Page 8 of My Secret Bandit

“So nothing good then, huh? How boring.” He leaned around the chairs to kiss Suzanne’s cheek. He grabbed her hand, pulling her up. “Sorry, Flynn. I need to talk to my lady for a hot second. And yes, by hot, I meanhot.”

My eyes bulged. Suzanne’s cheeks blushed deep pink and Jeffrey just continued smiling like it wasn’t some newly developed skill he learned ten seconds ago.

“No, no. He doesn’t mean that. He’s joking!” Suzanne urged. “Tell her you’re joking!”

“I’m not gonna lie,” he replied.

“You’re unbearable sometimes,” she whispered as Jeffrey laughed and gave me one last wave.

What in the actual hell?

I wanted to know more about Jeffrey, but what an absolute system-fucking-overload.

The roar of the crowd filled the atmosphere as the game started. A rush of excitement flowed over me, and I soon forgot about Jeffrey.

Tampa scored first. A field goal late in the first and a touchdown soon after. With a few seconds left in the third quarter, the Seattle receiver caught a third-down pass and carried it the remaining length of the field to score. An unhappy murmur filled the stadium as he and his teammates celebrated in the end zone.

During the fourth quarter, my knuckles turned white as I gripped the iron railing in front of me. Holding my breath, I watched the quarterback bob left, deflecting defenders while he waited for someone to get open. Just as he stepped back to throw, a hole opened in front of him. With the ball clutched to his chest, quick feet sprinted the last few yards to score another Tampa touchdown.

A whistle from behind startled me. I turned to find Jeffrey’s head leaning out of the doorway, watching the play.

“You ready to head back down?” he asked as the kicker sent the ball flying between the uprights. I nodded and followed him to the elevator.

On the way down, cheers erupted as the game ended in a Tampa win. The update came through my phone: Seattle 7 to Tampa Bay 17.

The echo of cleats against the concrete walls grew louder the closer the team got to the locker room. Once they all filed in, we waited a bit before security started letting us through the doors.

Again, chaos ruled.

Each neck donning a press badge pushed to make it in before the other, like trying to herd cattle through a three-foot wide space. I looked to Jeffrey. He made no obvious effort to enter. Following his lead, I entered as the crowd around the door died down because that mess and I weren’t becoming friends this early in the season.

Considering all the sweat, dirt and grass stains that passed through not that long ago, the fresh soap and different colognes that filtered through my senses were a welcomed surprise. Large open-faced lockers lined long walls with players either sitting in or standing around them while upbeat music and laughter worked to drown out some of the talking.

This was it.

This was my time.

I threw my shoulders back and drew in a deep breath.

Reporters stood in groups around a few particular lockers. I picked one and prepared to listen in. Remembering that Jeffrey told us to record everything, I pulled out my phone and set it to do just that.

Ahead of me someone asked, “How big of a role do you think your sack played in the third quarter?”

“I don’t know how big of a—“

I froze. The warm, buttery velvet voice faded into the background, and my phone slipped through paralyzed fingers.

Bending to pick it up, my head connected with the man’s backside in front of me, sending him stumbling forward. His sudden movement caused the player to stop mid-sentence and the entire group to look in our direction. Heat filled my cheeks, burning up to the tips of my ears.

“I amsosorry,“ I whispered to the man I’d just involuntarily violated.

“No worries.” He smiled before turning back to the front and inching forward.

My attention followed his, hesitantly. Waiting for something… I don’t know what. Laughter or pointed fingers maybe. Then his dark eyes met mine and… I ducked. For no reason other than the mystery man, the one who’d been invading my subconscious every night for nearly three weeks, now stood less than five feet from me.

My heart rate spiked. Breathing ceased.

“Smooth,” Jeffrey mocked, stepping up next to me while pointing at the guy’s ass in front of us.

---