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I barely got the words out before she took her right hand and planted it across my face. “Don't you dare imply that I whored myself to you for a job. I had no idea who the fuck you were until a few days ago.”
“And you chose to be on the field for your big reveal? Hoping I got caught with my pants down?”
“I am not doing this with you. I didn’t plan this, I don’t look forward to it, and I wish to God I could quit. But you and I both know I can’t, so we are just going to have to deal with it.”
“You can start by keeping your hands off my face.” I leaned in closer to her, trying to intimidate her, but she never backed away.
“Then I would be careful what you call me and what you imply about me. Not only to my face, but to anyone.”
“You think I want anyone to know about this?”
“I hope not, but I can’t control what you do.”
I backed away and started walking toward my car without another word. I wasn’t going to reassure her that my lips were sealed. I mean, they sure as fuck were, but I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction.
When I got in my car, I slammed my hand onto my steering wheel and sat there, running my emotions through my head.
I honestly thought if I ever saw her again, I would smile, remember how much fun we had and invite her for another round. I lived the last three months with the memory of how perfect that night was, and it kept me grounded when the stress seemed to be too much.
It was easy to use her, because I knew I would never see her again. She was safe to fantasize about, safe to escape inside of my head as the world around me tried to tear me down.
Now that she was right in front of me again, my first words were hateful. The impact of what it all meant for me–that my memory was now a nightmare, that my career was now in jeopardy, that my remaining sanity was gone–made me shake with the need to hit something.
It had been a few months since I had been to the gym, outside of my apartment or the training facilities, but I drove straight there. I needed to put on some gloves, swing at someone as they tried to beat the shit out of me, and hope that it was enough to erase the fight I had in me towards Ms. Wright.
Maybe it was all a coincidence, but that didn’t make it easier to handle.
I had a week until the next game, another home game, and I had to face the fact that I had slept with the NFL’s coveted female referee. The one thing bringing me peace was that she was in a worse position than I was. I knew she wouldn’t tell a soul, because she would reap the worst of it, and if it was all truly a coincidence, then she would keep quiet about our tryst in New York and neither of us would have to worry or think of it again.
Chapter5
Charleigh
Iwas almost glad that was over with.
It was bound to happen and ripping the Band-Aid off at the first game was better than trying to hide all season. I just didn’t expect Coach Peyton to be so angry.
Upset? Sure. But he was borderline raging as he approached me in the parking lot. I had almost flinched, scared of what he was capable of since it wasn't like I knew him all that well. But I stood my ground and hopefully let him know that I was not a part of some evil plan to bring him down.
If he stayed out of my way, I would stay out of his way.
As I started my old red Honda and pulled out of the parking garage, my phone started ringing and I answered it to a chorus of squeals and screams.
“You did so well, honey!” My mom’s voice was high, and she continued to scream in excitement as a smile finally lit my face up.
“I completely zoned out for a minute,” I admitted to her. “God it was so hard.”
“But you did it and after all those years at high schools and colleges, getting talked down to because you wanted to be on the field, you finally made it where you wanted to be.”
Tears spring in my eyes, and her words reminded me once again why I couldn't quit. I had spent my entire adult life preparing for the day I got to be an NFL referee. It wasn't magic and luck that led me to New York three months ago, it was hard work and determination.
Sacrifice.
People thought I was completely nuts to want to be an NFL official. Why would anyone want to subject themselves to that sort of beratement and scrutiny? Those people just didn’t understand how much I loved the game. And most people never got my full story. I stopped trying to explain myself years ago.
“Come over for dinner, we can celebrate!”
“Oh mom, I want to do that so bad, but I have to head home. I still have to work in the morning.”
