Page 10 of Playing for Love

Mia

Making my way to my seat, I was excited for the game, to watch Gabe play. But I needed to refocus and pay attention to Tate. Tell that to my rapid-beating heart. Heaving a sigh, I found myself sitting with a group of strangers to me who all knew each other. Gabe had warned me he’d gotten me a random ticket someone had left over. His tickets had all already gone to his family and they were several rows in front of me.

Standing for the national anthem, the bouncy young woman next to me nodded and I nodded back. We were close enough to the field to really see the players’ faces and so I took the quick window of time to shamelessly watch Gabe, take in his intense expression, the immovable granite line of his jaw. The focus in his eyes even from this where I sat made me shudder. What would that focus feel like on me, in bed? My thighs clenched.

When the anthem ended, the spell broken and the helmets on, I remembered Denise, remembered why I was at this game, remembered to look for Tate Fontanna.

“Who are you here for?” the woman next to me asked.

Surprised, I opened my mouth and almost said Gabe Wyatt, but stumbled and called myself on it. “Uh . . . Tate Fontanna.”

“You sure?” she half laughed.

“In truth,” I said, “No.” I gave her an honest smile. “You?”

“I’m here for Brandon Chase.”

My mind was blank. I had no idea who Brandon Chase was. My face must have registered the blank because the woman blushed and rushed to add, “He’s the backup quarterback—or hopefully he will be. I’m so excited he was drafted by the Militia. We’re still pinching ourselves.”

“I wish you both good luck.” I sat down and she followed.

“So what’s the story with you? Why aren’t you sure you’re here with Tate?”

There was something refreshing about confessing your deepest secrets to a stranger. So I sighed and said, “Gabe Wyatt gave me the ticket. He fixed me up with Tate Fontanna after the game. But . . .” Dare I confess?

“But you’d rather be with Gabriel frickin’ Wyatt than Tate Fontanna, right?”

I could have hugged this young woman—not much younger than I was—but she was fresh and refreshing in her new-to-the-NFL experience, all wide-eyed and excitable. Like me.

“In a nutshell. What’s your name?”

“Shelly. Soon to be Shelly Chase, if I can help it.”

I glanced at her bare ring finger and watched her blush again. Not very gracious of me. I reached out a hand and held hers.

“Don’t worry. I have a feeling about you, Shelly. You’re very warm and genuine and giving. Brandon would be crazy not to snap you up before someone else does.”

She smiled and then a cannon went off on the field, signaling the kickoff. We both stood again while my stomach fluttered and my gaze automatically searched out number eleven, Wyatt. As the offense took the field with the backup rookie QB, I relaxed. I could watch Gabe guilt-free, all I wanted, while he stood on the sidelines, miked up and watching intently. Tate also stood on the sidelines, helmet on, waiting his turn. The buzz of excitement rose inside me, thrilled to have a seat on the fifty-yard line to enjoy one of the best shows on earth, as far as I was concerned. Even though one of my favorite players—no, make that my absolute favorite, no sense kidding myself now—wouldn’t be playing.

Shelly and I jumped up and down when the Militia scored on a run and again when Tate sacked the opponent’s quarterback on the first play for the defense.

By the second half we had a comfortable lead. It was then, as a rookie running back went down, that I noticed the emergency personnel on the sidelines with team personnel.

I was surprised to recognize one of the EMTs, Don. He was from the hospital where I worked. I was in charge of the EMTs in the emergency room, their liaison, and Don technically worked for me. I’d had no idea our people worked the games, but there they were on the field, obviously there in an official capacity. Tomorrow I’d talk to Don and my boss to get the scoop. The possibilities made my chest bubble like a happy brook. I loved football—aside from my latent crush on Gabe—and it would be fun to be on the sidelines at a game in an official capacity with the EMTs. If I could manage it legitimately. This was a new job and no way did I want to make waves.

But apparently, all my heart needed was a possibility to lift with a bubbling excitement that carried me to the end of the game—which we lost despite the early lead. Even though it was a preseason game and didn’t count, and even though Gabe hadn’t played, any loss to a professional athlete couldn’t be good. Realizing I had no idea what to expect, I looked to Shelly as we stood.

“Get ready for bad moods?” I said.

She shrugged, “Preseason doesn’t count. The team is trying out all kinds of stuff they don’t do normally. I don’t know about Gabe or Tate, but Brandon will be philosophical about it.”

I had no idea what to say about that, suddenly feeling like the outsider I was, not quite part of the club, not quite belonging because it was my first game as a guest, and depending on how things went, it could be my last. So I shrugged.

“Philosophical it is then.”

We left our seats and went through a door into a corridor and down some stairs that led to the tunnel, an area under the stadium where some press and friends and family waited after the game for players. Denise had warned me that Gabe usually had to do a postgame press conference, but I had no idea if that would be true for a preseason game where he hadn’t even played.

Shelly said, “I’m going to take off. Brandon’s meeting me at the car.”