Page 37 of His Jersey

“Fan club?” she asks.

“Only if you’re the president.”

She gives her eyes a playful roll. “Do you get swarmed often?”

I shrug. “You get used to it.”

“Seriously?”

“No, more like numb.” I tell her about my recent stint in the supply closet.

She nods with understanding or is it resignation? “Desperate times call for … and all that.”

I eye the bag hanging from her shoulder, after her uncertainty last night, I hardly believed she’d agreed. “So, are you really coming?”

Her chest rises and then slowly deflates. “Is there any fine print that I’m missing?”

“You said you have great vision. The only print isBouchelle,Number Tenon the jersey.”

“So that’s it? Fly with you to the game, wear your jersey, and—?” She leaves me to finish the sentence.

“After the win, there’ll be a party. Good food, music, that kind of thing.”

“How do you know you’ll win?”

“Usually do.”

She laughs and shakes her head like she doesn’t know what to do with me.

“Also, it’ll be fun,” I add, nudging her with my elbow.

“How do you know that?” she asks.

I wink. “Always is with me.”

She tips her head back with laughter, drawing eyes fromaround the room—Sasha and her friends along with Yvonne at the front desk and other guests.

Catching Ella and my reflection in a nearby mirror, I take a mental snapshot. We look good together and for the first time in a long time, my smile is genuine. It only grows when she bites her lip as she glances at the glass automatic doors.

“Are you in?” I ask.

As if letting out the rest of the breath she’d taken earlier, Ella says, “Let’s go.”

We take a shuttle to the landing strip where one of the private planes from the Bouchelle fleet awaits. Dad has five jets: one each for him, me, and Aston—which used to be Mom’s, and then two backups, usually for transporting his business associates.

Ella climbs the stairs ahead of me and pauses in the doorway. Her gaze holds on the edges of the resort as if she’s saying goodbye.

“I’ll have you there and back safely,” I whisper, then recall her peculiar situation, working at the resort and living like a stowaway. It’s untenable, and now, knowing more about her story, I realize this trip is a big risk for her.

I add, “I’ll make sure it’s worth it.”

At dinner, we “negotiated” a dollar amount, and she was very stubborn. Adorably stubborn about wanting to be “reasonable” and saying a thousand dollars is too much. I’m paying her to wear my jersey, not do anything inappropriate. What she didn’t realize is that I added a zero to the end of the number we settled on. Plus, I’m a great tipper, as she saw last night when I left a few large bills on the table for the server. I’ll make sure she has a place to stay and a job when she gets back, too.

We sit in a pair of buttery leather seats with Bark Wahlburger nearby. The cabin attendant brings us warm cloths, water, and asks if we’d like any other refreshmentsbefore takeoff. There are a few treats and chew toys for the dog, to. He goes to town, in happy dog heaven.

“Truth serum?” Ella asks.

The cabin attendant blinks a few times.

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