Page 87 of Just Playin'
“You can’t just give up. You’ve come this far, in that!” Skylar waves her hand over an outfit I swore I’d never wear. I have streamers in my hair and paint on my face. Although my skirt is in team colors, I’m wearing a one-of-a-kind shirt. It screams Willow Underwood, and I can’t wait for Elvis to see it.
“I’m not giving up. I’m getting inventive.” With a grunt, I pull back a section of cut wire I spotted two teenage boys crawling through when I purchased stale hot dogs from a food vendor months ago. “Our tickets are VIP, so we get our own exclusive entrance.”
“VIP my ass,” Skylar grumbles before getting down low to crawl through the hole.
It will be a tight squeeze—for me, not Skylar—but without the cash to buy tickets from a scalper, we don’t have much choice.
The wire scratches my thighs when I crawl through the tight space. I want to say it is because Skylar’s strength isn’t as impressive as mine, but we all know that would be a lie. I am curvy, and I’m fine with that.
“Which way now?”
“Umm. . .” I scan the area as I strive to think of a solution. The players’ entrance would have been locked the instant Coach James began lockdown, so there’s no use heading that way. The tunnel between the locker room and the field is guarded by too many security officers, so that only leaves us one option: the merchant entrance.
“Throw this on.” I hand Skylar a discarded apron food service staff left lying around before donning my own. They do little to hide the paint on our faces, but they’ll get us close enough to the stadium, we can make a run for it if we get caught.
Which is exactly what happens two seconds later. “Hey! Stop! You can’t go in there!”
“Run. I’ll cover you.”
I look up at Skylar in shock. “If you get caught, you’ll be banned for life.”
“I’ll be fine! Trust me.”
She shoves me toward the entrance before shifting on her feet to face the security officer sprinting our way. His wheezing becomes even more profound when Skylar raises her shirt above her head. From the lack of a strap on her back, it’s obvious she is braless.
“Run, Will! Jesus!” Skylar squeals when she spots me frozen in shock, stunned she’d flash her boobies to save me.
I shouldn’t be surprised. I’d do the same for her.
With the security guard’s interests no longer fixated on chasing me down, I make it into the underbelly of the stadium without further protests. After pulling away the hairs stuck to my sweaty forehead, I unknot the apron and dump it in the closest bin. I pray to God my security ID is still active when I reach the first alarmed door. When three green lines beep across the security panel mere seconds before the door clicks open, I kiss my ID card and raise it in the air.
My steps from here are a little uneasy. I’m in a section of the stadium I’ve only been in once before. It didn’t end well for me. Let’s hope today is different.
I’m about to take a detour down a corridor that looks like the one I raced down after I discovered Elvis in the storage closet with Lillian when a voice halts my steps. It’s a voice I immediately recognize.Who would forget the man who called them a fatty during a live broadcast?
Although I’d love nothing more than to give the reporter a taste of his own medicine, with the game already halfway over, I don’t have time to teach him some manners. . . until he says, “Our ploy might not have worked as you were hoping. Carlton didn’t get sidelined, but I can see our bank balances getting a nice boost a few months from now.”
Someone laughs. I can’t tell from its huskiness if it belongs to a man or a woman. I retrace my steps, more than interested in unearthing the rest of their conversation.
My snooping pays dividends when the male voice asks, “How did you know he had a girlfriend? He kept his relationship well hidden from the media.”
“And we know why!” This voice is bitchy, snarky, and 100% female. You can’t miss the hiss of disdain from a woman enraged with jealousy. “She’s a hideous beast.”
I round the corner with my activated cell in my hand just as the male replies, “She’s not that bad. Did you watch the video you took? I got stiff watching it.”
Annoyed, an elegantly dressed lady with dark hair breaks away from the snickering man. He grabs ahold of her before she can flee the room. His hold is firm, but it doesn’t stop her hand from flinging out to slap him across the face. I expect him to react negatively to her violence, so you can imagine my surprise when it has the opposite effect. He throws her against a wall on his right before sealing his mouth over hers. He kisses her hungrily, as if apologizing for his comment with actions instead of words.
His wordless plea for forgiveness does him no good. She chomps down on his tongue before pulling back from their embrace. “Not until you’ve delivered the goods.”
“Come on, Delilah. They can’t come back from that.” He points to a muted TV in the corner of the room that shows Elvis’s team is close to facing their fourth devastating loss this month. “Their bid for the championship is done and dusted.”
Delilah runs her finger along his kiss-bitten lips, soothing the deep incline of his brows. “The game isn’t over yet. Surely you can wait a few more hours for your reward.”
He’s a fool if he believes a word she’s speaking. I don’t know her, yet I still know she’s full of shit. As soon as she gets what she wants, he’ll be left licking his wounds—alone.
“Did you return the playbook?”
Before Delilah can answer him, a person joins their intimate gathering from an attached room. This participant’s entrance boils my blood with anger.
