I’m too nervous to eat, but I grab some crackers and cheese, a little dab of hummus and some carrots. We head over to the bar and the cute bartender hands me a glass of white wine with a wink and a smile. I go and stand with Cade in the corner of the room, watching as he downs chicken wings slathered in buffalo sauce and dipped in ranch.
“Are they any good?” I ask, wincing when he almost drops the half-eaten wing on his shirt.
“Delicious,” he says, setting his beer on the table beside us so he can wipe his mouth with a napkin. At least he grabbed a napkin. The last guy I dated—and we went on exactly two dates—was anti-hygiene. As in, he didn’t believe in deodorant because it was poison, he confessed to me he rarely bathed, and he basically lived in a dump with five other guys. He was a total dirt bag.
Lena has told me I make bad choices when it comes to men. I thought Cade would meet her approval and he did—to the point that she likes him more than I do. I still feel guilty about her lunchtime confession. And I hate that she saw Cade kiss me on the cheek after I asked him to go to the game. I don’t know how long she was listening to our conversation, or if she actually heard me talk to him about tonight’s game. I didn’t get a chance to speak to her the rest of the afternoon since we were so busy with appointments.
I’ll have to talk to her tomorrow and clear the air. Hopefully she’s not mad at me…
“You’re not eating,” Cade says, knocking me from my thoughts.
I glance down at my still pitifully full plate “I’m not very hungry.”
“Too bad, what with all the free food they’re offering.” He downs his beer, polishing it off. “Want another drink?”
“Um, no thanks.” I want to tell him to slow down on the drinking, that he’s driving tonight, but I keep my mouth shut. The evening is young, and I don’t want to be a nag. It’s not like I’m his mama.
He tosses his plate in the trash and heads for the bar, and I watch him go before dropping my gaze to my plate filled with food I’m never going to eat. So I toss it in the trash too.
The bar is crowded. I know Cade is going to be waiting a while, so I make my way to the stadium seating, smiling politely at everyone I pass. I don’t know a single soul in this place. I have no idea who any of these people are, though some of them look important. Rich. Most of the men are wearing their Niner gear, though there are a couple of guys in full blown suits. Many of the women have massive diamonds in their ears and their giant boobs stretch their blinged-out Niner shirts tight across their chests. They examine me as I walk past, making me self-conscious.
I feel like the odd woman out in my Atlas Wellness Center polo and my faded black pants and my black Nikes. At least the polo is red, right? I’m sort of wearing Niner colors…
There’s an empty seat at the far end of the first seat row and I settle into it, my eyes never leaving the field, searching out the number eight on a red-and-white jersey.
He got to keep his number. Eight is great, after all. I still have Tuttle’s old high school jersey. I bet I could fetch a lot of money for it if I put it on eBay…
Like I would ever do that.
Ah. There he is. Out on the field, his butt looking extra fine in those gold uniform pants, not that I’m checking him out or anything. I watch him get in a huddle with his teammates and I wonder what they think of him. Do they respect him? Back in high school, he earned respect without hardly doing a thing. Like him or hate him, most everyone was at the very least drawn to him. He had a certain kind of magnetism that can’t be described.
I bet he still has it. That gravitational pull that makes everyone want to be near him. The same pull that makes every woman he encounters want to be with him. I’m sure it’s still there. That’s not something that’s just…snuffed out like a lit match. It burns forever within him.
And if I’m being completely honest with myself, I’m dying to see if there’s a spark still between us.
The first half of the game, neither team scores. I suppose you’d think the game is boring when there are no touchdowns, or even a field goal, but that makes the impending first touchdown count even more. So no, this game isn’t boring. I’m praying Jordan throws a touchdown for the Niners as they start the second half, and I’m squirming in my seat once Jordan and the rest of the offensive team comes out onto the field.
“This game is insane,” Cade says with wonder, his gaze glued to the field.
I say nothing, but he’s right. It’s so insane, I feel like I’m about to lose my mind.
Tuttle gets into position. Is it fair that all his muscles seem to flex and work as he pulls his arm back, looking for his receivers out on the field? A sigh escapes me before I can stop it and I clamp my lips shut. When is life ever fair?
Not when it comes to me and Jordan Tuttle.
Jordan throws the ball, and it spirals through the air until out of nowhere—intercepted! The commentators are yelling, the entire suite erupts in jeers and screams, and all I can do is sink lower in my seat.
My gaze flies to Jordan, and I can see the anger and frustration in his posture, blazing in his eyes, even from where I’m sitting.
“Man, is he nervous or what? He’s not on his game tonight,” Cade says.
Again, I don’t answer. I’m too busy chewing my nail.
This could end up being a long and terrible night.
“A few of the players are going to join us after the game, so please do stick around.”
I hear the 49er Ambassador say this to everyone as she moves about the suite with that giant smile pasted on her face. The game just finished, and oh my God, they won, but barely. It had been such a fight, especially during that tortuous second half. I could tell Jordan was so freaking pissed.