Bea sighed. “Okay. No latex for you, my love.”
He nodded. “Fine. Good. No Adrian, but I’ll be happy to go with Roman or Nate.”
“You got it.”
The car crawled up to the players’ entrance, and I let my head fall back against the seat. It might have made me spoiled, but I never drove myself on game days. Getting to the stadium wasn’t the issue—it was getting home. After a match, I usually felt like I’d been chewed up, spit out, and maybe rolled down a rocky hill for good measure. Driving home in that condition was a bad idea for me and everyone else on the road. Better to let someone else handle the wheel while I groaned about my aches in peace.
We rounded the corner, and sure enough, there they were—the little cluster of fans camped outside the gate. Some with jerseys, some with posters, a few already holding out pens like I might leap from the moving car and sign something. I never did, of course. And not because I was a jerk. The staff had rules about where we could stop.
My driver let me out in the designated drop-off zone, and before I could grab my bag, I heard the shouts.
“Wellsie! Over here!” “Good luck tonight!” “Can you sign this?”
I grinned wide at the handful of people pressed against the barricade. There weren’t many of them—this wasn’t the World Cup—but the ones who came early were the diehards.
“Lovely evening for a match, huh?” I called, slinging my bag over my shoulder. A couple kids had programs and Sharpies ready, so I strolled over.
“Big game tonight,” one of the dads said. “They’re all big to me when I’m running for eighty minutes,” I replied, crouchingto scribble my name across a jersey. “Say a little prayer for my hammies, yeah?”
This was why I was still in the game. That, and I had no idea who I was without it. Most of the guys were a decade younger than me, but I didn’t mind being the old man on the team—not when I still kicked ass.
“Hey!”
A little blonde stationed by the entrance, holding a small microphone and fancy camera, waved at me. I stopped in front of her, trying hard not to judge. She didn’t look like a fan, but sometimes people surprised me.
“Hey yourself,” I greeted.
She was young—probably early twenties—all dolled up and pretty in a way that was a little unreal. I’d seen enough influencers at events and clubs to recognize one in the wild.
“You’re Ben Wells, right?” She had a little line between her brows. I couldn’t tell if it was from anger or concentration. Kinda strange, but whatever.
“That’s me.” I chuckled. “I’m guessing you’re not a fan.”
“Not really.” She rolled her eyes. “I’ve heard all about you. You’re a real piece of work.”
“What?” I stepped back, genuinely shocked. “What do you mean?”
This wasn’t the reaction I normally got. I played clean and lived the same way. My reputation in my sport was golden, and in general, I was well received in public. I was given a hard time by my brothers, but that was us. For this perfect stranger to think she knew something about me? Well…I was surprised but curious.
“You know.” She huffed. “I’m Mazzy’s cousin, so I know what you did.”
“Mazzy?” That was a name I hadn’t heard in a long time. It made my heart kick. “Mazzy Belle?”
She rolled her eyes. “As if you don’t know who I mean. And her name is Mazzy Emerson, for your information. Belle’s her middle name.”
“Okay…” I scratched the side of my head. “How is she? Is she still in Seattle?”
“She’s great. Wonderful. Peachy. And no, she hasn’t lived in Seattle for years. She’s right here in Denver, dude.”
She could have knocked me over with her scoff. Hell, I felt assaulted by her continual eye roll. What had Mazzy told her about me? I thought we were cool. I only had good memories of her and had kicked myself for not staying in touch. There was something about her…and she was in my city?
I took my phone out of my pocket. “Can you give me her number? I’d love to see her.”
Her jaw dropped. “What? You’re joking.”
“No…” At least, I hadn’t thought I was. “I really do want to catch up.”
“Catch up?” She stared at me for so long I started to wonder if she was on pause. “You know what? Yes. I’ll give you her number. You should absolutely catch up.”
