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“I know it could be classified as nepotism, but thank you for getting me this job, Shawn,” I say to him as we come around a corner. “Dad waspissedat me for deciding not to finish college, but I don’t know what I want to do with my life yet. Why wasteall that time and money when I’m still undecided about my future?”
“I got you an interview as an in-game photographer, not a throne to a European country, Mae. And you got yourself hired.” Shawn chuckles and nudges me with his elbow. “Don’t worry about your dad. He’ll come around. There’s nothing wrong with not getting your degree, and there’s a different route for everyone to get to their final destination. This is just a stop along the way for you.”
“You’re getting wiser with age. How’s fifty treating you?”
“Look who’s talking, smart ass. Twenty-two years old and a legal adult who can drink. When the hell did you grow up?” he asks as we stop near the locker room. “This is all happening too fast, and I hate it.”
“It all happened too fast for me, too. One minute, I’m a Division 1 athlete with my future charted out for me, and the next I’m tearing my ACL and losing my scholarship.” I adjust the bag on my shoulder and wince under the weight of the new Nikon Z9 camera my dad bought me. “Maybe this change will be good for me. I love photography, and now I have a chance to figure out who I might be away from cleats and a ball.”
“Only to take photos of guys wearing cleats and throwing a ball. I can’t promise working here will open other doors for you long term, but you deserve a shot to find success. To find yourself too.”
“Thanks.” I loop my arm around his waist and hug him tight. “You’ve always been my favorite honorary uncle and godfather.”
“I’m your only honorary uncle and godfather, you little shit,” he says into the top of my head. “Johnathan, the lead photographer, is going to meet you in the admin offices, and you’ll be with him the rest of the day. Do you know where the elevators are?”
“I’ll figure it out. Thanks for the pep talk, Shawn.”
“You’re going to do great. And if any of my guys give you a hard time, let me know. I’ll handle them.”
“Don’t worry. I’m going to stay out of everyone’s hair.” I frown when I pull away from his embrace and see his eyebrows wrinkled together. “Are you okay? You seem a little off today.”
“I’m fine. Just dealing with some personal stuff with my players. Football is a lot more fun when all I have to do is coach instead of put out fires and find childcare, but it’s part of the job. Helping my team solve problems off the field allows them to play better on the field.”
“That’s why they pay you the big bucks. Anything I can help with?”
“Definitely not. Have a good weekend, Mae. I’ll see you on Monday for the team photo. Stay out of trouble,” he says.
I wave goodbye and turn toward the elevators that will take me up to the admin offices on the fourth floor. Anticipation zips up my spine as I pass the photos on the tunnel walls. Pivotal moments in Titans history are captured on film and hung with pride. I’ve passed them a hundred times when I walked through these halls as a fan, but it feels extra special to take a second and study them today.
I see the picture of their first Super Bowl win three years ago in Las Vegas and the elation on the players’ faces as they huddle around the Vince Lombardi trophy. Next to it is a smaller image from a team event at the D.C. Food Bank on Thanksgiving last year. Two dozen Titans players are in their community engagement shirts and interacting with people as they scoop stuffing and hand out turkeys.
My favorite photo is the one of Shawn dressed up like Santa Claus and sitting in the back of a sleigh in the middle of UPS Field. He’s surrounded by Christmas trees with twinkling lights, and there is a sack of presents by his side.
Anticipation makes way for excitement knowing my images might be up there soon. A game-winning touchdown or an undefeated season forever immortalized by the very camera hanging from my shoulder. Scrimmages and home games with seventy thousand fans roaring in the crowd.
I’m doing this.
And I’m going to do it damn well.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out, continuing on my way toward the elevators up ahead. I smile when I read a text from my friend and old college teammate, Isabella, inviting me to grab dinner and drinks with her tonight to celebrate my first day on the job.
I fire off a quick response, distracted by the list of choices she gives me. My attention is on picking between margaritas or a wine bar, not where I’m walking, and I run straight into something.
A tall, sturdy, warm something.
I stumble. My phone goes flying. My bag slides off my shoulder and falls to the floor, and I nearly go tumbling backward. A hand wraps around my wrist, keeping me on two feet and not my ass, and whoever it is must be strong as hell.
I blink and try to get my bearings. When I steady myself, I find Dallas Lansfield, the Titans kicker, blinking right back at me.
“Maven?”
He’s wearing a backwards hat. The sleeves of his sweatshirt are pushed up to his elbows and show off sun-kissed skin and forearms with thick veins. My gaze bounces to his sharp cheekbones and wide, dark brown eyes.
I haven’t seen him up close in a couple of years, and he’s more intimidating than I remember. Broad shoulders. Biceps straining against the cotton of his hoodie. Messy brown hair with pieces that sneak out from under the cap on his head. A dazzlingsmile and dimples on both sides of his cheeks. At six-foot-two with long arms and even longer legs, he’s tall enough that I have to tilt my chin back to meet his gaze.
He still has the same deep, rumbly voice. The same southern twang, drawing out the vowels in my name like he wants to hold them to his chest like a secret before he lets them go. The same curve of his mouth and the flicker of mischief in his eyes.
Hell.
