18. Grey
Chapter 18
Grey
W hen we enter the box, we’re greeted by handshakes, hugs, and affectionate slaps on the back.
“Look, there they are,” a thirty-something-year-old woman says, motioning to us. “Go ask them if you can have an autograph.”
Then I spot the little boy clinging to her leg. He can’t be more than five-years-old.
“Hey,” I say, approaching him calmly, Aspen following behind me. “I’m Grey. What’s your name?”
The boy mumbles something indecipherable.
“What’s that?” Aspen asks, crouching so she’s closer in height to the boy.
“Gavin,” he responds, clearer this time.
“Gavin,” she repeats. “What a great name. I’m Aspen, it’s so nice to meet you. I see you have a little notebook in your hand. Do you want us to sign it?”
The boy nods enthusiastically and passes the book to her.
“He loves you guys, especially Grey. He’s seen your James Bond movies like ten times each, I swear. I’m Martha, by the way. I’m the animation director here.”
“Oh wow, that’s awesome.”
Martha chuckles. “Yeah, except my kid likes superhero-action movies better than anything I make.”
Aspen passes the book to me and I sign it too. Noticing the first half of the book is full of signatures also, I flip through it. There must be over a hundred signatures in here, at least ten per page. Jesus, this kid must be sitting on a few thousand dollars with this book. Good for him.
“Hey, Jordan, your dad’s signed this too,” I say, pointing to Robert Jordan’s signature.
“And my mom,” she adds, pointing to a flowery signature at the bottom of the same page. “You’ve almost completed the Jordan collection,” she adds to the little boy with a wink. He smiles bashfully.
Then she stands and we say goodbye to the mother and son before walking to the door and taking our seats outside in full view of the stadium. I look at the scoreboard and see that it's about halfway through the first quarter. Whatever, better late than never, I guess.
“How long until they put us on the jumbotron?” Aspen asks, taking a sip of her coffee.
“I don’t know. But I’m hoping it’s soon because I saw they have those fried hot dog stick things in there, and I’m waiting to get one until they’ve shown us. It’s sort of phallic, you know.”
Aspen’s brow crinkles adorably. “You want a corn dog?”
I shrug. “Oh yeah, that’s the name for it. I’ve only had one before but it was straight up orgasmic.”
She chuckles. “You’re so weird. Out of all of the bougie rich-people food in there, like caviar and charcuterie, you want a corn dog.”
“The heart wants what it wants, babe. Now, act like you like me because I see some heads turning and it’s only a matter of time before the people in charge of the jumbotron cameras notice us.”
I put my arm around her and she plays along, leaning into me.
As predicted, the next time play stops and one of those guys holding the commercial-break two-minute countdown signs comes on the field, the jumbotron shoots straight to us.
Actors Aspen Jordan and Grey Aldridge , a text banner reads below the live feed of us.
“How come you’re first?” I whisper to her.
“Because people like me more.”
“Mm-hmm,” I reply. “I think it’s just alphabetical.”
“But Aldridge comes before Jordan.”
“By first name, then.”
Then, a pink text banner appears on the top of the screen, reading “ kiss cam ” with the camera remaining on us.
Aspen’s jaw drops but I don’t know why she’s so shocked. I could’ve seen that coming from a mile away. The crowd’s cheers swell until they’re almost deafening, egging us on. I turn to face Aspen, eyebrows raised slightly in question and she gives me a small, answering nod. So I gently put a hand on the side of her face and pull her in.
Our lips connect in a soft, closed mouth kiss and the crowd's cheers seem to dim the second her lips meet mine. Then, Aspen’s lips part a fraction of an inch and she places a hand on my shoulder, deepening the kiss. Now, the thousands of cheering fans and cameras might as well have disappeared, leaving just Aspen and me in our little bubble. Aspen’s lips begin to spread into a covert little smile, as though relishing the thrill of fooling them all. Once we’ve separated, an unexpected ache settles into my chest, the ghost of her lips on mine lingering a second too long. It was just an act, so why do I feel like this?
“You’re lucky that was before you ate a corn dog,” Aspen says once the camera has finally moved on, bringing me back to reality.
“You wouldn’t kiss me after I ate a corn dog?”
“Not even if we were actually together.”
“I’ll have to buy one of those travel toothbrushes then.”
She rolls her eyes, but a smile flickers across her lips.
“Want anything?” I ask her as I stand up to go get some food.
“How long do you think we have to stay?”
“I think half-time is the earliest we could get away with slipping out.”
“Then bring me some cheese and crackers or something. And I think I saw some cupcakes, can you grab me one of those too?”
“Sure.”
A few minutes later, I head back to our seats, food in hand. When I see her again, she looks all zoned out, just staring straight ahead with a dreamy look in her eye. She must really be hungry.
I laugh, taking the seat next to Aspen again and handing her a plate of snacks. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I kind of have,” she replies. “Number twenty-three, Hudson Thorne, I used to date him.”
“You did?”
“Yeah, years ago. We met through mutual friends when I was eighteen and he was nineteen, playing for UCLA at the time. We only dated for four or five months, but I remember thinking we were going to get married one day. I even lost my virginity to him.”
“Oh,” I say, suddenly conscious of the blood flowing through my veins.
Aspen laughs. “Yeah, it was ridiculous. Looking back, I don’t know why I ever thought we’d end up together. Safe to say, it didn’t work out between us.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing big, just realized we wanted different things long-term. We were still friends for a while after the breakup, but we’ve drifted apart. I don’t think I’ve heard from him in over a year. I knew he got drafted somewhere outside of LA, but didn’t know it was Seattle. Nor did I know he would be in LA today.”
“He’s certainly in LA,” I grumble, looking at the little speck on the field labeled 23. He may be a professional athlete, but I could definitely kick his ass.
Aspen turns her head to look at me. “What? Forget I said anything, baby ,” she says, playfully emphasizing the last word. “You’re the only one I want now.”
I roll my eyes, but I relax a bit, realizing I’ve somehow slipped into this fake-boyfriend role, feeling jealous over a girl who isn’t even mine. “Spare me the dramatics, Jordan. I don’t care about your ex-boyfriend one bit. I just find it hard to believe that you were ever into blondes, that’s all.”