Chapter 21 Nadine
NADINE
I informed Molly that Paisley and I would be at the game, so her look of surprise isn’t because I’m here. It’s because of what I’m wearing.
“It’s not a big deal,” I tell her, self-consciously tugging on my new jersey.
I paired it with my most flattering jeans and simple flats because even if I’m here to be introduced to the wives and girlfriends of the players for all intents and purposes, I’m not very capable in heels.
While I’d been sympathetic to Molly before and her anxiety about looking a certain way because of who she’s married to, I didn’t truly empathize until right now.
Until I feel eyes on me, from all over the stadium, like I suddenly have some kind of reputation at stake.
Yet Camden and I aren’t even together. All we had was one hot-as-hell make-out session.
Though now that I’m here, it’s as if I’m on display to be judged by the other women, the fans, anyone who might suspect why I’m here wearing his name and number, when none of the other WAGS are wearing jerseys. I stick out like a sore thumb.
That voice in the back of my head reminds me that I’m not good enough. I’m a quitter. I’m not smart, and I certainly don’t look like the type of person the number one tight end in the league should be with. Let alone making out with.
Molly must recognize the terror suddenly tensing all of my muscles, because she takes my hand in hers, hugging me close to her side, Kai strapped to her chest between us. “You’re fine, and you look great. I was just shocked to see you in it.”
“So is everyone else,” I mutter, but she shakes her head.
“No. Literally no one is. No one knows you.”
I bark out a nervous laugh. Because, yes, that’s true. “Wonderful.”
She laughs too. Hers much looser than mine.
“It’ll be fun! Come meet everyone,” she says, tugging me forward.
I take hold of Paisley’s hand and drag her behind me as Molly introduces us.
There are a bunch of wives and fiancées seated here, some with kids, some with other friends or family, all of them welcoming.
None of them says anything about my jersey.
But they are quite interested in Paisley.
They all want a chance to talk to her, get to know her more, bring her into the little family they’ve clearly made here.
I spend some time translating for Paisley, but eventually, some of them bypass me and simply type notes on their phones.
As usual, Paisley has that bored air about her, but she is a good sport as the only teenager in the entire group.
“See?” Molly flicks her hand out. “I told you it would be fine. Here.” She passes Kai to me. “I’m going to help myself to a glass of champagne.”
We’re seated right in front of a suite that is always reserved for the players’ families, and she scoots away for a drink while I pretend to eat Kai’s cheek so he shrieks in laughter—my favorite.
On the field, the team warms up, and I try not to watch Camden, too nervous now that I’m here in person.
But I can’t avoid it when he and my brother are shown on the jumbotron, laughing about something before Camden holds his fist out for a pound.
Erik knocks his knuckles then slaps the back of his best friend’s head.
The exact place my hand had been Friday night, my fingers woven into his hair as he nipped my throat, sending goose bumps racing over my skin when he’d groaned into my mouth.
I’m sunken deep into the memory of the way he curled his hips up so the length of his hard cock stroked me, and simply recalling it makes me overheat. I all but throw Kai at Molly when she returns, so I can get a drink myself. The largest ice water I can find.
One of the wives, Maureen, who’s married to the kicker, approaches me with a smile, effectively ending my panic attack of lust, and I fall into easy conversation with her.
We chat all through the pregame and into the first quarter, until her husband is called out to the field.
He puts the first points on the board, and by the time I go back to my seat, I feel more at ease.
Paisley seems to be enjoying herself too.
Her cell phone is actually away as she alternates between watching the game and playing with Kai.
By halftime, I’m more than comfortable, and I can actually see myself here in the future.
If Camden and I continue down this path we’re headed, I wouldn’t mind being friends with these women.
I wouldn’t mind exchanging numbers with them.
Molly explains how they all help one another out.
The more veteran wives each “adopt” a rookie wife or girlfriend to show them the ropes.
There is, of course, some drama, one or two who don’t get along with the rest, but for the most part, it’s nothing like a reality show.
I should have known because if it were, Molly would never be able to stand it.
But I guess I had to witness it with my own eyes, to really look past the stereotype.
And I’ve never felt like more of a bitch.
Had I always been so judgmental?
I guess so.
First, Camden.
And now, these women.
“Am I a terrible person?” I ask Molly when the third quarter starts, and the second glass of champagne must be hitting hard because she giggles uncontrollably.
“I’m serious,” I tell her, which only makes her laugh harder.
“I know. That’s what’s so funny.”
I wait with a scowl until she calms down enough to speak. “You’re not terrible, but you are hypercritical. Probably because you’re so critical of yourself.”
“Okay.” I take my hand from hers, playfully knocking it away. “I’m not paying you enough to psychoanalyze me.”
She claps for a play, a short pass Erik completes then leans into my space.
“But that’s the whole thing, isn’t it? The harshest judges of others are projecting from themselves.
