Sheila glances in my direction. “Will that be all right?”
“Yes, I’ll be fine.”
“Okay, well, don’t be giving any state secrets away.” She nods at Theresa before going to join the rest of the women.
“Have a drink with me,” Theresa says, snapping her fingers, the man in white coming to her like a child beckoned to a parent. “Two glasses of the best vintage she has in that case of hers. And we’ll take it over there.” She points toward the front corner of the suite nearest to the glass overlooking the field, two chairs positioned for an intimate conversation.
I don’t drink, or at least I don’t drink often. If Wyatt and I were at a party, he made sure of that, and my parents had their eyes on me the rest of the time to make it near impossible. I’d managed some champagne at my wedding, but my tolerance level had to be pretty low. But right now, I don’t want to seem like an underage girl who can’t handle a simple glass of wine.
“Sure,” I tell her, accepting a glass the man brings to me after Theresa and I have situated ourselves.
She’s the first to bring the alcohol to her lips, not appearing to savor it at all the way I imagine most people would something so expensive. “I’ve got to hand it to that boss of yours. She never gives up with the schmoozing and plying us with drink. That’s a woman who never backs down from a challenge.”
“I’m sure I can learn a lot from her.” It comes out somewhat stilted, and I hope one day I’ll talk as coolly to people as Sheila is able to.
“Oh, you most certainly can, a young girl like you, so fresh and, well, I’m not sure I can call you innocent.” She looks me up and down, from my heels to my straightened hair.
I’m slightly taken aback by the dig. While my clothing is sparse, it’s of the highest quality. My skirt is gray, my blouse an off-white cream, my shoes high heeled but not anything close to what you’d see on a stripper. Maybe I should expect people to raise their eyebrows at my choice of wardrobe, but I’m not showing much more skin than Theresa is in her tight jersey, short skirt and riding boots.
“I like to think of it as female empowerment,” I tell her, not allowing any of my annoyance to filter through. “And I really like your jersey,” I add in. “It’s kind of amazing being so close to the action, being around people I’ve only seen on TV before.”
“Like Hunter Lawrence,” she says, not missing a beat. “I imagine you’ve met him, working for Sheila and all.”
“Yes, of course.” I take the smallest sip of wine. “I don’t see him as much as Sheila does. I’m mainly there to support her.”
“Are you sure about that?” Her voice is low, her eyes narrowing in on me like she’s about to pounce.
To give myself a moment to respond, I take another drink of wine, this one an entire mouthful. It’s tart and sweet, and I don’t like it much at all. “I’m definitely sure,” I say after I swallow. While Theresa is married to Hunter’s teammate, I can’t imagine even he knows that I’ve been seeing Hunter, let alone this woman. Instead, it feels as though she’s playing some sort of guessing game.
“He’s absolutely gorgeous,” she says as if she weren’t married. “I mean, that body… that face… those eyes. He could make a girl wet just looking at him. So don’t tell me you haven’t already been taken in by his charms, swayed by those good looks of his.”
I shake my head and take another drink, my entire body warming with the effect of the alcohol. “It wouldn’t be professional of me,” I barely get out, starting to feel cornered and wishing Sheila would come and rescue me.
“No, of course not!” Theresa throws the rest of the wine in her glass back, swallowing it down in one big gulp. “But if he does start sniffing around, you just make sure to stay strong and keep away from him. A young thing like you can’t keep up with a man like that.”
I imagine saying something to her in response that would get me immediately fired, so I keep my mouth shut.
“Lovely meeting you,” she says, pushing her empty glass out toward the man in white who comes running over to fill it again before she snatches up a pile of grapes and returns to her friends.
She’s gone, just like that, and I feel like I’ve barely survived the interaction.
“Are you all right, miss?” the man asks me.
“I think so.” I set my half empty glass down on the small table between the chair, then get up, wobbling slightly as I do. And then I stumble into him. “Oh… I’ve had too much to drink.” He keeps me standing when I feel woozy and silly and know how ridiculous this must look considering I’ve only had half a glass.
“Let’s have you sit right back down.”
Instead of me taking the seat I’d just vacated, he leads me to one just outside the small kitchen. He brings me a glass of ice water, is kind and watchful and is soon joined by a woman dressed in the same type of uniform he is, the young man who delivered the crate of wine now gone. The woman dotes on me when she’s not serving the wives in the sitting area. She tells me she can’t handle wine either, and over the course of ten minutes or so, I find myself sobering up.
“This is yours.” The man holds my purse up for me. “You left it by the chair you were sitting in when you were with Mrs. Carmichael. I think I heard your phone ringing from inside of it.”
“Oh, thank you.” I’d never lost sight of my purse, but I’m still grateful he brought it over. I reach in and check my phone. There’s a new text message, one from Hunter.
I want to kidnap you for just a little while after the game. Can’t bring my phone back to the sidelines, so stay tuned. But you think you can make up an excuse to get away from Sheila for a while?
I smile. I can’t help myself. I’d love for nothing more, and I’m about to type that very thing back to him when Sheila discovers me in my hiding spot. I think she’s about to scold me for not coming over to meet the other wives after I’d finished talking with Theresa, but before she can, I stuff my phone back into my purse and preemptively admit I had too much wine.
