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Chapter Twenty-Five
Raelynn
“Would you stop fussing with it?” Kayla says. “It’s fine.”
I tug on the crop top as we walk past the security checkpoint at the Staples Center. “It’s a little short.”
She grabs my hand and squeezes it. “It’s supposed to be. That’s the style these days.”
“Are you sure? I swear my midriff is showing.”
She rolls her eyes, but I’m not convinced. I feel like I’m trying too hard in this outfit. A crop top? Who am I kidding? I’m a boring grad student. Most days, I don’t even bother with makeup. I toss my hair into a braid or ponytail, throw on a pair of leggings or jeans, and call it a day. I spend my life hunched over textbooks and computers. I’d look pale and sickly if I didn’t make a point to eat my lunch outside every day and soak up as much vitamin D as I can.
Since we rarely see the outside of a research lab, Kayla and Julia both insisted we really try to go all out tonight with hair and makeup. Kayla hopes we’ll catch the eye of one of the basketball players (dear god, please no), and I suspect Julia secretly wants Ryan to take notice of her. So far so good. Since we all met up near campus to catch an Uber, he hasn’t been able to peel his eyes off her. Even now, he edges toward her as we walk through the crowd toward our section of seats.
“Stick close together,” he says, touching her elbow.
“It’s not a big deal if we lose each other,” Julia says with a shrug, holding up her ticket. “We know where to go.”
He frowns, and I look away to hide my smile. How can two people be so oblivious to what’s right in front of them?
“Food first?” Kayla asks, veering off toward the line for the concession stand.
“Yes!” Julia claps. “I want to try it all.”
I would join them in line, but my stomach is in knots. Nothing sounds appetizing, least of all a heaping plate of nachos or a massive chili cheese dog.
“Raelynn?” Kayla asks. “You want anything?”
I shake my head. “No. You guys go ahead.”
Ryan frowns and leaves Julia’s side to head over to me. “What’s up?”
I train my face into a gentle smile. “Nothing.”
He arches a skeptical brow. “I’m not buying it. Are you stressed about finals coming up or something?”
Not in the least, but I appreciate him feeding me an excuse that’s somewhat feasible.
“Oh…kind of.” I shrug.
It’s not an outright lie, right?
He huffs in disbelief. “If you’re worried, there’s no hope for the rest of us. Besides, spring break is next week. You’ll have tons of time to study with us out of your hair.”
“Ryan!” Kayla shouts. “What do you want?”
He hurries to join them at the front of the line to order his food, and I hang back, looking around and checking out the stadium. Even here, in the mezzanine, it’s all decked out for the team—their logos and signs are everywhere, posters boasting past championships, and huge cardboard cutouts of Ben and Trey and Anthony that fans can pose with. People are actually doing it too, lining up and everything.
Everyone’s dressed in jerseys and gear, and I’m suddenly in disbelief that I’m here, putting myself through this. Maybe I didn’t resist hard enough. I could have faked an illness or something. What good is it going to do to sit here in this stadium confronted by all of Ben’s greatness? How will that end well for me? Spoiler: it won’t.
After my friends have their arms laden with food and drinks, we head toward our section of seats. The circular mezzanine branches out on the left and right so fans can go up to level two or down toward the court. Our tickets are on the lower level, so we head down, and down some more. With every step, I start to lose my cool more and more.
“These tickets are insane,” Ryan says, leading us into a row on my left.
We’re smack-dab in the middle of the arena, only six rows back from the court.
“We’re almost close enough to touch them,” Julia says in amazement.
“Just how long do you think your arms are?” Ryan teases.
She rolls her eyes. “You know what I mean.”
She grabs a seat, Ryan quick to sit beside her. Kayla is next, and I take up the tail end, right on the stairs, which is great in case I need to make a clean getaway.
“Tip-off should be any minute now,” Ryan says, leaning forward eagerly. “If we’d arrived earlier, we might have been able to catch them before they went back into the locker room.”
Thank god we didn’t.
There are dozens of people on the court, preparing for the game, dancers and mascots entertaining the fans while music blares overhead. The camera for the jumbotron jumps around the crowd, highlighting all the enthusiastic fans with their painted faces and foam fingers.
