Page 4 of Jake Forever
Chapter 2
On stage, the sportscaster finished his talk and turned the microphone over to the emcee, who started doling out the awards one-by-one. With growing nervousness, I watched as athletes from virtually every kind of sport – football, hockey, baseball, whatever – were called up to the stage, where they accepted their awards, had their photos taken, and returned to their seats without incident.
Because of where we were sitting – near the short stairway that led to the stage – most of the athletes passed us within arm's reach. I didn't recognize a single one of them. No surprise there, given the fact I was embarrassingly clueless about the college sports scene.
As time went on, and nothing happened, I almost started to relax – until I recalled all those security guys.
Jake was a fighter. He was a great fighter, actually. But if things went to crap, this wouldn't be a one-on-one kind of thing. Tonight, most of those security guys had arrived at the same time as Dorian, which meant they were onhispayroll, not the convention center's.
And they definitely weren't on Jake's, with the possible exception of the stranger sitting at our table. I snuck a quick glance at the guy and felt myself frown. He was still scanning the crowd, as if waiting for trouble that was guaranteed to happen.
Well, that wasn't ominous or anything.
On the far side of the room, the waiters had finally started serving dinner, delivering covered plates while the awards droned on.
By now, I was barely listening. Instead, I was keeping one eye on Jake and the other on Dorian, who was, once again, talking on his cell phone.
"Be ready," he was saying, "we've got like a dozen more of these chicken-shit awards before Ronnie does his thing."
I leaned toward Jake and asked, "What does he mean? What 'thing' will Ronnie be doing? Do you know?"
Jake flashed me a grin. "He means that if Ronnie wins Athlete of the Year, he'll be giving a nice, little speech."
I glanced over at Ronnie, who'd pulled out his own cell phone. His voice rose and carried above the crowd. "Listen, you don't pay my bills. Dorian does. So quit ragging on me, alright?" He paused. "Yeah? Well screw you, too, Mom."
I glanced back to Jake. "About Ronnie," I whispered, "I'm not sure his speech will be all that nice."
Jake turned and gave Ronnie a long, speculative look. "Or maybe, he won't be making that speech at all."
I snuck a quick glance at Trey. He was still clutching his video recorder. He was still smiling. I still hadn't gotten my chicken.
It was kind of a bummer, actually. I hadn't eaten since the waffles. That was how long ago? Twelve hours? Probably, I should've had a sandwich or something. But between my new job and getting ready for tonight, I'd been seriously short on time.
I'd been rushing around all day – first at work, and then to come here. Now, after all that, I wasn't terribly thrilled with the idea of rushing for the exit, assuming I'd even need to.
I tried to look on the bright side. Maybe Jake was just messing with me. He did that sometimes. He had a wicked sense of humor, and always kept me guessing.
In spite of my nerves, I felt a reluctant smile tug at my lips.
Last night, he'd kept me guessing too – not in the funny way, but in the hot, naked way. At the memory, I shifted in my seat and reminded myself that we weren't exactly alone. Still, I felt that familiar warmth creep up my face, and then, by some medical miracle, settle somewhere between my thighs.
A dreamy sigh escaped my lips. Forget the chicken. I wanted Jake.
Next to me, Trey said something too low for me to make out.
I leaned toward him and whispered, "What?"
He gave me a smug smile. "Who's moaning now?"
Horrified, I drew back. "I wasn't moaning. It was a sigh."
But Trey was shaking his head. "It sounded like a moan to me."
My cheeks were burning now. I gave a nervous glance around the table. Was anyone staring?
No. They weren't. Thank God.
Treyhadto be exaggerating. And besides, if he thoughtthatwas a moan, he should've heard me last night – and this morning.
