Emily was climbing the steps, coat wrapped tight around her body, hair falling over one shoulder.
She didn’t stop, but just before she disappeared inside, she looked back.
Her gaze found mine instantly.
And with the smallest, most infuriating little smirk, she winked.
Then she was gone.
I exhaled a laugh under my breath, shaking my head as I climbed onto the bus.
This was going to be the longest postgame travel of my life.
And all I could think about was getting her back to Seattle and directly to my place.
Emily
“People see the uniforms, the smiles, the performances — but what they don’t always see is the sisterhood. These women show up for each other in ways that go far beyond the field. And that kind of commitment deserves to be honored, not just applauded.”
“We couldn’t agree more. Ashley and I talk about this a lot on the pod, how it feels like as women in sports, we’re expected to just be like… happy to be here. Lucky, even. Like hey, you’re welcome, don’t expect more!”
“Exactly. And that’s the thing. We’re not just dancers. We’re athletes. We train year-round, we cross-train, we rehab injuries, we perform under pressure in front of tens of thousands of people — and we do it with precision. That’s not a hobby. That’s a profession.”
“You look like you want to say more on that…”
“Well… I guess it’s just become apparent to me that while we’re expected to perform as athletes, we’re not expected to be paid as such. And that doesn’t sit right with me. It never has. Imean, almost every member of my team has another job or a family member who financially supports them.”
“Which is insane.”
“I think so, yes. We love what we do. We audition against hundreds of other dancers because we want the chance to be on that field. We’re passionate as hell… but passion doesn’t pay rent — and it shouldn’t be used as an excuse not to pay women fairly.”
“I can’t think of a better note to end on. Emily, thank you so much for being here with us today. And folks listening, if you want to follow Emily and her road to recovery and back to the field, you can find her at…”
I reached over to hit the pause button, freezing my smile along with the two podcast hosts ofThe Fifth Quarteron Braden’s laptop screen. Silence stretched in his bedroom, which was currently bathed in a warm afternoon sunlight glow.
“Wow,” he said.
“Wow good, or wowyou shouldn’t have said that?”
He chuckled, closing his laptop and moving it to his bedside table before he pulled me into him. I took the invitation willingly, bracing my palms and elbows on his chest as he slid one hand around the small of my back and propped the other arm behind his head.
“Wow, you’re beautifulandsmart as hell, and I’m having a hard time not starting round three.”
My neck heated, and I buried my embarrassed smile in his chest. “Stop, it wasn’t that good. Besides, I don’t think you could handle round three after that ice play.”
“Try me,” he dared, nuzzling into my neck with a kiss that curled my toes.
I pressed against his chest so I could look at him fully. “You really think it was good?”
“I do,” he promised. “What I’m having trouble understanding is whyyoudon’t. Emily, you were poised, professional, smart as a whip, charming. What are you worried about?”
I bit my lip. “I don’t know. The fact that I called out the people who pay me for not paying me more.”
“Maybe they need to be called out.”
“Oh, they do. But probably not by an injured cheerleader who is so old she likely only has a season or two left.”
“I hate when you do that.”
