“Whatever you say.” Vonnie turns back to the field, her crystal jersey blinking under the fluorescent lighting of the box.
Special teams take the field, and the Mustangs kicker moves to the center of the lineup, fiddling with the ball until it is in just the right position to kick.
Just like last week, the crowd gets on their feet and starts their slow clap as the kicker walks backward, raising his hand in the air and signaling for all eleven Mustangs players to take off in a sprint. The crowd cheers in a perfect crescendo to the arching ball as it takes flight over the field and into the end zone, where a player in red catches it and drops to his knee.
Half of the crowd stays on their feet, while the others unfold their seats and sit down. The easygoing vibe that had been floating around the box disappears as Ethan, Justin, and Maxwell all take their places on the field. The thought of any of these guys getting injured and going through what Poppy went through last year is terrifying, but even more than that, I know how hard Maxwell works and I want him to perform well.
The quarterback yells something indecipherable from where we are, and the center snaps the ball through his leg and right into the quarterback’s hands. The wide receivers take off down the field, and Maxwell backpedals for a few steps before turning and sprinting alongside him. The offensive line does a good job of holding Ethan back, but before the quarterback can find the open player he’s looking for, Justin breaks through the line, charging at him.
“Yes, baby!” Vonnie leaps out of her seat, holding on to the edge of the table. “Get him!”
The Lamar boys jump out of their seats, repeating after their mom.
Justin reaches out, snagging the quarterback’s jersey, but before he can pull him down, the quarterback spins and breaks free of his grip. He takes two steps to his right, looking down the field to the receiver running next to Maxwell with his hand in the air before pulling his arm back and launching the ball down the sideline.
I stand up, eyes glued to the ball and at the red player pulling slightly in front of Maxwell. Knots form in my stomach, making me feel like I ate rocks before I came here, and my breath gets caught in my throat thinking that the other player has Maxwell beat.
I really should have more faith in him.
The receiver turns with his hands in the air, ready to catch the ball, but just before he can reach for it, Maxwell jumps in front of him, securing the ball against his chest and taking off in the other direction.
The crowd goes insane. Everyone is screaming and jumping up and down as Maxwell runs past offensive players who are now on the defense. He breaks past one tackle, spins around another one, and easily stiff-arms the quarterback, who is his last obstacle.
“Go, go, GO!” I scream, making up for my inability to clap since my hands are full of baby.
He looks over his shoulder, sees he’s all alone, and jogs into the end zone, tossing the football to the ref as if he didn’t just make the SportsCenter highlight reel the very first play of the game. The rest of his teammates catch up to him, jumping up into chest bumps that he meets with equal enthusiasm while others just hit his helmet as he runs by.
I’m still jumping—well, not really. I’m bouncing very gently, screaming like a maniac with everyone else in our box as Oliver sleeps soundly in my arms thanks to his headphones.
But then the world around me freezes when Maxwell takes off his helmet and points to me just as the cameraman zooms into his face, showing a close-up of the way he winks up at me.
My knees go weak and Oliver and I slide back into our seat, my heart pounding against his fuzzy little head.
“Mmm-hmmm,” Vonnie mutters. “Friends my ass.”
Nineteen
The game was a blowout.
Like so bad that Clara fell asleep before she ever got her tablet and Lucy packed them up at the end of the third quarter. Maxwell ended up with two more interceptions before the coach pulled him out to give the second-string guys some playing time.
“That wasn’t even fun,” Charli complains from her barstool, taking a deep sip of her beer. “I like a little competition, otherwise what’s even the point?”
“Being able to sit back and not be a nervous wreck?” Vonnie says. “These are the only games I enjoy.”
“Whatever, win’s a win, I guess.” Charli shrugs, ready to move on. “Are Aviana and Jac coming tonight?”
“No, thank god,” I say. “I can’t deal with the Love the Player people anymore. I begged them to stay away for a bit and maybe start some drama that would make the producers forget about me.”
“You think that’s actually going to work?” Vonnie asks.
“No,” Charli says at the same time I say, “Yes.”
I roll my eyes, wishing I had something to throw at them. Ever since Poppy and TK worked things out, I’ve been their single-lady project. I need to find them a distraction.
“Welcome to HERS,” I call out when the front door opens, letting a rush of cold air into the room.
“Welcome to HERS,” I hear Tanya repeat after me from the hostess table. “Would you like to sit at the bar or a table?”
“The bar is perfect, I’m just waiting for someone.” I hear the familiar voice that vaguely reminds me of nails on a chalkboard.
My eyes shoot away from my girls sitting in front of me to Eloise Withington looking her polished, flawless self in an emerald peacoat, a Breton shirt the Fug girls would love, skinny jeans in the perfect dark wash, and ankle boots that are so cute that even though they have a heel, I’d still wear them. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I say under my breath, but still loud enough that Vonnie’s and Charli’s heads both snap back to see what I’m looking at.
“Oh hell no,” Charli says. “What the fuck is she doing here?”
“Hey, girls!” Eloise waves as she makes her way over to us, peeling off her coat as if she’s walking a runway.
Charli and Vonnie both turn back to face the bar without acknowledging her. It’s the kind of loyal, bitchy behavior I love them for. Her steps falter a little at the blatant disregard, but she powers on and takes the open seat next to Charli.
“Hey.” I plaster a fake smile across my face. “Fancy seeing you here.”
Fancy seeing you here? What the fuck, Brynn? Are you a bartender in the Wild Wild West?
She glances at Charli and Vonnie, who still aren’t acknowledging her, before smirking at me. Alarms blare in my head as I have seen this smirk multiple times during Lady Mustangs meetings right before someone says something that is liable to bring a person to tears.
“I know, I’m not really a bar girl, I like places that are a little more . . . upscale. But Maxwell thought this would be a good place to meet up since it’s where we met.” A dreamy look drifts over her face. “He’s just so sweet. He even insisted that I sit in his seats at the game tonight.”