AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“C’mon, sweetheart. Smile pretty for the camera. When was the last time you saw T.J.Bryant Jr.? You two been sneakin’ around?”
“Wren—” Tatum bellowed through the phone.
“Aww, don’t be like that Ms.Porter,” the creep called out as he approached. “For someone with a body like that, you’re awful boring. Don’t worry, dollface. I’ll figure out who you are.” His threat was laced with a Jersey accent. I could smell the cigarette smoke leaching off his plaid flannel.
“I’m fine,” I whimpered into the phone as I grabbed the bag that had fallen and ran like hell to my SUV. My heart raced. I didn’t know whether it was blood pulsing in my ears or footsteps falling in line behind me. I trapped my car keys between my fingers like Wolverine. What was that thing that Gracie Hart did in Miss Congeniality? Solar plexus, instep, nose, groin. God bless Sandra Bullock.
I didn’t bother opening the trunk. I hit the unlock button on my keyfob, yanked the driver’s side door open, tossed my suitcase in, and jumped behind the wheel. Black marks streaked the pavement behind me as I tore out of the space. The man raised his camera, snapping away as I sped down the road.
The call with Tatum connected to the speakers. My pulse raced, and I couldn’t bring it down. I was shaking like I’d just had a near-death experience.
“Tatum,” I whispered, panting through trembling breaths.
“Where are you? Are you safe? What happened?” Tatum’s tone was tight. Strained. He was on a hair trigger just as much as I was. The two of us felt helpless against our situation. To be together meant we couldn’t risk doing normal couple things. He couldn’t walk me to my car. I couldn’t hang out with him and his friends and their partners after games.
I had to come to terms with the fact that there was constant tabloid speculation about Tatum’s dating life. Last week it was a country music star who had tweeted him after the tackle. This week, he apparently dumped her and was with an old college flame. The rumor mill was entertaining, infuriating, and wildly amiss.
I pulled into a twenty-four-hour gas station and parked under the bright lights surrounding the pumps. I needed to get to the stadium, but I couldn’t stop shaking.
“Wren,” he rasped, hanging on by a thread. “Please talk to me. Tell me what happened.”
I closed my eyes and let out a slow breath. “There… There was a man outside my building. He was a paparazzi or a reporter or something… But it was dark and creepy… I was in my Reds gear, and they have so many rules about what you can and can’t say when you’re wearing branded stuff because you’re representing the team and we’re supposed to be friendly and polite and—”
Tatum swore colorfully. “I don’t care what you’re wearing. If a man comes at you, you kick him in the balls and run like fucking hell. Fuck polite.”
For some reason, I laughed. “Ms. Trumble and the Elias family would beg to differ. She’d peddle some line about violence not being the answer.”
“Violence isn’t the answer, but it is an answer. And sometimes it’s the only answer.” He let out a blustering breath. Tatum was notoriously good at staying grounded, and he was on the verge of coming unhinged. “Fuck, baby—”
“I’m okay,” I said, taking a deep breath before pulling out of the gas station lot and easing back onto the road. “He mostly kept his distance.”
“You still sound scared.”
I was. Honest to goodness, I was. “They know where I live,” I whimpered. “They know where I work. They have my license plate number. I was followed in the grocery store the other day. I didn’t sign up for this!”
“No one signs up for this kind of violation of privacy,” he said calmly. “Lowlifes like that prey on the fortune or misfortune of others and call it public interest.”
It was a good thing I hadn’t put on makeup yet. I’d fix my face once we finished our early rehearsal and headed back to our locker room. Tears welled up in my eyes and streaked down my cheeks.
“I can’t even count how many times I’ve been groped or harassed because I’m a Reds cheerleader,” I began quietly. “The uniform is provocative. We’re not just performing for fans. We’re selling a fantasy—an all-American, girl-next-door, sex-kitten fantasy. And it’s intentional. But people don’t understand that it’s just hair and makeup and push up bras. They think that because I put on the uniform, I owe them something.” I sniffed, grabbing a wad of spare Dunkin’ napkins and wiping my eyes. “And we’re told to just keep smiling. Keep being graceful.” I balled up the napkins and shoved them into the cup holder. “I love dancing and cheering for the Reds. I used to be able to leave all the negatives at the stadium. But now it’s following me home and to the office. I just… Sometimes I wonder if the glory is worth the price of admission.”
“I’m hiring security for you,” he said matter-of-factly. “The team should have already done it. Friggin’ ridiculous. Sam will find someone to escort you home from the game and watch your place.”
“Tatum, I—”
“Don’t argue with me, Wren,” he gritted out. “If I can’t be the one to keep you safe, at least let me make sure someone else is.”
I pulled up to the stadium gates, rolled my window down, and scanned my keycard for entry into the support-staff parking lot. The machine beeped and the barriers rose.
“Are you at the facilities?” he asked.
“Yeah, I just pulled into the north lot.”
“Is there someone around that can walk in with you?” I knew he was trying to be calm and reasonable. But, like me, he felt helpless.
I looked around at the cars that speckled the lot. A blue Jetta with fuzzy dice dangling from the rearview mirror was parked two rows away. Its driver was hauling her suitcase out of the tiny trunk. “Yeah. Jewel just got here.” I cut the ignition and gathered my things. “Thanks for staying on the phone with me.”
“Any time, Little Bird.”
