Page 122 of Mr. Swoony

I stand and take her hand. The girls are all here, along with Bodhi. We file out of the conference room, walking down the hallway past the long line of fans here to meet us.

“Damn, this is going to be a while,” I say. “You should go.”

She squeezes my hand. “Don’t worry about me. I’m good.”

Once we reach the room, we all part from the women in our lives and sit in a line at the long table. There are piles of markers for each one of us.

“So, who won Monopoly last night?” Tweetie asks Rowan, and Rowan throws one of the marker caps at his head.

It’s a running joke that none of us have let go of yet.

Gill clears his throat in the microphone, and we all snicker like boys in grade school. “Hello, everyone. Welcome to the Meet-and-Greet Falcons style. We have some of our top players here ready to sign your stuff, take pictures, and answer any questions you might have. So, let’s get this going!” He doesn’t turn off the microphone as he tries to unclip the rope draped between the metal poles to let people in. “Shit, I should’ve practiced that.”

“Gill, the mic,” Henry says.

Gill doesn’t pay attention to him, and all we can hear is the muffle of the mic hitting the velvet rope. Then Gill continues to curse. Tweetie finally gets up, takes the mic and turns it off, then hands it back to Gill before unlocking the rope.

“Thanks.” Gill wipes his forehead with the back of his hand as though he just finished running a marathon.

The line goes smoothly, and there are a lot of kids. Our Falcons mascot keeps them entertained and asks Bodhi to help him pass out stickers and tattoos to the people in line.

I try to be engaged with every person who comes by, since I remember what it was like when my dad first took me to a meet-and-greet and how excited I was to have the sole attention of my favorite player.

Tweetie is ahead of me in the line, and one woman is asking him question after question, which holds up the line, so the three of us sit and wait. I take a moment to scan the crowd and stop on a long-haired blonde in line. She looks familiar, but before I can get a good look, she tips her head toward her bag, and her hair veils either side of her face.

I have to be seeing things. Lila has short dark hair.

Finally, the woman chatting with Tweetie moves on to me. I sign what she asks me to, smiling and greeting her, but she doesn’t seem nearly as interested in the rest of us as she was in Tweetie.

A few more people come through the line. My head is down as I sign something for someone when Tweetie asks for the person’s name in front of him, and she says it’s Lila.

My head flies up, and I rear back, her eyes locking with mine. “Hello, Pinkie.”

Tweetie glances at me as he signs the jersey she’s laid out for him. She has more in her hands. He gives me a look like “how do you know her?”

“Why are you here?” I ask, smiling and passing the item back to the person in front of me. I glance around for Eloise, but she’s nowhere in sight.

“I’d like a picture,” she says. “And if you could sign the jersey. It’s so big, I plan on sleeping in it. And spraying it with your cologne.”

Tweetie’s eyebrows furrow, and he mouths, “What the fuck?”

Henry elbows me, but I don’t let my eyes stray from her. This is what I get for not telling the front office what the fuck has been going on.

Gill walks over. “People are getting disgruntled. You need to keep the line moving,” he whispers.

“Oh, could you take our picture?” Lila hands her phone to Gill.

“No picture,” I say.

Tweetie’s head bobs from me to her.

“I paid like everyone else. I’d like a picture.” Her voice is demanding with an undertone that says she’s going to make a scene if I don’t take the fucking picture.

“Take the picture,” Gill says through gritted teeth.

“All of us, right?” Tweetie says, standing from his chair. “Come on, guys. This lady would love a picture with all of us.”

Henry and Rowan’s chairs squeak along the floor, and I’m the only one still sitting down, glaring at her. Why the hell is she still messing with my life?

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