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“This is Samantha,” I say, introducing my date, who has met these men at the Gridiron before but not their wives.
I glance around the room, and it’s immediately clear to me how much work went into this event.
It’s impressive, but I already feel like my heart’s not in it. How can it be when I’m not here with Jolene?
I make the rounds with all the important people chairing this event including Luke Dalton and Ben Olson, who are here with their wives and looking like they’re ready for a good time with their kids at home, and the entire time, I’m glancing around distractedly as I look to see if there are any private places we can escape to.
I don’t see any. Sam and I walk outside in the gardens, and there are some private spaces out here, but none that I don’t think we’d get caught in.
When we walk back in, I see a few offices with no lights on. I try the doors, and they’re all locked except the very last one—the one closest to the ballroom.
Bingo.
We’ll each separately excuse ourselves, make our way into the office, have a moment together, and return like nothing ever happened.
Maybe it’s dumb.
But maybe I need to do it anyway.
Is it the secret that makes this so exciting? The thrill of doing something so illicitly wrong?
I mean, sure—for tonight, that’s why I can’t see the night ending any other way.
But when I think about holding her as we fell asleep last night on my couch, I know it’s so much bigger than an illicit secret. It’s the two of us, raw and pure, just like we always were together.
I’m addicted to it, and I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to just give it up.
The press arrives early to grab footage and photos of the event and to interview some of the chair people before the event officially gets underway, and I can physically feel it when she walks in.
Something shifts in the room, a clear reminder that whatever this is between us…it’s powerful.
Real fucking powerful.
I turn around and see her as she stands tentatively in the doorway with Dave, the guy who has been with her before to film video. He’s in a tuxedo, too, and I can’t help but wonder if he knows about us. I doubt it. She would’ve told me, I think, the way she told me just after she admitted it to her boss.
I hold it together while she interviews me—at least I think I do. I’ve grown pretty damn good at putting on the act over the years.
I talk to a few other reporters. Other guests start showing up including players and former players, the coaching staff, the front office staff, stakeholders and their families, local celebrities including Troy Bodine of the Vegas Heat—who I still haven’t met for dinner—Cooper Noah and Danny Brewer, his third and first baseman, Mark Ashton and Ethan Fuller, lead singer and lead guitarist of the band Vail, and, of course, the fans who ponied up the dough for this event.
It's a five-star event in every way, and meanwhile I’m over here like a horny fucking teenager who feels ready to blow his load in his pants if he can’t get up into his girlfriend right quick.
I need to do this before my parents get here—before even more eyes are on me.
I glance over and see her talking to Austin Fucking Graham again. He’s flirting, and she’s smiling, and I want to fucking murder him.
It’s wrong. He’s a player. She’s not interested.
I wish I could walk over there and claim her as mine.
I need her.
Now.
I’m not sure what comes over me in that moment—maybe it’s jealousy that she’s talking to Graham, maybe it’s pure, unadulterated lust, maybe it’s the fact that my parents haven’t shown up yet, or maybe it’s because people are still mingling ahead of dinner—but now is the time, and I send her a covert text.
Me: There’s an office down the hallway toward the gardens. First door on the right coming out of the ballroom. Now.
I excuse myself to Sam, who just watched me type out that text, and she rolls her eyes.
