink than anticipated. “Who are we playing again?”
“New England. We lost to them last year, it should be a good game.” She walks to the table in the middle of the room and pulls out two chairs. “No more gummy bears or I’m taking you to the day care,” Vonnie yells at her kids, who look like wide-eyed chipmunks with their mouths almost overflowing with candy. “‘Have kids!’ they said. ‘It will be fun!’ they told me.”
I struggle to keep a straight face. “But they’re so cute.” Vonnie’s boys are like a mini fraternity chapter. They are insane, but I wasn’t lying, they are three of the most handsome kids I’ve ever seen.
“They’re lucky they are too. That’s the only reason I keep them some days.” She narrows her eyes at Jax, who is trying to sneak his way back to the gummies. He sees that his mission has been compromised, but instead of shriveling up from the fierceness of Vonnie’s glare, he starts giggling and runs out the door to our exclusive set of stadium seats, where his older brothers are waiting. They don’t look back, but I have no doubt they sent their brother on the suicide mission so they could claim plausible deniability.
“Is this suite yours?” I don’t know how any of this works and I find the logistics super interesting.
I rode with Vonnie because . . . well . . . because she offered and she gets free parking. We came in through a side entrance reserved for family and friends of Mustangs players and coaches only. Then, inside, we didn’t go into the main corridor at all. I followed the boys in their “That’s my dad!” jerseys as they skipped down the carpeted hallway lined with pictures of the Mustangs dating back to the midsixties until we reached an elevator. At the elevator, we were met by attendants on both the outside and inside, like our delicate fingers couldn’t handle the burden of pushing a button.
When we got off on our level, we followed the boys again as they raced and tackled each other in the hallway. “This is why we get here early,” Vonnie said as her boys dog piled on top of Jax.
But the box seats twenty people and there are only five of us.
“We share with the Kranzes. We could probably fit another group in here, but we like the extra space.”
I try to put a face to the name, but I cannot picture anyone with the name Kranz for the life of me. “Kranz? I don’t think I’ve met her.”
“You haven’t,” Vonnie says very matter-of-factly. “She’s part of the Lady Mustangs because her husband is a Mustang, but she’s never been to a meeting and only volunteers if I beg her.”
“I didn’t know that was an option.”
“It’s not like we go to everyone’s houses and hold them at gunpoint.” She laughs. “It’s not a requirement to participate, and some of us just like it more than others. Lucy is more of a . . . well, you’ll see. She hates attention, so the idea of doing a fashion show or auction causes her to go faint.”
“Mom!” Jett bursts through the door and grabs Vonnie’s hand, pulling her to the outside seats. “They’re starting to come out!”
“I swear.” Vonnie looks over her shoulder to me, gracefully gliding across the tiles like she’s not being dragged by a mini human while wearing five-inch heels. “Every game, it’s like they’ve never seen this before.” She doesn’t sound annoyed. She sounds grateful. Grateful that her kids get this experience and that her husband is still out there living his dream.
I thought I understood loud considering I live ninety percent of my life around drunk women. I now know that HERS doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface of loud. The ground beneath my feet rattles as the screams begin to crescendo. Cheerleaders and horses file out of the tunnel before fireworks shoot out from the top of the stadium.