Page 109 of Striking Heat
I want to look at them and shout really, but I don’t. I know better than to engage or react to what they’re saying. Most of the time, they’re yelling something to get a reaction out of you, and that’s what they print up or put on the news. I learned that a long time ago. I wish I could say it hadn’t been the hard way that reacting isn’t what you should do.
Once we’re through the crowd, Nick turns to me. “That was a lot of fucking fun.”
“They’ll tire eventually,” I tell him.
“How long does that usually take?”
“Not sure. It could be a few weeks, or it could be once a bigger story comes along. We can only hope someone screws up worse than I did.”
“So, you admit that you screwed up?” Nick asks me with a laugh. Like he’s caught me in something.
“No, not really what I meant. I would like to think it could have been different if we would have waited until the article was done and then went public, but we screwed up. August saw her.”My voice trails off because he knows the rest. There’s nothing new to say.
“I think he figured it out before that,” he says with a shrug. “I think that moment in the bar just confirmed it all for him.”
Once we’re in the stadium, I can see the team is down the field, warming up. I see my girl, my number 17, standing there waiting for a ball to be served in her direction. I stop and watch her. She’s so beautiful with a look of determination on her face.
“Yeah, waiting for a while would have never worked,” Nick says, patting me on the shoulder. “Look at the way you’re staring at her right now. You’re so in love with her.”
“Yeah, I think I am,” I tell him.
“Have you told her that?”
“Not yet, but I will.”
As we make our way to the seat August saved for me, people stare at me. I do my best to ignore them, but they point me out to their friends or family members who are here to watch the game with them. Again, I don’t react. Even when one of them so obviously takes a picture, I just keep on moving to find my seat. There aren’t too many fans around us, but it’s still early, so the stadium could fill up a bit more. And it probably will. Especially if the media circus outside is any indication.
I look up at the box, and August just nods in my direction. My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out.
August:Hey, man. Enjoy the game. It’s going to be okay.
I turn back and put my phone back into my pocket, hoping I can get through this game without incident and so can she.
And for the most part, she does. There are only a few fans who call things at her when she’s at the edge of the field. Most of it is positive and sometimes it’s about her and me. They call out, “Your boyfriend is here,” but she doesn’t react. Someone either taught her not to or she figured it out on her own. But my girl can handle herself. She’s doing a good job of holding her composure and not showing them that they’re pushing her buttons.
The game goes well. The girls hold them for the longest time, but Gotham gets one in. From my spot in the stands, I can see her expressions better than in the box, and at times, I hear what she’s calling out to the players. Mac is doing a great job today.
“She’s such a natural-born leader,” I tell Nick, mesmerized as I watch her. She just told them to get on their horses and go.
I smile and yell, “Let’s go, Blaze! You’ve got this! On your horse, Mac!” That cheer earns me a few glances from fans, and someone takes my picture, but I don’t give a shit. They can’t stop me from cheering for my girl.
The game ends with the Blaze losing by one point. Mac had a few open shots, but she kept passing. Only one of those passes worked out in her favor. The other wasn’t something Kelsey could get in, but she tried. It just didn’t find the back of the net.
Once the game wraps up, I wait by the rail, hoping Mac will come over the way she used to. And she does. Mac climbs the railing, coming up so that we’re standing face-to-face.
Nick looks at her and says, “Good game, Mac. I’m going to give you two some privacy.”
She grins widely at him and turns back to me. “Hello, you.”
“Great game, baby.” I lean in and give her a chaste kiss. I want to do more than that, but I want to have some respect for her and not give the papers a show.
“Thank you.”
“You didn’t shoot,” I tell her. Her face falters and I make a mental note to talk to her about that later and not mention it right after the game. “Are we headed to the bar tonight?”
She shakes her head. “No, I think we’ll hang at my house if that works for you.”
I nod. “Whatever you want.”
