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Rich and Mark are so engrossed in the women they’re talking to that they throw up their hands and wave me off. Otherteam members yell their goodbyes before turning back to the women hanging around.
I shake my head and continue toward the door, so I can get home to Leslie. I make it to the exit when I feel a hand on my forearm.
"Can I head out with you?" a woman asks.
I look down at her hand on my arm with a slight frown of irritation. “Head out where?”
She shrugs towards her friend sitting in Mark's lap, tonguing him down. Obviously ditched by the person she came with, she says, "My Uber is around the corner, and I'd prefer not to wait outside alone. Do you mind if I head out with you?"
A little thrown off center by her request, I blink and reply, "Oh, okay. Sure. That’s no problem. I’ll wait with you until you get into your Uber." I’ve heard stories about young women getting abducted by a pretend Uber driver, so I have no problem standing with this woman while she waits for her ride.
"I’m Ambrosia,” she says as we walk out of the club.
“I’m Wayne.”
She chuckles. “I know. Everyone knows who you are.”
I shrug. “I guess you’re right about that.”
We walk over to stand on the curb to wait for her Uber. I glance around. It’s late, and the front of this bar is not well lit. It’s unsafe for a woman to be out here alone.
When a car pulls up with an Uber sign, I tell her, “Check to see if the driver is who Uber sent to get you, just to make sure he’s legit.”
She asks the guy some questions. When she’s satisfied that he’s her legitimate driver, she turns and gives me a hug. “Thank you for being such a gentleman. Have a great season.”
I return the hug. “Thanks. Get home safe.”
Once alone, I wait for my ride, eager to get home. I’m tired and could fall into bed and go straight to sleep as soon asI step into my room. But Leslie deserves the same energy I gave the reporters and fellas after the game, and I will give it to her.
During the season, my days and nights blur. I work so hard at the game that I don’t know if I’m coming or going. For the past few years, the only person that kept me sane was Leslie.
I send her a text that I’m on the way. I can feel myself going crazy because I miss her so much. My body anticipates seeing her again with a flutter in my heart. I glance at the time on my phone. No wonder I miss her so much. It’s almost two in the morning. She’s going to be pissed because I’m late getting home.
Chapter Four
LESLIE
I’ll Wait for You
The Saint's team colors are everywhere when I walk into the house. Blue and yellow rose petals lead to the stairway. A heart-shaped fixture decorated with blue and yellow roses sits at the edge of the stairs. Yellow and blue balloons float on the ceiling. I smile, thinking of Wayne's thoughtfulness in having all this waiting for us when we arrived home.
But wait.Is it really waiting for us?Or is it waiting formesince he sent me a text message to let me know he’s running late? I don’t understand why he doesn’t come right out and say he’s not coming home until he finishes celebrating with his teammates at their usual hangout spot at the Zanga bar. Texting,I’m running late,doesn’t soften the blow.
Marjorie greets me at the edge of the staircase. "Hi, Leslie. Good to see you made it back from that breathtaking game. It came down to the wire, but our guy did his thing, yeah?"
I nod. "Yeah, they won." I force my smile to spread across my face. "We're going to the playoffs, and that’s all that matters."
She descends the stairs with a questioning smirk, her head tilted slightly to the left. "Are you excited?"
I shrug. "Of course, what's not to be excited about? Our guy is getting Everything he wants and deserves, and we’re both here for that, right?"
"Honey, this is what Wayne has wanted for years. He's happiest when he is in his zone like he was tonight. I was glued to the TV, watching his reaction after the game, which was his biggest night on the field. He hasn’t looked that happy postgamesince his first little league touchdown. I have a feeling that it will only get better from here, and of course, he deserves it," she restates the obvious.
Wayne has two other go-to women in his life, his mother and Marjorie. Marjorie is his mother’s best friend and his godmother. Since his mother was in Georgia tonight for a family emergency, Marjorie was commissioned to create the scene before me.
A flashback of Wayne's excitement after the game with his teammates, the reporters, and others who flooded the field comes back to me. I can't help but revisit the way I felt about not being able to join him, but I refuse to bring it up to Marjorie. It takes everything in me not to be a Debbie Downer.
"The good thing is that he's happy, Marjorie," I state bluntly.
