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Chapter 1
ANDIE
“No. No. No, no, no, no, no, noooooo.” My forehead presses against the smooth, cool wall. “This can’t be happening,” I whisper as the emergency lights flick on.
I stay perfectly still, hoping if I don’t move, the elevator will. Of course, this would happen to me today. I don’t even want to be here and now this. It’s a sign. When these steel doors open, I’m going to find Miranda, whoever she is, and kindly explain that I can’t do this.
I hear shuffling behind me and spin, remembering the man who slid into the elevator just as the doors were closing.
“Great. Are you going to freak out?” He quickly pulls his phone out of his pocket, clearly annoyed.
I stare at him long enough to see one eyebrow raise a quarter of an inch.
“No. I’m ok,” I say quietly, feeling just a bit confined in our dim little box.
He hits a button on his phone and, in the next second, is talking to someone about getting us out of here. I study him, knowing for the next however long we’re in here, we’ll be comrades, partners in suspended confinement.
His deep voice rapidly explains in detail which elevator we’re in, and I realize he’s familiar with the stadium. He sounds a littlebreathy and completely irritated, like whoever is on the other end of the phone is responsible for this.
He’s wearing a hoodie, joggers, and a backward cap over close-cut light blond hair. The bagginess of his clothes hides his massive build and likely defined muscles because I’m pretty sure this guy is one of the players for the Tennessee Tigers.
I have no idea who he is or even that he’s a player, but I want to smile because I know Josh would be out of his ever-loving mind at this. Of anyone who could’ve gotten stuck in an elevator with some high-profile professional football player, it's me.
The only thing I know about football is that they play on a field outlined with 100 yards, and there’s a weird, oval-shaped ball they fight over. Ok. I know a little more than that, but not enough to care who this guy is.
“Yes. It’s just me and one other person,” he says into the phone. “You need to hurry up. I don’t have time for this. Plus, my partner here isn't looking so comfortable in our tight quarters.” His eyes flick to mine, clearly outlined with displeasure and maybe a hint of alarm. “Yeah. Put a rush on it.”
He hangs up, and his fingers immediately take over the screen, flying around at the speed of a hummingbird's wings. His light blue eyes, almost translucent in the horrible lighting, sneak a peek at me, but only for a second before returning to his phone.
“It’s going to be a little bit, but they’re getting someone on it,” he informs me casually, but his attention stays on his screen, shifting his weight from one foot to another.
Well, ok then.
I remove my backpack, deciding I might as well make myself comfortable, and take a seat on the floor. I’m tired, thanks to the four hours of sleep I got last night, and now I’m really mad at myself for letting my nerves keep me from eating breakfast on my drive here. At least I was smart and arrived early, givingme time for this little glitch. Although, dangling in thin air isn’t going to do my quivering stomach any favors.
The man sits on the floor against the adjacent wall and stretches out his legs as he rolls his neck, irritation roaring from his every move.
“Do you work here?” I know it’s likely a stupid question, but I go with it anyway.
A flash of ice blue darts to me out of the corner of his eye like he’s surprised I can speak, then moves right back to his phone. “Something like that.”
Clearly, he doesn’t want to make small talk.Whatever.I guess I’m just going to sit here for the next however many minutes or hours, or for the rest of my life, and keep my mouth shut.
“Doyouwork here?” His low, raspy voice comes out of nowhere.
I look up. His head is still down, focused on his screen.
“No. I’m supposed to meet Miranda or her assistant, I think. I guess it’s a good thing I’m early.”
“Miranda from PR?” His question is quipped.
I wonder why he’s even talking to me when he clearly has better things to do.
“Yeah. I guess so. I wasn’t supposed to be here until noon, but…” I decide to keep the part about my nerves to myself. “Are you a…player?”
I should feel really dumb because anyone setting foot in this stadium would likely know the answer to this question, but something about him makes me not want to give a crap about what he thinks.
I watch him inhale slowly, waiting for a response. Then what I think is just a glimmer of an arrogant smirk appears like I should be embarrassed.
