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“You were going the right way.” He nods, and I wave goodbye, still feeling bad for wasting his time.
I find Gate B, but so do many other fans who arrived late for the game, creating a crowded atmosphere outside the stadium.
After struggling for several minutes to reach the security detail, I end up facing off with a big grumpy man, holding a clipboard, there to take names and keep the peace.
“Excuse me?” I poke him in the arm to get his attention. “Do you have an Emily Mitchell on your list?”
“Who said this is a list of names?” he says, having fun with my distress.
“Well, I know it’s not a shopping list,” I say with sass. “Can you please check?”
The man sighs and glances through the list. He pushes a sheet back, another, and then, “Nope. Not here.”
“Can you check with someone else?” I put on my best damsel in distress performance.
“Hey, Jameson!” a female security personnel comes running towards us. “Is this girl Emilia Mitchell?”
“Emily!” I quickly correct her when she gets my name wrong.
She asks for ID and after I show it, she smiles and continues, “She’s Connoly’s girlfriend, let her in!”
I freeze in surprise, caught off guard.
His girlfriend?
All the while, Jameson just shrugs and opens the gate, his mood unchanged.
When I don’t move, he encourages me, “Hop in, Emily.”
The female security guard gently takes me by the shoulder and guides me inside, taking me to sit with the players’ wives and girlfriends.
So, I’m his girlfriend now, huh?
Did he say that just to get me in, or is that a true indication of what he wants?
God knows I could get used to the sound of that, but I have my daughter to think about first.
The game goes on with pure emotion. The seats are great, so we can watch every move and every shot, every goal, and every celebration.
I scream Andrew’s name, but then I remember that I’m supposed to be angry with him.
However, it’s very hard to keep a straight face when he scores goal after goal, does perfect assists, and helps the defense better than the goalie himself.
“Who are you with?” the perfect blonde sitting by my side turns to me in the middle of the game and asks.
“Andrew Connoly,” I say. “I’m Emily Mitchell, by the way.”
I extend my hand, and she shakes it.
“I’m Emma Brooks, married to Chris Brooks, the captain. Are you his girlfriend?” she asks casually.
“We’re taking it a day at a time.” I turn back towards to game. “Go, Andrew!”
“The girls don’t take kindly to newcomers but wait two or three months,” she laughs. “But you’ll still be welcome at luncheons.”
I smile, annoyed but not letting it show.
Why the hell would I care about luncheons, lady?
