by Alexa Martin
If he’s not, that could be one explanation for him not texting me back when I wished him good luck earlier.
“He’s playing.” Vonnie doesn’t bother to hide her smug smile. “They’re introducing the starting defense today, so he’ll come out when they call him.”
“Oh, yay! I love when they call Daddy!” Clara claps, her bony butt bouncing on my lap. “Ruthie, Daddy’s gonna get the fireworks!”
“Yay!” Ruthie pushes Clara’s legs to the side and climbs on my free leg. “I’m so glad Mommy didn’t make us miss it!”
“Everyone’s a critic on the one day they actually put on their shoes the first time I ask.” Lucy angles her entire body so she can aim a mock glare at her girls, but her eyes widen when she sees them testing my chair-like qualities. “Girls! Look at all of these empty seats, get off of Miss Brynn!” she yells, startling a nodding-off Oliver so much that he pops right off her boob.
“Mommy’s boob!” Clara points and giggles, causing Lucy’s cheeks to turn hot pink.
“Shoot!” She struggles to snap her bra back into place. “Sorry about that.”
“I might not have kids, but I do have boobs,” I say. “You don’t need to apologize.”
“And they’re still great boobs,” Vonnie says. “Mine did not look like that with Jax.”
I expect Lucy to get flustered again, but instead she says, “That’s because they’re still slightly engorged. This is the porn-star-boob phase. Once he’s done, they’re gonna be deflated and hanging to my belly button.”
I let out a horrified gasp. “Oh my god. I’m never having kids.”
“Sure.” Vonnie rolls her eyes. “Whatever you say.”
Clara looks at Lucy and asks, “What’s a porn star?”
And proving there really is a god, it’s at that exact moment the announcer’s rumbling voice through the speakers cuts off my comeback. “Number ninety-six, Ethan Kranz!” he says.
“Oh, thank the heavens,” Lucy mumbles and the laughter I’ve been holding tumbles out.
Both girls hop off my lap faster than the Flash, skipping steps to the bottom of the box. “Go, Daddy!” they cheer, their light-up, bedazzled sneakers struggling to keep up with how fast they are jumping.
Ethan runs onto the field, quickly transitioning to a side shuffle and aiming his helmet up to the suite.
The fans below us look up, letting out a collective “awwww” at the sight of Clara and Ruth.
“God. That man.” Lucy stands, bouncing Oliver and somehow managing to wave down to the field and not drop the baby. “He’s so sexy.”
Okay.
Lucy and Ethan are officially the cutest.
The announcer calls out another player who I’m not super familiar with, other than the fact that he brought in about ten thousand at the auction, before Justin’s picture pops on the JumboTron.
All the times I’ve been around Justin, I’ve never seen him without a big grin plastered on his face. He’s probably one of the nicest, happiest guys on the planet, but then again, he snagged Vonnie, so he should be. But the picture on the screen is one of him looking serious, his eyes narrowed in his most intimidating expression. I can’t help it, I start to laugh.
“I know,” Vonnie says without even asking what I’m laughing at. “He’s a big teddy bear. His tough-guy look is ridiculous.”
“Number ninety-four, Justin Lamar!” the announcer yells, but I almost can’t hear him because the Lamar boys are losing their ever-loving minds.
“Yeah, Dad!” Jagger pounds a fist against his chest so hard that I cringe.
“Go, Dad! Beat those losers!” Jett turns wide, apologetic eyes to Vonnie. “Sorry, Mom,” he says before she’s even able to scold him.
“Yay, Daddy!” Jax, the youngest of the wild bunch, sounds all sweet and innocent.
They cheer for a few more seconds before Jett accidentally trips into Jagger and Jagger pushes Jett into Jax and Jax starts crying as Jett punches Jagger.
Seriously, in like two point six seconds, it went from a cute father-son scene to WrestleMania.
But it isn’t just the boys, because as soon as Jett falls down and Jax jumps on him, Clara and Ruth yell out, “Dog pile!” and join right in.
Never. Having. Kids.
“Clara! Ruth!” Lucy yells, shoving Oliver into my arms. “Get off of them right now or you lose technology privileges for a week.”
“Jett, Jagger, Jax!” Vonnie magically climbs over the table and into the seat in front of us in a single motion like she’s not wearing five-inch heels. “Didn’t I warn you before we picked up Brynn that you better not act out and embarrass me in front of all the nosy people looking in here? You couldn’t even wait until the game started?”
I know both Lucy and Vonnie are low-key mortified right now, so I bite the inside of my cheeks to keep from laughing at them.
While they are busy disassembling the pile of limbs and screaming kids, I lean back into my seat, looking down at Oliver and reconsidering my never-having-kids stance as he does a baby stretch and yawns, shifting the noise-canceling baby headphones that are smashing his chubby little cheeks together.
