Chapter Seven

Gwen

Even though I knew nothing about football, I found myself swept up in the excitement of the final few minutes and when Carson landed in the end zone, I burst out into a deafening cheer with the rest of the crowd.

“Damn! Your man has balls!” Vivi hollered beside me.

“Right? I can’t believe he won!” I shivered and pulled the blanket tighter around me. “Damn! It’s cold!”

Vivi tugged on her blanket. “All right, girl. I’m outta here. You have fun tonight.”

“You bailing already?”

“Hell, yeah.” She paused to pluck a wayward strand of hair out of her lip gloss. We were under the protection of an overhang but the wind and snow were still able to whip through and catch us. “I have to get up early and the traffic is going to be ridiculous. And my ass is frozen. It’s too fucking cold out here. I don’t know how you talked me into this. I’m gonna hop a street car and ride home.”

My eyebrows knit together. “No. I can totally give you a ride.”

She waved her hand. “Don’t worry about it. I want you to have fun tonight. You deserve it.” She leaned in and gave me a quick embrace before she rewrapped the blanket around herself and headed back up the stairs that led to the nearest exit. I followed her with my eyes and she gave me a little wave before ducking through the doorway and disappearing.

I turned my attention back to the field and joined in with the rest of the crowd as the announcer proclaimed the Cannons as the winners of the playoff game. Media ascended onto the field and I watched Carson get plucked up by a blonde reporter with a camera crew. A smile played at my lips as I watched him smile for the camera. Even from my seat, I could see the joy and pride radiating from him. Every few minutes one of his teammates would walk by and say something or slap him on the ass.

I laughed and rolled my eyes. “Boys.”

The crowd filtered from the stadium and I noticed that I was left alone in my section. I wasn’t sure what to do. I could easily slip from the stadium and join the mass exodus to the parking garage, get in my dad’s SUV and drive home. But there was something keeping my ass frozen in the seat—and it wasn’t just the cold weather.

Carson left the stadium and I wondered how long it would take for him to shower and change and do the postgame interviews. Surely it couldn’t take that long. Could it?

I fished my phone out of my purse and pulled up his number in my contacts list. I’d programmed it into my phone even though I hadn’t used it yet. No time like the present, I decided, starting a new text:

Great game! You might make a convert out of me after all. My friend had to bail early. If you want some postgame company, let me know.

I sucked in a sharp breath as I forced myself to send it without editing. When my phone buzzed to let me know the message had been sent, I got up from my seat and made my way up the stairs. The interior of the stadium was still a madhouse. People were clogging up the different vendors, buying t-shirts and other memorabilia, grabbing food at the handful of stalls and miniature restaurants, and snapping pictures and selfies with the larger than life pictures of the team printed on the walls.

The air inside was considerably warmer than the stadium but it was still chilly. I tugged at the collar of my coat and wished I’d worn a scarf. I certainly hadn’t been prepared for the arctic blast. I passed a coffee cart and got into line behind a few Cannons fans who were decked out in team t-shirts, face paint, and hats. They were going on and on about Carson and I couldn’t help but smile as I listened to their conversation. I knew the pride I felt was a little premature, considering Carson and I had barely spent an hour together, but it felt like something more. Like they were talking about a good friend of mine.

Maybe more…

When I got my cup of coffee, I dumped the change in the tip jar, thanked the high school aged girl behind the counter and ambled off to get out of the way of the next customer. My phone buzzed in my pocket and I jolted, nearly sloshing the scalding coffee all over me. I hurried to an empty chair along a long bar and set my coffee down.

I’ll make a full-fledged fan out of you. Just wait. I got some press stuff to do but I’d like to see you. Ask security to point you to the team’s entrance. Tell them you’re on my list. I’ll meet you when I’m done and we can go get a drink.

My cheeks warmed as I re-read the message. This was really happening. I was minutes away from having drinks with Carson Stiles. I shook my head, still dazed with disbelief as I typed back a quick reply:

See you soon.

I chugged down my coffee, searing my tongue, and then chucked the paper cup before rushing off to find security. The first one I found gave me instructions and I hurried off, stopping in the ladies room to check my face and lips. My cheeks and the bottom of my ears were bright red from the cold. Great. I looked like a frozen hot mess all bundled up like a burrito—bet he’d love that. I rubbed my gloved hands over my cheeks to warm them up and then pulled off my knitted cap.

