Page 96 of Off Camera
“Do you want some company?” he asks.
“Grant,” Emmy warns. “Stay. Let her have a minute. You all haven’t stopped chatting her ear off since she got here, and I don’t think she’s interested. You’re also eight years too young for her and annoying as hell.”
I tip my head Emmy’s way in an appreciative nod. I slip out the big glass doors off the living room and into the October air, breathing a sigh of relief at the quiet.
I lean my elbows on the railing and soak up the view of the city in the distance. The buildings wink back at me, and the Washington Monument looks small under the night sky. My shoulders sag. My social meter starts to slowly recharge under the stars, and I smile at the half sliver of the moon peeking out from behind a patch of clouds.
“Hey,” a voice says from behind me, and I’d recognize it anywhere. “Mind if I join you?”
I glance at Reid, my chin on my shoulder and my smile stretching wider at the sight of him. Hands in his pockets. Sockson his feet and ruffled hair. He’s beautiful in the moonlight and I sigh, drinking him in.
“I’d like that,” I say, looking back at the skyline so he doesn’t catch me staring.
He crosses the balcony in five long strides and leans against the railing. His fingers wrap around the metal and a muscle in his jaw works. I stare at his side profile and wonder what’s going on in his head.
“I didn’t know if you wanted to be left alone,” he says.
“I’ve been alone all day. This is nice.”
“Are you okay with it being me?”
I wonder if that’s why he’s kept his distance tonight. If that’s why he let Grant talk my ear off—because he wasn’t sure if I wanted him around.
It’s sweet and vulnerable and perfectly him.
“If it can’t be Maven or Emmy, you’re a good runner-up,” I joke, and he smiles.
“How was work?” Reid asks.
“Busy. Shitty,” I admit around a tired exhale. I hesitate telling him this next part because of our bet, but it feels like something I need to share. “Our ticket sales have stalled, and I’m at a loss at what else I can do.”
“I say this without any disdain behind it, believe it or not, but winning games helps. A three-game losing streak to start the year doesn’t typically make people want to splurge on seats.” He pauses, tapping his cheek, and I see an ink stain on his finger. Blue, and it makes me curious if he writes all his notes by hand. “Unless they’re masochists. Maybe Thunderhawks fans are. They might have to be to like that song.”
I nudge his side with my elbow. “Your team was bad once upon a time.”
“We were fucking horrible,” he agrees. “That was before the TikTok and Instagram boom, and thank fuck for that. I didn’thave to see all the mean shit people said. I would’ve quit otherwise. Now I’m immune to it.”
“People do say some mean shit, don’t they?”
“Dallas missed a field goal on Sunday, and someone commented saying they hoped he tore his Achilles. Wild how athletes aren’t perceived as real fucking people with real fucking feelings.”
“Kind of makes me want to go into their office and force them to read mean tweets out loud about their work performance. See how they like it.” I sigh and rub my neck, the remnants of an earlier headache stretching all the way down to my spine. “You all get together every week for a potluck dinner like this?”
“When we’re in town, yeah. It started with Maverick’s teammates, and it’s gotten bigger over the years. It’s my favorite day of the week,” he tells me. “It’s nice to have friends you can be yourself around.”
“Are any of them fans of comic books?”
“No.” Reid laughs, that rumbly noise that sounds so nice. “They don’t make fun of me, though.”
I hum in understanding. “That’s why I’ve always liked Maven so much. I can scream at the television while we’re watching a game and she doesn’t bat an eye.”
“Women,” he murmurs, but nothing about it is bitter. “So goddamn friendly.”
The moon gets higher in the sky. Behind us, there’s muffled voices and cheering. I wonder if I should head back inside or go home. I don’t know how long my invitation lasts, and I don’t want to overstay my welcome.
“Work was rough for me today, too,” Reid says, breaking the silence. “I don’t know if I should be talking about this with you, but you can commiserate.”
“I love commiserating,” I say.
