"Right, mate. I think I'm going to pack it in. This just isn't my scene."
Alastair claps me on the back. "Sure you don't want to stay? It could finally be time for the Bird Man to pick up a chick of his own, and there’s a right attractive lot downstairs."
"No girl is worth sticking around here." Definitely not the type of women I saw on the way in. Highly made up, some high. No, sir, not my scene. We head down the stairs, through the bedroom, to the main level. I can't help but glance. Not a waterbed.
I'm slightly disappointed.
I wave at a few of my teammates as I head down the last set of stairs to the door. Trent better not get too sauced. He's going to have to treat everyone for heat exhaustion. It’s like a steam bath in here.
Speaking of our slimy host, I can’t figure out what those women see in him. As far as I’m concerned, the areshole is as appealing as a turd in a punch bowl.
As I finally make it out to the sidewalk, the cool night air washes over me, enough to lower my body temperature to just below boiling.
After walking away from the party, getting far enough away that the music is down to a dull roar, I stop and inhale deeply. I release my breath and repeat this a few times before I feel more like myself. I hadn't even realized being there would make me feel so uncomfortable.
It's been five years, but still.
The exposed skin on the back of my neck prickles with goose pimples, making me realize I left my coat in there.Bollocks. Good thing I'm only about a half-block away. Turning in my tracks back toward Trent's townhouse, I end up falling behind a young woman who is carrying a backpack that looks like it's about to burst at the seams. It takes up all of her back and then some. I'm not sure if the pack is oversized or if she's simply petite. She's also rolling a small suitcase behind her. Her other hand holds her phone which she appears to be talking at.
Small pet peeve of mine: there's no need to be video chatting with someone when you're out in public. Call me old-fashioned, but put the phone to your ear and have a regular conversation like they did in the good old days. You know, like the 1980s.
That’s when I realize she’s not having a conversation, she's making a ClikClak. My legs are quite a bit longer than hers, so I inadvertently move right next to her. I don't mean to listen, but well, if she didn't want people to hear, she wouldn't be filming out in public.
"Okay, so I'm almost there." She pants, a little winded from her brisk pace and the load that must weigh almost as much as she does. "I can't wait to see him. Mostly, I can't wait to see the look on his face when I surprise him." She beams widely into her phone. "Stay tuned for the next video. Kisses and hugs!"
She stops abruptly, tapping away, probably hashtagging and posting her video. I slow down so we wind up in front of the building at the same time.
"Are you going to 104 too?" the woman asks while smiling wildly. I wonder if she’s on something. After I nod to confirm my destination, she hands me her phone and asks, "Would you mind doing me the biggest favor?"
I want to sigh but resist the urge. Of course, she wants to have her picture taken with me. Even though I don't get noticed here in America like I did back in England, I’m still spotted by the occasional groupie. I wouldn't have pegged this girl for a fan, though.
I could see her in a library or at a comic con, but not at a football game.
Except she's heading to Trent's party, so clearly I’m wrong.
I briefly feel sorry for her as she’s going to stick out like a sore thumb, in her jeans and hoodie, her dark brown hair piled up in a messy bun, bangs fringing her face. It's too dark to tell if she's wearing any makeup, but she definitely doesn’t seem like the heavily contoured and Groucho Marx eyebrow set inside.
She would be the last person I'd expect here, but football fans come in all shapes and sizes. However, they usually dress to impress. But actually, her casual dress and demeanor are refreshing.
Cute, even.
I decide to oblige her with a selfie. It's not terrible for my image to get tagged in things here or there. It makes my fan base appear stronger. I'm simply happy we're outside the party rather than in the throng of people. I don't needthatin my image again.
"Right. Sure. No problem." I reach for her phone, knowing that my arms are much longer than hers, and I'll be able to get a better angle.
She makes one of thosesqueeingsounds that only females appear able to produce. "Thank you so much!"
Here comes the fangirling.
"Okay, so I want you to start recording right before I walk into the room."
"Pardon?"
"I'm here, surprising my boyfriend. I need you to record me walking in so I can get his reaction. He's in there."
Well, that's a sweet gesture, for sure. I can't imagine anyone I've dated traveling to surprise me. It would be nice if someone cared that much.
I take her phone and follow her in. I wonder who the lucky bloke is?
