Page 58 of Truth or Tequila (Grand Slam 1)

“What do you mean? Like the cops?”

“No, I mean just regular people try to block me in, so they can get an autograph or a picture.”

“What? Seriously? Like they try to block your car—”

“The Rock.”

“Yes,” she says, laughing. “The Rock. Do they try to trap you or something?”

“Yep. It’s crazy.”

She looks up at me with a new look of concern on her face. “So where is he tonight?”

“There’s no way anyone’s still out there waiting for players. They would have drowned by now. I sent him home.”

“I’m sorry you have to go through stuff like that,” she says, touching my arm. “I had no idea it was that bad, Seb.”

“Yeah. Most fans are cool, but there are always a few that think you owe them something. They get pretty aggressive and of course, if we get aggressive back, it’s a front-page story.”

“That’s horrible.” She smiles up at me as I open her door.

“Welcome to The Rock,” I say in my best Sean Connery voice.

“No,” she says, putting her hand in my face. “No more of that.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I say, laughing as I help her into the car. “No puns and no movie quotes. Noted.”

It takes us about an hour to drive the five miles to her apartment. Most roads are already closed due to flooding and the others are down to one lane. The rain’s still coming down in buckets and the wind’s blowing like crazy.

“It’s that building,” she says, pointing. “The tall one over to the left. Just stop in the middle of the street. I can run from here.”

I grab her arm to stop her as she reaches for the door handle. “Soph, it’s starting to hail. You’re going to get pelted. Hold up. Let me find a place to park.”

A huge piece of hail lands on the windshield to accentuate my point.

“Ah!” She wraps her arms around her body. “The Rock is going to get hurt.”

“The Rock has very good insurance. I’m more worried about you.”

“Go into my parking lot. Turn right after that yellow truck. Do you see the driveway? I have a carport spot.”

I follow her instructions until we’re parked. The wind’s still whipping rain and hail against the car, but at least we’re under the carport.

“Do you live close to here?” She grimaces as another gust of wind smashes hail into the side of the car.

“No, I live out in Indian Creek.”

“The Bunker? That’s like an hour from here on a normal day.”

“I’ll be fine. Let’s just get you into your building safely.” I tilt my seat back. “Hold up. I’ve got a batting helmet back here someplace.”

“Do you have another one?” she says as I put it on her head.

“Naw, I have a hard skull. No amount of hail is going to penetrate it. Wait for me. I’ll come around and get you.” I squeeze her shoulder. “We’re going to be fine.”

The wind tries to take my door off as I open it, but somehow I manage to keep it on its hinges. I make my way around to the passenger’s side and hold the door open a crack as Sophie slips out. I pin her to the side of the car as I push the door closed just before another surge of wind whips through. I flatten her against the car with my body.

“I’m going to need to carry you,” I yell over the howling wind. “No way you can walk in this.”

As I lift her, she wraps her arms and legs around me tightly. “The front door has an awning if you can make it there,” she screams directly into my ear. I can still barely hear her.

“All right. Hold on.” I wrap my arms around her—one hand holding the helmet firmly on her head—and take off across the parking lot.

I’m over two hundred pounds and the wind’s still moving me pretty well. She whimpers into my ear as she wraps herself tighter around me. That jump-starts my adrenaline even further. I think I could run for miles right now.

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