Page 121 of It Happened on a Sunday
The stadium looks so different in the day, when my giant-ass stage isn’t in the middle of the football field and everyone’s dressed in T-shirts and jerseys instead of glitter and punk. I like it, though. It feels real, like Sly.
I’ve never been to a pro football game before—I’ve never been toanyfootball game before, pro or otherwise—and I look around, fascinated by the foam fingers and painted faces.
By the time I got to high school, I was doing online classes, fitting credits in around filming and promoting the show and eventually my burgeoning music career. Though I didn’t date the high school quarterback, I did date the guy who played him on another show that filmed in our lot. Hayden Jeffries—smooth, gorgeous, beloved, and troubled as fuck.
Apparently, I have a type. Or, at least, I used to. NowI’mthe troubled one and Sly’s the good guy with the heart of gold. And unlike the other two men I’ve had relationships with, what the public sees is actually what they get with him.
Not for the first time, I wonder what the fuck Sly sees in me. Girls like me rarely get the good guys, and when we do, it’s because they turn out to be anything but. Experience has definitely taught me that much.
But Sly’s not like Hayden or Jarrod—at least not in any ways that matter. I know it hasn’t been that long, but we’ve gotten to know each other pretty well, and there haven’t been any cracks in the facade. Nothing to make me pump the brakes or run in the other direction. And I’ve been looking really, really hard for reasons.
Considering I’ve spent the past decade watching the other shoe drop, him being so perfect is particularly nerve-racking. But also not, because I’m finally beginning to think maybe I won’t have to run.
Maybe we actually have a chance.
He must feel the same way, or he wouldn’t be inviting me into his world like this. Not just to see him play but to meet his family. Since my mother fucked off, and even before it if I’m being honest, Pauline, Bianca, Marco, and Jace are pretty much my only family. And Sly’s only met one of them, despite the fact that we’ve been in my world every time we’ve met so far.
If today goes well, maybe it’s time to change that. I can’t believe I’m even thinking about this. I can only imagine what Pauline is going to say.
We turn another corner behind three of the Twisters’ security guards, and I glance over at Marco, only to find him grinning widely at me.
“What?” I ask, immediately suspicious. Marco is a lot of things when he’s on duty, but a grinner isn’t one of them. And this is the second time I’ve caught him smiling at me today.
“It’s good to see you happy.”
“I’m not happy.” The words are a knee-jerk reaction. If life has taught me nothing else, it’s definitely shown me that bad thingscome when I’m happy. “I’m just excited to see my first football game.”
“Oh, is that what you’re excited about?” His brows lift.
“Yes.” To hide the sudden burn in my cheeks, I bury my head in the bouquet of flowers Sly gave me. “Football is interesting.”
The look he gives me tells me he knows exactly what I find so interesting about the game.
But before either of us can say anything more, someone shouts my name from behind us.
Instinct has me turning around—just in time to have someone grab a deer-in-the-headlights pic of me.
Damn it, I know better.
“How about a smile, Sloane?” The camera keeps clicking. “Are you worried about something happening to Sly on the field today? Or do you already have a plot picked out for him next to Jarrod? Maybe a matching headstone?”
The words hit like boulders instead of the typical rocks, and for a second I want nothing more than to sink into myself. To let Marco and the others hustle me away, like they’re so desperately trying to do.
But bullies love it when you run. Besides, running didn’t get me where I am now. It sure as hell didn’t get me Sly.
So instead of letting the security guards usher me away, I dig in. Give the paparazzi my wickedest Black Widow grin. And say, “Thanks, but I plan on keeping Sly very much alive. You know how I like to play with my food.”
To top it off, I blow the jerk the best femme fatale kiss I can manage. Only then do I let Marco and the others steer me away.
I wait for Marco to chew me out for making myself a target, but he just shoots me an approving look. As do G and Jaime.
That, more than anything else, gives me the strength to brush off the not-so-pleasant interaction as we stop about thirty feet later in front of the fourth door in the hallway.
“This is your box,” the guard at the front says gruffly—Vince, I think Marco said his name was.
“Thank you, Vince.” I smile at him and the others and—because this is Sly’s place of business—I hold out a hand for him to shake.
Behind me, I can feel Marco stiffen in surprise, but I force myself to go through with that handshake and five more with all the other security guards.
