by Tijan
“The fuck are you talking about?” She looked back. “I’ll be right there, Tawnia.” She looked back to me. “I was right.” She dipped her forehead to me, walking backward with her beer. “Baggage. Lots of it.”
I had to give her that one. “More than you could imagine.” I nodded behind her. “Go. Talk. I’ll be at the seats.”
She rolled her eyes. “You and me. We’re getting drunk later, and you’re gonna tell me something about you.” She dug in her pocket with her free hand and handed over one of the tickets. “I’ll see you there later.”
I ignored Stan. So did she, going back inside.
I went in search of a bathroom, knowing I’d just crashed and burned in my first brush with Reese’s world. I hoped he wouldn’t hold it against me.
• • •
Reese or Juan, whichever of them had done it, got us regular seats, so I wasn’t close to the court. That didn’t quell the excitement in me when the players came out and the game started. The whole lights dimming, announcer booming their introductions raised everything up a notch.
Marie never came to the seats, and I didn’t think I’d be allowed back up to that box if I went to search for her. We hadn’t exchanged phone numbers, and I was glad I’d remembered to grab my usual items when we left Reese’s place.
Though, shit—I didn’t know his physical address, and I wasn’t about to go find Marie to ask her. I’d figure it out. I had money with me. My phone. My wallet. I was an able-bodied person, so I settled back and enjoyed the game.
Reese didn’t lead in scoring, but he did with three-pointers. Having a girlfriend and a wife must’ve worked for Crusky, because he got most of the foul shots, and he made all except two of them. After the ball sank on his last one, tying up the score, I was on my feet along with everyone else.
I loved this game—the fast pace of it, how a steal could flip everything upside down, how fouls were necessary to stall, but could work in the other team’s favor. The way you have to have teamwork to get anywhere. This game couldn’t be won by one person—there were exceptions, but that was rare. It was beautiful with high-arching shots, edgy with quick ball work, surprising the way a shot would go through that shouldn’t have or how an assist could get past a wall of bodies that should’ve stopped it. And it was rough with shoving under the basket.
It was ruthless, but so captivating, and I was back at my high school gym, watching my brother throw up a winning shot. It was the end of the fourth. Three seconds on the clock, which could get stalled out to twelve seconds, plus a time out.
Adrenaline bounced around inside of me.
I was on my feet yelling, and I didn’t give a thought what happened with Marie. If I’d been a long-term thing, if things had been serious with Reese and me, then maybe. But I wasn’t. We meant something, but that was all I could deal with.
I did keep an eye out for Marie on the off chance I saw her on the way out.
I sent Reese a text, letting him know I got separated from Marie. But he never replied, so after waiting a while, I decided to take things into my own hands. I headed out, calling an Uber, and I looked up a hotel on the north end of Seattle. It was a 3-star, so I was hoping I could get a room if worse came to worst.
For now, I got out and headed for the hotel’s bar.
Then I waited, an empty sensation settling on my chest.
REESE
“What do you mean she’s missing?”
Marie held her hands up, arms wide, and panicked—right here in the team waiting room at the stadium. She’d been on the verge of panic since she first came to me, telling me Charlie wasn’t in the seats when she went to sit with her.
“I don’t know. I gave her the tickets. Candace kept asking me questions, so I couldn’t get away as fast as I wanted, and when I got there, she wasn’t there. We didn’t exchange numbers, and I kept asking you for her number, but you weren’t answering either.”
“Fuck!” I threw my head back, raking my hand through my hair.
I’d showered after the game, knowing Juan wanted us to go to his place for a low-key party. But I was fucking agitated. Roman had been here. Word had gotten to me. I’d tried to have him banned from the stadium, but there was only so much security could do. He’d gotten in and was live-tweeting the game until they’d found him and escorted him out.
“I forgot my phone at the house. Stan was being a dick—”
“Hey!”
I didn’t even look. “You were, asshole. No wonder she ditched. She said she would.”
Juan was laughing, shaking his head.
“Thanks, man.”
“Hey.” He lounged back on a couch and spread his arms on both sides of him. “Your girl, she was a trip at camp, and she’s still being trippy. She’s hilarious.”
Marie sat down, perched on the edge until he wrapped a hand around her shoulder. Juan tugged her back.
“I like her,” she said. “Go find her, and make sure she’s fine.”
That was the plan—but fucking hell. That meant a drive to my place. Post-game traffic sucked getting anywhere.
“Where would she have gone?” Stan asked.
I whipped around to my manager. “Now? Now you want to be helpful? And why are you here? Roman’s been kicked out. My order of protection was served to him. Your job is done.”
He tugged his blazer shut, smoothing it down. “You just had a game. Your new girlfriend is missing, and I feel like I had a hand in it.”
Juan kept laughing, the sound getting louder.
Marie was giggling with him. “It’s not that funny.” She let out another giggle.
I gave her a look. “You sure you didn’t go to the wrong seats?”
She hiccupped, shooting upright. “What are you saying?”
“How much have you had to drink?”
“Oh, dude.” Juan groaned.
