Page 55 of Faking it with the Billionaire
He tosses a white, long-sleeved t-shirt over the glass at me. “Your boyfriend wanted you to have this. Go change before you wreck our game.”
I laugh under my breath. “Seriously?”
“Do I look like I’m joking?” the coach asks.
I shimmy off to the bathroom. The line is out the door, and I don’t actually have to pee. I just need to get changed. But at the current rate, I don’t know how long the intermission is, but it’s likely I’ll miss the next part of the game if I’m standing in line.
Bristol is hopping from one foot to the other, seemingly attempting to hold her bladder. There are at least a dozen women ahead of them.
“I have to pee!” Bristol squeals. “Can I use Daddy’s bathroom?”
“I don’t think that’s allowed,” I say. I doubt security would let us into the locker room. While we were given VIP lanyards to wear, it’s unlikely they’re going to let us ladies into the men’s locker room during the game. It’s probably for a private suite or afterparty.
“Please,” she whines. “I can’t hold it any longer.”
Lia frowns. “Sweetie, if we get out of line and can’t use the bathroom anywhere else, we’ll have to start waiting from the back and start all over.”
Bristol groans and wiggles, like the kid has ants in her pants. Her nose scrunches, and I swear she’s about to start crying.
“Fine.” I grab Bristol’s hand and glance at Lia. “Do you want to take a chance coming with us or hang in this line?”
“It’s moving, but it’s slow. I’ll just wait it out,” Lia says. “If you can’t find a bathroom elsewhere, maybe you can make it back here in time.”
I’m not sure Bristol can hold it that much longer. The girl looks like she’s about to burst, based on her potty dance. Which I thought was reserved for toddlers, but she’s hopping from one foot to the other and grimacing the entire time.
“Let’s hurry,” I say, escorting her away from the bathroom. With one hand gripping hers and the other holding the white t-shirt that Coach Malone tossed at me, we hurry down the corridor and are stopped by a set of security guards blocking a back entrance.
“Sorry, no access,” the taller of the two says. They’re both big and burly. There’s zero chance of skirting past them without being tackled. They could have been retired football players.
“We’re VIPs,” I say, showing him our badges. “And this little one has to use the bathroom.”
The taller of the two laughs at her awkward dance. “Sorry, the team is in the locker room. I can’t let you in while they’re there during intermission.”
“Daddy!” Bristol shouts over the roar of the crowd. Is she hoping he can hear her? We’re not anywhere near the locker room door. We’re at one end of the hallway, and it’s at least at the opposite end, if not around a corridor. I can’t quite tell from where we’re standing.
The guard smiles at the little girl. “Who is your daddy?” he asks, bending down to her level.
“Daddy, obviously.” Bristol rolls her eyes and snaps her fingers. “Tell him I need to see him.”
The kid is all snark. I laugh. “Kyler Greyson is her father.”
“You don’t say.” The guard chuckles. “I can see where she gets her attitude. And who are you?” he asks, glancing me up and down.
“Greyson’s girlfriend.”
“Isn’t he lucky?” The guard grins. He glances at his buddy, who doesn’t appear nearly as interested in conversing with the two of us. “Watch the post,” he tells him and holds up a finger for us to wait.
“You could get fired if you interrupt them, Chris,” the other guard says. He clearly has zero intention of helping us.
“Let me handle it,” Chris says.
Bristol is still hopping and groaning, her nose scrunching, which would be adorable if she didn’t have to pee quite so badly. I’m impressed she’s managed to hold it as long as she has, given the circumstances. Truthfully, she probably would have been better off staying in line with Lia.
The guard stalks back, and in the distance, I can see him waiting outside the door. He doesn’t knock. He just waits. How long does he plan on standing by the entrance?
It’s only a few seconds before the door swings open, and Coach Malone steps out. Chris accosts him long enough to explain our story before pointing in our direction.
“Let them through,” Malone says, gesturing for us to go on back. “You’re going to have to cover her eyes,” he warns, nodding toward Bristol.