” When I grimace, she apparently thinks it’s a green light and goes on.
“If you never feel good enough, of course you’d find it easier to think others around you are assholes or stupid or whatever negative and most likely inaccurate descriptor you want to fill in the blank with.
Because you want to believe you’re already above them, so you won’t be hurt by their rebuff. ”
I jerk back. “You don’t need to read me to filth here. I thought we were having a good time.”
“We are.” She smiles sickeningly sweetly before lowering her voice to a whisper. “Because you’re in love, and now you feel bad for judging him before. It’s making you rethink your entire life, and I like watching you squirm.”
I cough a laugh and push her away. “Now you’re being an asshole.”
She grins, taking my hand once again. “No. I’m not.”
“No, you’re not,” I agree, and we watch the next few plays until the Founders finally score a touchdown, both of us jumping up to cheer.
But as the clock ticks down to the fourth quarter, I feel a noticeable shift in the atmosphere.
It started with Shayna, one of the wives, showing something on her phone to another, and now they’re whispering and casting furtive glances in my direction.
When Molly notices, she takes it upon herself to find out what’s going on, and I try to ignore the twisting in my gut. Whatever it is, it has to do with me, and I know it can’t be good.
Out of the corner of my eye, my friend slides her phone out of her pocket and studies it for a minute before returning to me.
“It’s Valerie,” she says, holding out her phone to me, so I can view the screen.
On it is a social media post. A beautiful black-and-white shot of Valerie, set against what appears to be sand and ocean, a shadow of a palm tree in the corner with a caption about the sun being the best cure for heartbreak and that karma will take care of men who cheat.
Without naming any names, Valerie Blondeau basically told the world that Camden Long cheated on her.
I look up from Molly’s screen to a mix of curious and accusatory stares from the other women, and it’s clear they’ve put the pieces together.
Since I’m sitting here in his jersey, I’m apparently the one he cheated with.
Even though nothing happened between Camden and me while he was with her, the heat of embarrassment and shame creep up my neck.
This isn’t how I wanted things to come out, and certainly not in such a public way.
I’m not even sure what Camden and I are to each other, but now it seems like everyone—the wives and girlfriends of his teammates, who, in this instance, are everyone that may be in my future—has come to their own conclusions.
The game continues, but I can barely focus on the action, hyperaware of every whisper, every sideways glance.
Not only from the WAGs, but from anyone in the crowd.
I debate whether to stay or leave, but it’s Paisley who taps my elbow and asks to go.
I know she saw the post, and I know she’s lying when she says she’s not feeling well, offering me an out.
I take it, accepting Molly’s hug, and return a few waves of goodbye, some understanding eyes, some disapproving glares.
I’m so in my head about it all, I barely notice how long it takes our private car to chauffeur us back home, only that I’m in time to catch some of the postgame interviews on television.
The Founders won by a few points, though I’m so nauseous about everything, I don’t care.
Paisley doesn’t stick around as I tie myself up in knots, doomscrolling.
Valerie’s post has taken off and already hit the sports podcasters, throwing in their two cents about Camden’s state of play and if his extracurricular activities are getting him in trouble, but that’s completely absurd.
Camden’s been playing better than ever. Besides that, Valerie’s social media post has nothing to do with Camden and everything to do with her need for attention.
Yet with the thousands of reposts and comments, it’s clear many people agree with this person, and they want to know who he cheated on Valerie with.
Helpfully, she’s been going around hearting comments that defend her and leaving little nuggets about not trusting nannies and “never believe him when he says he’s not in love with the help. ”
The help.
She could not be more insulting. Not only to me, but to all caretakers.
And even though she never mentions my name, she’s all but calling me out publicly.
Camden has always been careful to keep Paisley out of the public eye, but it wouldn’t be difficult to find out who I am.
I mean… I am mentioned on Erik Rivera’s Wikipedia page as his sister.
I have been known to appear in the background of photos online.
It’s not like I’m completely new to this, but the frenzy Valerie has whipped up feels mildly threatening.
My stomach churns, and I force myself to put my phone down and really consider what the possible outcomes of this are.
A plausible but least likely scenario is some creep on the internet connecting the dots and blasting it out everywhere that I am the apparent “cheater.” The more likely scenario is that this will all blow over in a day or two, because some other celebrity will do or say something that sucks up all the oxygen, but that doesn’t make me feel any better.
Because even if I know the truth about my relationship with Camden, I don’t know anything about his past relationships. I don’t know if he was faithful to Valerie or any previous girlfriend. He has a bad-boy reputation for a reason.
And what I can’t parse out is exactly how I feel about that.
The front door of the penthouse opens quietly, but I spin around, nonetheless, realizing I’ve lost so much time to my anxiety-spiraling tonight. The moment Camden’s dark gaze find mine, all of it crashes down on me, and tears flood my eyes.