Page 74 of Brooklynaire
“They’re so dreamy,” sighs the young woman beside me as the ball travels among the muscled men. “My mama would smack me for saying so, but I really want to climb Silas like a tree. Or maybeCastro.”
I tune out my intern. On a scale of one to ten—where one is no big deal and ten is me almost putting her in a choke hold—she’s an eleven. And ahalf.
When Hugh told me I was getting an intern, I thought that sounded like a hoot. I am, after all, the assistant. I don’t usuallyhavean assistant. Not since I came to Brooklyn, anyway. I thought it soundedfun.
How wrong I was. Having Heidi Jo around is exactly like spending the week with an overeager puppy. She never shuts up, and she wants to hump everyone’s leg. She’s also cute like a puppy. Big eyes. Silky blond hair curling around herface.
If only I could swing by Brooklyn Animal Control and kick her to the curb.Free to a goodhome.
It’s possible that exhaustion is contributing to my lack of patience. On Monday morning I boarded the team jet at seven a.m. We spent four days in Detroit for two games, and now we’re Back in Brooklyn for twomore.
Now it’s Saturday night, my sixth day back at work. I’m running on black coffee and adrenaline. But there’s nothing like game night. The players are all pumped up. They won the first two games of the series, and now they’re back here with a home iceadvantage.
The soccer ball hasn’t hit the floor yet, either. As I watch, Silas uses a knee to pop the ball across the circle to Trevi, who heads it to Castro. Who kicks it toO’Doul.
Whomisses.
“Goddamn it,” the captainchuckles.
“Getting old sucks, man,” Silas says, risking hislife.
“Guys,” I warn. “Move it outside now before I have to open up a fresh can of whoop-ass.”
“We don’t want that,” O’Doul says. “Let’s go, men. We all know Silas would win again, anyway. He alwaysdoes.”
O’Doul tosses the ball to Castro and then they’re on the move. They form a line as we exit the room, heading for the back exit, away from thestreet.
I scurry to make it to the front of the line, with Heidi Jo on myheels.
“Ready, miss?” asks a man in a dark suit near the door. He’s one of the security team members, but I don’t know hisname.
I peek outside, where the bus is waiting. “Let’s go,” Iagree.
He holds the door, and I step outside. There are tourists on the other side of the iron fence, snapping pictures. I count as two dozen players hustle past me onto the bus, then I watch the door of the bus swing closed, feelingsatisfied.
Another successful night of herding the cats. As long as that bus pulls up at the stadium in ten minutes with all my boys on board, I’ve done the most important part of myjob.
“Okay, miss,” the security guy says. “Here’s yourcar.”
A stretch Mercedes pulls up in the spot where the bus justwas.
“Oh! Fancy,” Heidi Jo coos. “Haven’t ridden in one of these since prom night! I had the cutestdress…”
She’s still talking.Whatever.
We don’t usually ride to the stadium in a stretch limo, but sometimes the car company just sends whomever is free. I don’t bother to explain because I’m too tired. The puppy yaps while the driver hops out, walks around to our side, and opens the door with glovedhands.
“Hop in,” I sigh, wondering if it’s possible to catch a catnap on a two mile drive. But Heidi Jo will probably gab the wholeway.
She prances toward the door and disappears into the darkinterior.
My eyes feel gritty as I scan the back lot for any of my colleagues who might need to join us. But no one else appears. With a weary sigh, I follow my intern into the car, flopping down onto the leather seat justinside.
As the driver closes the door with the cool little click that only German engineering can produce, I notice that I’ve seated myself practically on top of the one and only NateKattenberger.
And here I’d assumed this car would be empty.Whoops.
“Um, hi,” I squeak as the scent of his spicy aftershave hits mehard.
