Page 28 of Forecheck
“Is that Brent’s girlfriend?”
“Brent Jean doesn’tdogirlfriends.”
My fist clenched against my thigh, and Lexie said, “Relax. We all know better. Ignore them.”
“Easier said than done,” I grumbled.
As the girls behind us continued to talk shit about me, my rage grew, my hands clutching the hem of my jersey so tightly I felt like one wrong move would tear it down the middle, Hulk style.
Lexie, sensing my distress, came to my rescue by turning around and telling the girls to shut the fuck up.
Damn, I loved her. She would literally do anything for me, including making herself look like the bad guy to get some catty bitches off my back.
Though Brent did his best to get into a fistfight in the third and complete his Gordie Howe hat trick—a goal, an assist, and a fight in one game—he was unsuccessful, but the 2-1 score held up. I hugged my friends in celebration, cheering and dancing to the victory notes of “Don’t Stop Believing” followed by “All I Do is Win” as the Warriors saluted their fans. Since Brent had scored the game winner and notched an assist, he was named the game’s first star. I cheered as loudly as I could when his name was announced and he skated back out to center ice.
The entire experience had been surreal. Being here, his name on my back, with tickets he’d given me? It was beyond anything my imagination could’ve conjured. And when he once again skated along the glass, this time blowing me a kiss, I nearly melted into a puddle.
As I opened my mouth to ask the girls what they wanted to do next, if they thought I should wait for Brent or leave and let him come to me, someone tapped my shoulder.
I turned to find a woman in a smart grey pantsuit, her dark hair pulled into a tight bun. “Is one of you Miss Daniels?”
“I am,” I said, giving a little wave.
“Would you and your companions come with me, please?” Without waiting for a response, the woman started back up the stairs toward the concourse.
Dumbstruck, I could only stare after her.
Until Lexie shoved me into the aisle.
“Hurry up or we’ll lose her!”
I did as I was told, scrambling to keep up, bobbing and weaving around the fans performing their mass exodus.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” I inquired when we reached the concourse. “Where are you taking us? Did we do something wrong? If this is about those seats, I swear we have tickets. They were given to me by—”
“Yes, I know who sent them,” the woman responded. “I’m taking you to Mr. Jean’s suite, per his request.”
Per his request?
“What the fuck,” Lexie murmured, voicing my thoughts.
As we loaded into an elevator, my heart rate skyrocketed. Feigning calm, I discreetly wiped my clammy palms on my jeans and gave my friends a reassuring smile.
Honestly, I shouldn’t have been worried, but everything about this experience was so new to me. It was one thing to be handed glass seats to a Warriors’ game, tickets that ran upwards of three hundred dollars on a good day. It was entirely different to be collected by some arena attendant and brought to Brent’s suite. I knew he probably only wanted to see me, but…damn. All of this was going to take some getting used to.
At last, we arrived at suite level and approached a door with a plaque on it that readBJ 22. The woman ushered us inside, said, “Wait here,” and hurried away.
I turned on the spot, checking out my surroundings. The suite was tucked into one corner of the arena, the Zamboni entrance down to our right. A wall of glass offered a bird’s eye view of the stands, serving as the backdrop to a private balcony with tworows of ten seats, a narrow aisle separating them into fives. The walls inside were dark paneling and covered in framed photos depicting different generations of the Warriors’ team and staff. A beverage station sat against one wall with a short countertop, some cupboards, a sink, and mini-fridge.
We were also the only people here, which shocked me more than anything else that had happened tonight.
“This is kind of weird,” I said, finally voicing my anxiety. “He should’ve told me he was doing this. I seriously thought we were in trouble or something.”
Amelia laughed. “You should’ve seen the look on your face when we got in the elevator. Priceless.”
“Wait,” Kimber said, eyes wide. “Does this officially make you a WAG?”
I choked on a laugh. “Absolutely not. We’ve literally gone on one date and hung out a few other times. It’swaytoo soon for that.”
