Page 27 of Enemies Off Camera
“Sorry,” I say quickly, lowering my head like a school kid caught sneaking in late.
“Strike one,” he hisses. Then he turns and walks off, leaving me to face the suite alone.
Everyone in the room is staring at me like I’m part of a museum exhibit.
NINETEEN
It smells amazing in here—like sweet, expensive perfume. I’m pretty sure it’s coming from all the women seated in the rows ahead of me. And definitely from the one beside me.
She’s all long everything—long hair, long nails, skyscraper heels. Her pants are so tight they might as well be airbrushed on, and her strappy blouse is also painted on. She, and all the other women in this suite, are basically sex personified.
I finally look down at myself.
Baggy jeans. SoCal casual. A white V-neck tee. At least my Converse high-tops have a wedge heel. I guess I look... stylish? But for what—lunch at a beach café?
If I were sitting with the general public, I’d be dressed appropriately.
The woman next to me suddenly turns and says, “By the way, nice to finally meet you.”
I’m startled. Until now, she and the rest of the suite have felt like characters in a high-budget dream sequence I wasn’t cast for.
“Oh,” I say, taking her small, manicured hand. Her fingers are weighed down with rings, but I clock the one that matters—her wedding band.
“I’m Genesis,” she adds. “Barber Cartwright’s wife.”
“Um…” I nod like I know who that is. I’m pretty sure he’s one of the players on the field.
Suddenly, the entire suite tenses—everyone leaning forward in their seats. Something just happened on the field. All I see are men moving in chaos. It’s impossible to track. A moment later, Genesis and the others sink back, visibly disappointed.
Guess that wasn’t the play they wanted.
“Anyway,” she continues, running a hand through her hair and then flipping it, “my job is to show you around and introduce you to the ladies. Make you feel at home, like you fit in.”
Like you fit in.I caught that. She knows I don’t.
“Thank you,” I say anyway.
“At the end of last season,” she goes on, “every time Jaxon touched the ball, the stadium would erupt in boos. It was awful—so embarrassing for him. But today?” She brightens. “He touched the ball earlier. And it was quiet. No boos. That’s because of you.”
She smiles, and I notice her over-plumped lips. Why would someone do that to their face?
Still, I scramble for a line, something breezy and charming.
“Thank God we fell in love, then,” I sing with fake cheer.
The second I say it, I want to kick myself. That was awful. Not even a bad reality show writer would’ve penned that line.
“I mean... that’s actually pretty stupid,” I blurt, trying to recover.
Genesis frowns, clearly wonderingwhyI said that, which—ironically—means my first line might’ve worked better. But it’s too late now. She’s still looking at me, expecting more.
So I ramble. “The, uh, booing thing—just because of what a few women wrote on a website? His dating life shouldn’t affect his career. That’s all I meant.”
I’m sweating. Stress sweat. The stinkiest kind.
Genesis leans in slightly. “No, honey,” she says with a laugh, “he just needs a wife.” Then she smiles wider. “And you’re his boo. So—no more boos.”
My mouth stays open, unsure what to say after that.
