Page 77 of Under Pressure

At least tonight would be fake. I could take comfort in the fact that nothing that happens will mean anything. We can go back to the way things were weeks ago, when all I cared about was work and making Beck drink terrible blends of coffee.

Every look and touch will be for Ruthie’s benefit, not mine, and that’s a line I need drawn between us more than anything. It’s the only way I’ll be able to keep my head on straight around him when he’s been spinning it in circles for days now.

Brielle takes my hand in hers and squeezes. “Thank you! I appreciate it so much. I’ll text you all the details later?”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll let you know what Ruthie says.”

“Let her eat her hot dog, Elle,” Aubrey says, eyeing the way I’ve begun warping the cardboard container.

Brielle gasps. “Yes! Right. Come on, it’ll change your life.”

“You’re overselling it a bit,” Evie says with a soft laugh. Her eyes find mine when she leans forward past Brielle. “They’re good, but not that good.”

“Just try it,” Aubrey sighs.

I pinch the giant thing between my fingers and hold it up in front of my face. A thick gob of yellow-tainted ketchup drips off the front and plops into the cardboard container. With a cringe, I take a small bite. The immediate taste is fine. It’s a hot dog, not an eighty-dollar, medium-rare steak with a perfect sear. After chewing a few times, I try not to hack as the cheese mixes with the onions.

My smile is forced as I swallow, but apparently believable enough that Brielle claps, finding success in her task.

“I told you. A stadium hot dog is the superior hot dog.”

“I prefer poutine,” Aubrey says, a hint of a laugh in her voice.

Whipping my head to the side, I flash her a betrayed frown. “I didn’t know that was an option.”

If I’d seen her grab one today, I would have found any way to get out of trying this experimental dog.

“Next time, we’ll leave those two to get their hot dogs, and we can get the good shit. The best place to get it is on the second level,” she whispers.

Sara kicks her legs beneath her seat and touches Aubrey’s thigh. “By the cotton candy stand?”

“Yeah, honey. The one and only.”

“You two are conspiring behind my back, aren’t you?” Brielle asks, tsking.

Aubrey points somewhere on the field and snaps her fingers. “Oh, look—you can see Roman, Elle.”

The speed with which she turns and looks for him is almost as alarming as it is impressive. I don’t realize that it was a farce until Aubrey lightly digs her elbow into my arm and smirks.

So, fine. Maybe today hasn’t been so bad. Andmaybe. . . I’ll want to do this again.

It’s intimidating as all hell being here.

There’s a very drastic difference between sitting with the girls in the stands and standing in a family lounge with them while we wait for the players to finish after the game. Brielle has no issue starting up a conversation with anyone she comes across, and Evie seems to be excited to follow her lead. I’ve been standing back with Aubrey and Sara, but even the eight-year-old has joined a group of kids whose names I didn’t attempt to catch.

My skin’s itchy. I feel out of place, even if I guess I have a reason to be here. Or at least that’s what the girls reassured me a million times on the trek over. Looking around, it’s easy to spot the girlfriends and wives of the players, even without them wearing jerseys.

I assumed they’d all be wearing them since Aubrey was. Apparently, that was a rookie mistake because it’s more apersonal choice than an unspoken dress code. Knowing that helped ease some of my discomfort since I didn’t have a jersey to wear today. And if I did, then wearing it would have given the wrong message.

As if being here in the first place wasn’t bad enough?

“Don’t let them know you’re nervous. They’re like sharks,” Aubrey says, her eyes focused on the email she’s been typing out on her phone. “Glare at anyone who looks at you too long.”

I try to pull my shoulders back. “I’m not nervous.”

“I nearly cried the first time I came in here. Jocelyn over there, the one with the teased bangs? She grabbed me by the arm and hauled me over into this utter gossip fest and tried digging for every secret she could pry from my lips.”

I blow a raspberry. “She’s brave.”