Oh my god. My uterus.
Of course, because my luck is only the bad kind, when I look up, it’s Maxwell’s picture staring back at me. And while Justin’s made me laugh, Maxwell’s makes me melt because, damn, that man knows how to do a smolder.
I stand, clinging on to sweet little Oliver—knowing I don’t have the multitasking skills that are only granted to those who have held a baby for more than two minutes—trying to get a good look at Maxwell as he makes his grand entrance.
Fire shoots out of the end of the tunnel, probably a welcome blast of heat compared to the cold Colorado air that has finally arrived, something we are thankfully immune to in our glass box. Maxwell jogs onto the field, pointing to the crowd before breaking into a sprint and jumping up into the air doing an impressive chest bump with Justin.
It’s like Cinderella at the ball.
Except, instead of a woman in glass slippers, it’s a man in spandex and cleats.
He stands at the front of the group of players, bouncing back and forth to an imaginary beat and chest bumping with the final players that the announcer calls to the field.
“Sorry about that.” Lucy shakes her head and tucks the pieces of hair that fell out of her ponytail behind her ears. “You’d think I’d actually have some upper-body strength considering how often I have to pick up deadweight children, but I’m still as flabby and weak as ever. Thanks for holding Olly, I can take him back now.”
“I’m fine.” I look down at Oliver, who has somehow managed to fall back asleep despite the chaos raging around us. “Go have a drink and something to eat.”
“Are you sure?” she asks.
“Positive.”
“Oh my god, thank you!” Her shoulders sag in relief. “I dropped my eggs all over his head trying to eat breakfast this morning and I’m starving.”
Before I can say anything, she’s up through the door and scooping food onto her plate.
“Look at you.” Vonnie scoots past me, back to her seat. “You’re a natural.”
“It’s easy because I can give him back if he cries,” I joke.
After the hubbub dies down and both teams make their way to their benches, I don’t even have to try to find Maxwell this time. He’s standing next to the bench, bouncing up and down as the captains stand on the field for the coin toss. He turns, but instead of looking to his seats, his gaze cuts straight to the box. And I swear, even from hundreds of feet away, I can feel his eyes on me.
I carefully extract one hand from beneath Oliver and offer a lame wave, but when Maxwell waves back, it doesn’t feel lame anymore. It feels like I’ve won the jackpot. Seventy thousand people around us, cheering and dying to be acknowledged by him, and he finds
me.
After the auction, I was inundated with phone calls, emails, and meetings.
Maxwell came by Tuesday night to see if I wanted to watch some Parks and Rec, but I was so busy, I didn’t even leave my office until well after close. When I made it to my dad’s house, I couldn’t even climb the stairs to my bed and passed out on the couch.
We texted each other a few times, but it always ended with me thinking I sent a text, but actually getting interrupted and not sending the text until hours later.
Add on the producers of Love the Player blowing up my phone and showing up uninvited to my office trying to convince me to sign on as an official cast member, and I was an overwhelmed disaster.
When I was climbing into Vonnie’s industrial-sized Escalade to come to the game this afternoon, she was busy sending a text to Justin.
“I always send him a good luck text before the game so he can get it in the locker room before he takes the field,” she said.
I thought it sounded like a good idea, like a good morning text, except sportier. So I sent one to Maxwell as well. But when Justin texted her back thirty minutes later and I never heard from Maxwell, I began to think he might be annoyed with me for blowing him off.
But now, with his attention focused on me right before he goes into battle, my worries evaporate into thin air and electric excitement fills me instead.
Maxwell lifts his helmet off his head so I can get an unobstructed view of his smile as he mimics my baby-holding position. I shrug, carefully pointing to Ethan, who is standing nearby. His smile grows a notch and he gives me a glove-covered thumbs-up before putting his helmet back on and jogging to a coach with a clipboard in his hand.
“Damn, girl. It took Justin and me a few seasons to do the silent conversations you and Maxwell just had.” Vonnie looks at me from over her sunglasses, even though we are still technically inside. “Still going with the ‘just friends’ story?”
“It’s not a story.” I roll my eyes, trying to hide the smile threatening to break free and the way my stomach is being overrun with oversized wings fluttering all around. “He’s my friend.”
I nearly break down and tell her about the art museum, but I hold it in. It’s hard, because I love having him as a friend, but I know there is chemistry between us and a part of me really—and I mean really—wants to explore it. However, Maxwell is a literal genius, he’s smart enough to know that ruining things with me could cause mass damage, and I think we’re both treading with extra caution.
Also, he might have a million other girls hooked, but we’re not going to talk about that.
“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 e
yes 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.”
This garners Vonnie and Charli’s attention.
And thank the lord, because they distract her enough that she misses the just-been-punched look that is no doubt written all over my face.