Marie was on her feet, advancing to me. “Are you kidding? Do you know what I put your girl through? I railed her ass up and down and sideways, and then I flipped her over, and she took it. All of it, until she put me in my place… I forgot why I started with that.” Her fight left her quickly.
Juan tugged her back down next to him.
“I might’ve drunk too much tonight,” she admitted.
“It was a good game, wasn’t it?”
She turned to Juan. “Yeah, baby. You were amazing.”
They began nuzzling each other.
“You guys are all fucking worthless to me.”
I wanted to do violence—to someone, my manager, Roman, anyone at this point. Charlie was alone. She wouldn’t have been allowed to stay in the stadium this long. Security would’ve kicked her out. We were waiting out the traffic in the team’s waiting room, and I couldn’t do a damn thing. I needed to get home, get my phone, and then get her ass back. Now. Five hours ago. Yesterday even.
The panic almost choked me.
“You really like her, huh?”
I didn’t respond to Marie.
“I’m sure she’s fine.”
“She doesn’t know where I live. I picked her up from the airport just this morning.”
I was helpless. And I hated feeling helpless. She couldn’t have just asked a stadium employee where to wait for players, because how many people tried that route? It was an unofficial rule. If a player wanted someone to know where they were, they told them how to get there. Too many fans had tried before, and everyone had been on alert anyway because of Roman.
“Relax.”
“You fucking relax, Juan!” I snapped. “She doesn’t know anyone in the city. Put yourself in her shoes.”
He quieted, then shrugged. “I’d just hole up at a bar and wait it out. Eventually you’ll get back to her.”
But shit happened. All the fucking time.
I’d ditched girls before. And if she went on social media and searched, I knew she could pull up a few. But none of them were like her. They were the one-use girls. A screw. No promises given. They’d known what was
happening, and while most were fine with it, there were always a few who wanted more, expected more.
This life, knowing how Charlie handled pressure—a part of me couldn’t stop worrying she’d decided to ditch me. If I went to the airport, would I find her there, trying to go through security? Or what if she’d already gotten through security?
What a great fucking start to whatever we were doing.
I growled and punched a plastic ball. It shot across the room. Ignoring everyone’s looks, I started pacing.
“It’s the only thing I could hit.” I couldn’t damage my hands.
Juan was laughing. Again.
“Shut the fuck up, Juan, or I’m going to punch you.”
He laughed harder.
“Okay.” Stan came over. “I’ll talk to security, see if they can find her on the cameras. If she left the way everyone leaves, maybe we can see the car she left in? How about that?”
“You can do that?”
“I’m your manager. Trust me. I can pull a few strings.”
“Then why are you fucking offering now? The game ended an hour ago.”
He shot up his hands, but turned and left.
And I just kept wanting to do violence.
Roman. Charlie missing. My phone at my house.
I wanted to do more than violence. I hated this feeling. It was clawing up in me, rising, filling me, and I couldn’t work it out.
“Reese.”
“What?”
Marie lifted her head from Juan’s shoulder, somber. “She said she wasn’t permanent.”
I frowned. “What’s that mean?”
She shrugged, settling back into Juan’s side. “She was saying it to Stan when I walked up to them. I don’t think she knows I overheard her.”
Not permanent?
Foreboding filled me. The fuck?
CHARLIE
I’ll be honest.
I wasn’t too sure about my relationship with Seattle.
Two business guys eyed me from across the room at the hotel bar. I had my back to them, and I was trying to shred every napkin within reach manically to scare them away, but they didn’t seem to be taking the hint. Their smirks only grew the longer I stayed. I’d gotten three dirty looks from the staff, so I ordered a drink. The waters weren’t doing it for them, but I was feeling quite sober now, so I figured one drink was fine. I could nurse it, keep my wits about me, and decide what time to give up on Reese.
He’d ditched me.
It was almost three hours after the game, and still no text.
I wished I had some willpower, but I didn’t.
Me: Ever think saltwater and freshwater have a conversation and ask which one is better?
Me: A follow-up: Would you outlaw pervy old business guys or celebrate them? Have a day just for them?
Me: I’m trying to look crazy to scare off two guys. Shredding my napkins and laughing like a hyena isn’t working. Suggestions?
Me: If they approach, I’m going to start talking to my barstool.
I had more in me, but the server was coming back around. I’d been nursing my drink for the last hour. He stopped, eyed the pile of napkin pieces and asked, “Want more napkins?”
I burped. “God, yes.”
Shit. I should’ve been louder. The guys hadn’t heard me.
ESPN was on. They’d moved past talking about the game and talking about Reese, and were on to the daily highlights. It was early in the season, but there were other sports going on too. Why couldn’t they talk about one of them?
Oh. Right.
Reese. Seattle.
Made sense.
I needed to add this to the con list regarding my relationship with Seattle. Dating one of the city’s celebrated pro athletes after he’d ditched you? Most definitely a con.
My phone buzzed, and I considered heralding it in the air and yelling, “Hallelujah!”
The business guys were past drunk by now. They probably wouldn’t have even heard, but I tried to slow down how quickly I checked my phone.