UGH! My hair was plastered flat to my head and shaped like a beanie. Why did I agree to this? And why did I text him? I could’ve went home with Vivi and he would’ve never known the difference.

Damn it!

This was exactly why I hated winter. Chapped lips, static hair, and dry, red cheeks. But there was no backing out now. I slid the beanie back on my head, bundled up and headed toward the team’s entrance.

When I finally found it, I stopped short. There was a noisy crowd of people who also appeared to be waiting for the team.

A few people passed by, apparently not even seeing me, and I sidestepped at the last second, flattening myself against the wall to avoid getting trampled. That’s when I realized that almost every person waiting was a woman, dressed like they were going to a club opening, not a football game. Weren’t they cold? Where did they come from that they didn’t look like there was a blizzard going on outside?

Who the hell were these women? I stayed pressed against the wall and watched them. Were they hookers? Wives and girlfriends of the players? Football groupies? Was that even a thing?

As I watched them all clustered together, talking in rapid-fire tones, and smiling like they were on stage at the Miss America pageant, I shrunk back even further. It was like having a flashback to high school. They were the cheerleaders and dance team queens and I was the nerdy girl with headgear and coke bottle glasses. There wasn’t a question. I simply didn’t fit in with these women. I’d never really wanted to. But in that moment, seeing them all gathered outside the team’s locker room entrance, I was struck with one sickening thought…this is what I’d have to be if I wanted to be with a guy like Carson.

Sure, at Maggie’s he was attainable. Sure, he was heart-stoppingly handsome, but he felt like a normal guy. Approachable and friendly. But here…it was like a kaleidoscope being twisted to change the view, and the picture looked completely different.

Carson had changed into a pair of jeans and a long-sleeve deep scarlet colored shirt that fit like a glove. His jeans hung low on his hips and fit just right to show off the powerful muscles in his thighs. I thought he was handsome in his uniform, but now he was downright intoxicating.

What the hell was I thinking?

He was smiling for the cameras, being interviewed for Sports Center, and surrounded by blonde playboy bunny types who wore designer clothes, had perfect teeth, and looked like the real housewives of Bitsburg.

I took one more look around, feeling my heart sinking lower with every overly make-upped face I saw, and when I’d gone full circle, I pushed off the wall and walked back the way I’d come. This was a mistake. A misunderstanding. Carson could have his pick of the Playboy bunnies gathered outside the locker room. He wouldn’t want a girl like me—and if he did, there had to be something wrong with him.

Was this all some kind of dream? A fantasy I’d concocted for myself? I gnawed on my lower lip, turning over possibilities in my mind. What was Carson really after?

“Gwen! Hey, Gwen!”

I froze at the sound of my name. I knew that voice. Carson.

“Gwen! Wait up!”

I turned around in slow motion, somehow managing to force a smile onto my lips as he jogged over to me with a bright smile of his own. “Hey, Carson. Good game.”

“Wow. Thanks for sticking around. That took forever!”

“Well, you are the star player of the night,” I replied, giving him another easy smile, hoping it masked the mixed-up feelings racing through me.

The other players filtered out into the hallway, most of them with one of the women I’d noted waiting outside the locker room. So, they were wives and girlfriends. None of them gave me a second glance though some of the players said a final goodbye to Carson as they passed by.

Carson ran a hand over the back of his neck as he watched the last of the parade go by. His hair looked darker than when we’d first met, the dampness still clinging to it from his postgame shower. A vivid image of him soaking wet under the hot spray from the shower rushed over me and I squeezed my thighs together as I shifted my weight. Keep it together, Gwen.

“Whew. What a night?” Carson said, breathing out a heavy sigh that sounded like it was halfway exhaustion and halfway relief.

I smiled up at him. “You did great. You should be really proud.”

“Thanks.” He flashed a warm smile and my eyes went wide. He really was too hot. It wasn’t fair. I’d never been so off-kilter around a guy before. “So, you still up for a drink? There’s this quiet little bar not too far from here.”

I twisted my fingers together in front of me, still unsure what his intentions were, but agreed with a nod. “Sounds good to me. Something to take the edge of the chill.”

Granted, from the look in his eyes—there were other ways to warm up on an icy night.