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He and I haven’t had much of a friendship since I broke the news to him that I was officially dating Grant after our awkward sidewalk kiss. For a few months, we meticulously avoided talking to each other outside of the occasional work question, so I was surprised to hear this answer when I asked how he was doing.
“Oh really?”
“Yeah.” He laughed, sounding bewildered. “It was the strangest thing. I ran into her outside a coffee shop. I mean, I literally ran into her. I spilled her drink all over her shoe on accident, but she let me replace it—her coffee, I mean. Not her shoe. Anyway, we got to talking while we were standing in line. Her name’s Christine and she’s—”
“What?” I asked, sounding accusatory. “Did you say her name is Christine?”
He looked at me with a puzzled expression. “Yes. Christine.”
I almost laughed, then recovered quickly. “That’s…that’s awesome, Michael.”
Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go purchase a winning lottery ticket.
I can’t wait to tell Grant this story, though I know he’s going to be skeptical. “I wished for the universe to set Michael up with someone and it actually happened exactly the way I intended it to! Down to her exact name!”
I can almost see his arched brow now. “Uh-huh.”
“I swear it’s true! I’m a witch! Or clairvoyant or something!”
Now, I check my watch, trying to figure out how long it could possibly take Grant to finish up in the locker room. I don’t usually wait for him after games; there’s no point. I’d be here all night. There’s always postgame press, a catered meal, physical therapy, and more. I even know some guys who prefer to get their workouts in right after the games rather than the next morning.
Tonight though, Grant promised he’d skip everything he could and get out fast.
“Wait for me. It won’t take me long.”
So I agreed, but it’s been over an hour and a half, and I can’t stay holed up in this lounge much longer. The cleaning crew needs in here, I’m sure.
Another wave of annoyance threatens to send me over the edge. Why am I here? Why couldn’t I just wait for Grant at home like usual?
Worse, I don’t even know the security guard standing at the door, tapping his foot. He just showed up a minute ago with a haughty attitude I don’t much care for if I’m being honest.
“Ma’am, I need you to follow me now. We kindly ask that you vacate the premises. As of ten minutes ago, the stadium is officially closed to all non-personnel.”
He makes it sound like I’m loitering!
Which…I guess technically I am.
Before I go with him, I try to call Grant again, but it goes straight to voicemail. Whatever. I’ll text him that I had to leave; he’ll understand. It’s either cooperate with this big burly suited man or wind up on the morning news. I’d prefer the former.
“Right this way,” he says with a gruff voice, motioning out into the hall. Clearly, he’s annoyed to be dealing with me. He probably just wants to go home.
“You don’t have to escort me—I know how to leave the stadium on my own. I’m sorry for the trouble. My boyfriend wanted me to stay so I was just waiting around for him.”
“Boyfriend?”
“Grant Navarro.”
He snorts. “Right.”
He clearly doesn’t believe me.
“It’s why I was up in the private lounge,” I say, feeling a bit defensive. “The one for league families.”
He nods again like, Whatever you say, lady.
I’ve never seen the stadium so empty. All the vendors are shuttered and closed. You’d expect a cleaning crew, at least, but it looks like the floors have already been swept. Trash cans are emptied and ready to go for tomorrow’s game. Maybe I was in there waiting longer than I thought.
The security guard speaks into the walkie talkie mounted on an official-looking shoulder holster. I don’t catch what he says though.
“This way.” He points to the left when I had planned on continuing straight.
“Isn’t it faster if I—”
“Ma’am, this way.”
Well all right then. Who am I to argue with a guy wearing an earpiece?
We go into an elevator I’ve never used before, and as the doors sweep closed, I have a few belated thoughts. A) I don’t know this man, which is odd, because I know a lot of the security guards at the stadium, most of them by name. B) He’s not dressed like regular security guards, i.e. black slacks with a coordinating polo that says SECURITY in bold white script across the back. C) The stadium is creepy as hell now that everyone’s gone.
I hope Grant’s happy when he realizes I’ve been good and stolen because of him. I chance a peek at my kidnapper. He looks gruff and mean, but maybe he has a chink in his armor I can exploit, a strained relationship with his mother or a love of chocolate. I might have something in my purse I could tempt him with…