“No tolerance at all?” she asks in a near whisper, the man and woman in white having excused themselves to serve more food and drink.
“I’m sorry, Sheila. I’ve barely had more than half a glass of alcohol in my life. I hope I didn’t embarrass you.”
“No, of course not. I should have realized. But let’s get you back to our box. The game is going to be ending soon.”
I’m happy to follow her, and when we return to the private suite, Scott and the other handful of people are still there, cheering on as they split their time between watching the giant TV screen and looking down on the field. Mallory is gone, and Sheila joins the others after telling me to have another bottle of water.
I take the moment to text Hunter back.
I can try to get away. Let me know where you want me to meet you.
Sheila is asking someone if they’ve seen Mallory, but their focus remains on the game, the score close, the Seahawks in prime position to take the win. I won’t hear back from Hunter until after the game, so I do the same, rooting for our team.
And then, in a real nail biter, they do.
Triumphant yells reverberate throughout the suite, and while I don’t jump up and down and scream and yell, I do push my hands together and quietly celebrate the win, not just for the team, but for Hunter too. I’m watching the big screen TV, noting the celebration and waiting for the interviews to begin, hopeful they’ll choose to interview Hunter. That remains my focus until an arm wraps around my waist, and I’m tugged to the side. I’m still the tiniest bit buzzed from the wine when I find myself pulled up against Scott, the smell of alcohol on his breath, his eyes piercing mine.
“You and I should celebrate… privately,” he says.
I’m so stunned that my body freezes for a moment, my voice just as paralyzed.
“Let’s grab a hotel near the stadium. It’ll be my treat,” he adds in, not a trace of shame in his voice.
“What the hell do you think I am?” I say, fi
nally finding my words and yanking out of his clumsy embrace.
“God, Scott… leave her the hell alone.” It’s Sheila who speaks, more annoyed than angry. “You’ve had way too much to drink.”
“So I have,” he says, putting his hands up in surrender. Scott’s eyes are on the glassy side, but I’m sure he knows exactly what he’s doing.
“Would you go out and look for Mallory?” Sheila asks me, rubbing the space between her eyes as though a headache has suddenly come on. “She’s not answering my calls or texts, and the men in here apparently have no clue where she went off to.” She only looks up to give Scott a quick stare.
“Of course.” I don’t need to be told twice. I’m more than happy to get out of the relatively small space and away from Scott.
As I make my way through the hallways outside of the suites, I should feel more unsettled than I do about Scott brazenly pulling me up to him and propositioning sex. It’s the kind of thing my parents had feared might happen to me once I left our small, insulated town. I’d shrugged off their concerns, but I’d known it was possible, that things like this happened to women all of the time. I’d prepared for it in a way, but I’m not sure I was prepared for it to have happened twice already, first at The Hive with Kevin and now here with Scott.
Sheila had warned me too, but it had been about Hunter. While she basically forbade me to spend time with him, it was instead her colleague, Scott, who managed to make me feel like a piece of meat.
The hallways outside of the suites are filling up with people, most of them 49ers fans who aren’t in the mood for celebration. There’s no sign of Mallory, so I make my way toward one of the concessions areas that is crowding with people leaving the stadium. Finding Mallory here is going to be like finding a needle in a haystack, especially since she hasn’t answered the texts or calls I’ve made to her since I left our suite.
I’m considering heading back up to find Sheila but instead shimmy into a small alcove to get away from the crush of people, a new text coming in. I’m hopeful it will be from Mallory, but my heart jumps when I see it’s from Hunter.
I’m off the field, outside the locker room area. I’ll give you directions and wait for you. Can you make it down?
I somewhat guiltily decide I’ll have to pick my search up for Mallory later and text Hunter back a yes. His reply with directions is immediate.
I’m pretty good with finding my way around places, but it still takes me a good ten minutes to get to him. He’s leaning against a wall just beyond a security checkpoint with his arms crossed, but he stands to full attention when he sees me and tells the security guard that I’m okay, a personal guest of his.
“I missed you.” He takes my hand once I’m through the checkpoint and leads me down a hallway, my heels tapping against the tile flooring.
“I missed you too,” I admit, easily following him into a small room off of the hall. It’s some sort of exercise room, filled with massage tables and medicine balls.
Turned to Hunter, I back up against one of the tables. With a giant smile on his face, he comes toward me, lifts me by the waist and sets me on the table so that my heeled feet dangle just above the floor. His hands remain on my waist, the smile in his eyes just as big as the one on his lips. It almost reminds me of Wyatt, of the times we’d celebrate after a game, but not quite. Wyatt never looked at me with the kind of intensity Hunter looks at me with now.
“You guys won,” I say. “Congratulations.”
He shrugs, then turns and hauls himself onto the wide table so that he’s sitting next to me. “I told you they could win without me.”
“Not without you.” I touch his thick, muscular thigh. He smells good, like he’d soaked in an honest day of work without the pools of sweat and grime the players on the field have to shower off. “I saw you out there—they needed you. You’re a huge part of the team.”
