Page 39 of Rush the Edge

With half the costume on, I call Natalia on FaceTime.

When in doubt, call your bestie.

“What are you?—”

“I need you to come to Chicago,” I interrupt her and pan the phone down to my body. “I’m fucking stuck in this thing!”

Natalia stares at me through the screen for a few seconds before her laughter echoes around me.

“Oh my god,” she says through a laugh. “It isn’t funny…”

I try to hide my own smile.

“But it is...” She laughs again.

“Natalia,” I whine, “what do I do?”

She finally controls her laughter and acts serious. “Get a new job.”

I can’t do that. Kane will call me a quitter.

“Natalia!” I shout. “I’m serious. I’m dying of a heat stroke in this thing!”

With the back of my hand, I wipe the sweat off my hairline.

“Okay, okay.” I watch as she moves through her apartment with her thinking face on. “Is there anyone else around? Anyone that you can ask for help?”

I bite my lip. “Only the refs.”

She lifts her arched brow. “Are any of them cute?”

“Really?” I huff.

Her laugh cuts through my frustration, and I finally start to laugh too. “This is so ridiculous,” I say.

“Comical, you mean? I agree.”

I scrunch my nose. “Bye.”

She laughs harder, and I hang up the phone.

My hands fall to my hips, and I stare at the wall that separates me from the officials’ locker room. Eventually, I trudge over to the door and open it, allowing the bright lights of the hallway into my dim dressing room. The light covers my shiny, sweaty skin, making me look even worse.

It’s not like I’m trying to impress anyone—the less people who see me the better—but I know exactly who’s in the vicinity.

It’s quiet besides the referees in the next room, who I’m assuming are about to leave for the evening, so with one hand holding up the top of my costume, I take my fist and gently rap my knuckles on their door.

It takes a couple seconds for it to open, and when it does, the referee’s eyebrows crowd together at the sight of me.

“Uh, hi.” I send him, and the rest of the men behind him a tight-lipped smile.

This isn’t awkward at all.

“I’m so sorry to bother you, but…”—a breathy laugh leaves me—“my zipper is stuck, and I really don’t want to die in this thing.”

Plus, there is no way I’m calling Kane to help me.

The man blinks several times before finally speaking. “You’rethe mascot?”

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