Page 96 of Fashionista's Playbook

“Don’t take a chance, Michael. Don’t be a hero.” Claudia whispered as everyone hushed.

The kids were even quiet, hanging on the seats in front of them—everyone was on their feet. My sister grabbed my other hand. The sadness that usually haunted her eyes was gone. She gave me an excited grin.

“He’s taking a knee!” Claudia’s shrill scream was loud enough to burst eardrums.

And Michael Jones did just that, kneeling to run the clock out as the stadium erupted into a thunderous mix of cheers and the final seconds on the clock clicked down. I screamed as if the place was on fire, my heart full and pounding in my chest.

Frantically I searched the sea of bodies on the field to find Travis’ number, as he saluted two empty seats in the stands. Vincent was supposed to be there, as opposed to with us in the skybox with the Jones family. A tiny piece of my heart broke and tumbled to the ground. Next time, I’d sit down there—in the seats he reserved for his parents.

There wasn’t much time for wondering what Travis was feeling, as Claudia scooped me into a bouncing, celebratory hug. Her kids and my family all joined in. There were tears and victorious hooting. All my life I’d seen it as just a game, but to those who played and the ones that loved them—it was so much more.

“Come on Moriah, let’s go find your man.” Elise tugged me free, to follow Claudia and a group being ushered down a darkstairway by security personnel. The walls around us vibrated with the celebrating fans and the muffled loudspeaker crackled and echoed announcing the most valuable players of the game.

Our motley crew burst out of a concrete tunnel onto the field, tripping over the confetti that covered the turf. I couldn’t hear anything the man with the microphone was saying over the thunderous noise.

And then, “Travis Madera!”

At the foot of the stage that had been placed on the field, I looked up as Travis hoisted an MVP trophy—his eyes scanning the crowd. When he saw me, he pointed and smiled wide. His happiness, even from a distance, washed over me in a torrent of adoration.

Seeing that smile was worth the stress from the bright lights and the media. Hell, it was worth everything to me. Nothing could change that, because I loved him. I was in love with him.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

Moriah

The exhilaration inside the large lobby was tangible. I could feel it in the gooseflesh on my skin, the muscles in my face pulled tight from smiling. My family was here, which astounded me, as well as friends I’d made over the past few months.

Everyone we cared about was here—even Vincent, somewhere. I wasn’t just in love with Travis, we’d made a life together. That life had culminated in this moment, this massive celebration for players, team staff, and all their families.

My parents and Elise’s boys stayed off to the side, where families mingled and lounged about on couches while kids tossed footballs and played at their feet. I lost my sister as I waded off into the bedlam toward the bar.

Harley James intercepted me.

“We won!” She teetered drunkenly on mile high heels and threw her arms around me.

She wore an ensemble I’d put together. A leather skirt and cropped sweater. Boho chic as she’d called it.

“And like, six different doodahs have asked me where I got this. We’ll be on the runway before you know it!”

It wasn’t lost on me how she kept referring to everything as we, from the win to my fashion. Family. All of this was a big family at the core of it.

“Yes!” I pulled away and squeezed her hands.

I’d never been this excited before, this full of hope for my future…with Travis. The man I loved.

My phone buzzed against my hip and I pulled it out to read the text from my sister.

Meet me in the side lobby, at the bar. Need to show you something.

The celebratory cheers from the players coming down the tunnel swallowed up my hesitation. Travis would be out soon, I wanted to be there for him.

A small woman in a headset came through the doors and started calling off names. Excitement built inside the room. Our guys were in the locker room by now, champagne showers and all. One step closer to the big dance, to the league championship.

“Excuse me, I’m looking for someone.” I tried to push past the small woman.

“Everyone is.” She held up her hand and stared me down in a way that would probably intimidate a linebacker. “No family or friends past the doors until the media has cleared out. Once everything moves to the press conference area, I’ll be happy to check you off the list.”

“She’s with me.” Lincoln Mercer cupped my elbow and peered at the woman’s name tag. “Thanks Pam, keep up the good work.”

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