“No… they really didn’t,” he repeats, and I can see he’s not looking for me to dispel this notion again. For whatever reason, he truly believes it. He can’t, or simply doesn’t want to see how amazing he actually is. “What I want to know is how things worked out for you? Did Sheila go around introducing you to everyone?”
“She totally did,” I say, momentarily wanting to tell him about my run-in with Scott as well as my tense meeting with Theresa Carmichael. “And it was all a learning experience,” I add on, keeping the details to myself.
“I bet she’s glad I insisted you come along.”
“Maybe,” I say with just as much affirmation as a yes.
“So, as her top client, I think my word should have a little more weight in making you available to me from now on. Don’t you think?”
“Available to you?” I laugh at that, though I’m not sure I like the wording. “I am trying to start a career here, Hunter, not just be at your beck and call.”
His smile fades. “I’m sorry. I’m shit with words. I didn’t mean it to come out that way.”
“No, I know you didn’t.” I squeeze his thigh, knowing it’s unfair to lump him in with men like Scott who would have an entirely different meaning attached to those words. “So, what do you have in mind? I’m actually all for us spending more time together during work hours as long as I’m still doing a good job for Sheila.”
“I’d love to have you at my side when I do my volunteer stuff,” he says without a moment’s hesitation, his smile returning. “I suck at it. I don’t know how to deal with kids and people at senior centers or homeless shelters. I just don’t play well in those places.”
I want to tell him that I’m sure he’s being too hard on himself, that he doesn’t give himself enough credit, but I’m learning it would likely fall on deaf ears. “Of course I’ll go with you. I’ve seen the schedule for next week, and Sheila has you visiting Children’s Hospital on Tuesday. The request will have to come from you though.”
He lets out an audible sigh of relief. “That would be awesome. I’ll talk to her. It just sucks there isn’t anything going on tomorrow. I’d like to see you every day if I could.” He puts his arm around my back and pulls me close to him, his body warm and anchoring.
“It doesn’t hurt to have a day to ourselves,” I tell him lightly. But there is a heavier thought behind that, thinking back to all of the time I’d spent with Wyatt, most of it focused on his wants and needs. I’d felt stifled at times, like my deadline in getting out the latest edition of our school paper wasn’t as important as it was for him to get in a few extra hours of football practice. When he needed me, I was there for him, but the same couldn’t always be said of him. It wasn’t fair, but I put up with it because I loved him. But that’s not what I want now, not even when it comes to a famous quarterback like Hunter Lawrence.
“You’re right,” he says, disappointment—or misunderstanding—seeming to edge his words. “I don’t want to smother you. But it’s no lie when I tell you you’re not like anyone else I’ve ever met. It sucks to be away from you.”
Backtracking and then agreeing that we should find a way to be together on Monday is at the tip of my tongue. Old habits do die hard. But I remain strong and say, “We’ll see each other on Tuesday then if Sheila okays it, and we have the plane ride back too.”
Bending his neck forward, he says, “They want me to fly back with the team.”
And I feel the same thing I hear in his voice. Disappointment.
“I’m also supposed to be showing up at more team practices,” he continues, “watching tapes and giving them input. It’s almost more work than when I could play. But I don’t have to.” He grips me tighter. “I can get out of it, the flying back with the team part at least.”
I excite at the possibility, but I don’t want him to second-guess his obligation to his team. “No, they need you, Hunter. Plus, I’m guessing Sheila is going to find something for me to do on the way back anyway.” I’m about to slip off of the table, about to force myself to head back up while I still feel like I can walk away from this beautiful man
when he brings his other hand to my chin, turns my head back toward him and kisses me.
Everything outside of this room seems to drain away as his lips press against mine, damp and full, the touch of him sending warm pulses through my body, a sensation similar to the effect of the wine I’d drunk earlier, but this is so much better. The kiss has me second-guessing everything, my mind still functioning as my body luxuriates in his touch.
Why was it that I couldn’t see him tomorrow?
Why am I taking this slow?
Do I really have any doubts at all about Hunter?
I could forget the past and focus on the present, the future, a future with Hunter.
I’m still tingling when our lips break apart, when Hunter rests his forehead on mine and takes my hand in his.
“I’ve wanted to do that since—well, since the first time I saw you,” he tells me in a near whisper. “I’d say it was worth the wait.”
“Yeah… you’re… well, you’re an amazing kisser.” I only have Wyatt to compare him with—and a few boys from junior high—but I can’t fathom anything could be better than Hunter’s lips.
“So you won’t mind if I kiss you again?” His eyes are filled with a boyish excitement, and all I have to do is nod and close my eyes to feel him on me once more.
The second kiss makes me just as euphoric as the first, and I allow myself to revel in that for as long as our lips are connected.
He kisses my nose and then my forehead, sweetly, almost innocently. “You’ve had some wine,” he says with a light chuckle. “Cabernet?”
“Half a glass,” I admit, wondering if he’d tasted it on my lips or if the flavor of the wine had been clinging to my tongue. “First time ever for wine. I actually got kind of drunk because one of the wives was making me nervous, like giving me kind of a hard time, so all I could really think to do was drink.”
The Ground Beneath Page 8
