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Me
The Jags are apparently going to O’Donnell’s after the game. Chloe and Danny are planning to go. I’ll be there, too.
Francesca
Doesn’t your sister know you’re, like, an eighty-year-old woman who prefers early bird hours?
Fawna
OMG, on a Monday night? How will you function tomorrow?
Me
*middle finger emoji*
“You sure?” Chloe asks, and I look up as she climbs over the console and into the back with me.
“Babe, what the fuck are you doing?” Danny asks, holding his hand out, as if he would save her from flying forward if he had to hit the brakes.
“I’m doing makeup.” Her whole face lights up with the joy she gets from waving her magical makeup wands. “Light and natural, okay?”
Of course I oblige her. “Sure.”
I shove my phone into my bag and turn to face her.
* * *
Walking down the stadium stairs, I see Whitley Paul standing up and waving her hand. She’s wearing a Jaguars jersey tied up at the waist. She has five children and looks no different than she did when she was a senior in high school, playing on the Walton Wolves softball team with Chloe.
I shouldn’t be shocked that the seats are front row, right behind the Jags’ dugout, but I am. I’m also wondering how jealous Fawna and Francesca are going to be. I only wonder for a second because they’re just one section over to the left, also in the front row.
After hugs are exchanged, I tell Whitley, “Thank you for letting me tag along. These are great seats.”
“Part of Pope’s contract negotiation. And since you’re a local, I’m going to be begging you to come with me when I have an extra seat. I hate coming alone.”
“That’s a great idea,” Chloe says excitedly.
Danny leans over and points toward the girls. “Aren’t they your friends?”
“Yep.” I nod.
“You’re friends with Abe O’Donnell’s daughter?” Whitley asks.
“I am. Wags is close to her bar.”
“So, she’s related to the owners.” Whitley nods.
“You know, it’s never really come up.”
“Jase Steel is married to Abe’s cousin, Carly,” she explains. “And I think Pope mentioned your other friend is related to Jase’s side of the family. Small world.”
The announcer comes over the sound system, welcoming everyone, as Whitley points out that the section to our right is where the majority of the owners sit. She names some of them, but I just can’t keep up, so I nod and smile.
When the announcer says, “Let’s play ball!” Whitley’s head spins to face the field.
I glance down at the girls and wave. They both smile in a freaky odd way. They can’t possibly be salty. I cup my hands into a heart and return their super-creepy smile before focusing on the field.
I’m a bit confused as to why they’re in white. Whitley’s wearing the same black color I see all the Jags fanatics wearing around Trenton.