I wasn’t desperate or anything.
I opened the screen, and my lungs deflated. It was a text from Grant.
Grant: That game was awesome tonight. Caught it on TV. How’s the trip? How’s your man?
Right. It was just past nine there.
I didn’t have it in me to text him back, but I would in the morning. I might need tips on how to get my carry-on back from Reese. Buzz!
Another Grant one, I assumed, reaching to read it, but no!
Reese: HOLY FUCK! I left my phone at my house. Traffic fucking sucks. I’m coming to get you. Where are you?
My hand shook. My throat trembled. Really? Had he really?
Then…whatever. I still needed to get my carry-on, no matter what.
I took a picture of the napkin the server had just put on my table. It was still intact and the logo hadn’t been shredded. I sent that picture, no words with it.
I slammed my drink and agreed to another when the server almost immediately offered.
Feeling ditched, whether it was real or not, sucks balls.
Two drinks later, a flash of brake lights illuminated the hotel’s windows as a car paused, then went to park.
I knew who it was. It was another expensive-looking car, just like his manager A-hole’s.
Another knot to swallow.
Reese was so out of my league. I had one job offer on the table, and really, if I didn’t take it, I’d be homeless.
What’d Reese see in me? The charm of my random questions? Really?
Humor could only go so far. What was I doing?
Marie had ditched me. Then I’d had this three-hour whatever-it-was.
Even though this all seemed a miscommunication, I couldn’t ignore the hurt swimming in my gut. The pain sliced me, thinking Reese had decided he was done with me. And sorry, but those thoughts do exist when you’re sitting in a bar for three hours and that phone won’t buzz back.
It was a wake-up call.
If he could hurt me with just this small blip, what would he do if I really let him in?
One more time.
One more night.
That’s what I’d give Reese. I’d fly back tomorrow, I’d take the camp job, and I’d learn to love it. That’s where I belonged—with Owen and Hadley, Grant and Sophia, even with Trenton coming to visit. Maybe a dinner with Janet too.
I was still reminding myself of that, ignoring the piercing stabbing in my chest, when Reese came in. No ball cap on. No hood over his head. He was dressed in jeans and a regular-looking shirt.
Bad move, pal.
“That’s Reese Forster!” one of the pervs exclaimed, and not quietly.
“What? No.”
Someone else, “What’s Forster doing here?”
“Yeah.” A pounding sound. A barstool scratched across the floor.
As Reese saw me, his eyebrows pulled together, his face clouded over, and he looked beyond me.
The two business guys had forgotten me. They zoomed past, and man, I caught a whiff. They were more loaded than I thought.
“Hey, man!” The first one held out his hand. “I need to shake your hand. When you went head-to-head against Zorskianova tonight, it was amazing ball work.” The guy was salivating.
I had my first flicker of pity. Been there, done that too.
He and his friend fawned over Reese, and the other table of customers approached—a quieter couple and another female friend with them. They asked for autographs, then pictures. The staff came next, all while Reese was ten feet from me.
I sat and watched, finishing my last drink.
Once that was done, another two hotel staff had come to get autographs, and hotel customers were coming out from their rooms. Word had gotten out somehow, so I silently paid for my drinks, and began to walk outside.
“Oh—okay. It was nice to meet you all.” Reese saw me going, scribbled the last autograph, and pushed it toward the guy waiting. “I gotta go.”
; “But… Come on, one more?” a lady asked. She’d just stepped into the bar, her shirt barely covering her rack. One guess what she really wanted.
“I can’t. Sorry, guys.”
I was almost to the front door, and I could hear Reese coming up behind me. People were grumbling, and a few called out good-natured goodbyes and congratulations. Then Reese was next to me.
His hand came to the small of my back.
I sucked in a breath, tensing, but I didn’t pull away.
One more night.
“Hey.” His hand had been cautious, but when I didn’t jerk away, it pressed more firmly against me, anchoring me to him. “I’m really sorry. I left my phone at the house—”
“Let’s just go.”
His hand left my back. “You’re mad.”
I shook my head. “No.”
I was, but I was trying to tell myself I shouldn’t be. It had been a mishap. Simple.
Tell that to the baggage that was rising up in me, threatening to choke me. That shit wasn’t rational.
Falling in beside me, he hunched his shoulders forward. “I can understand why you’re mad, but it was all a mistake. Really. Marie said you went to the wrong seats, but I’m pretty certain she was the one who messed up—if she even went to the seats. Stan told me she was taking shots the whole time in the box, and I’m sorry about her. Marie’s usually really cool. Her doing that doesn’t make sense—but again, that wasn’t me.”
We were almost to his car.
“Hey,” he said more firmly. He caught my hand and pulled me to a stop.
I glanced back and saw a crowd had formed at the hotel’s entrance. A couple girls had followed us to the parking lot.
He stepped in, his hands coming to my face, but I stepped back. “Let’s do this at your house?”
It wasn’t really a question, more a strong suggestion. I turned, going to the passenger door.
He studied me a second before pulling out his keys. He went to the driver’s side, but paused before opening the door. “You are pissed.”
I looked away.
