Chapter 21 Griffin
Griffin
Tuesdays are Griffin’s days off—the whole team’s—and even though some players still come in to work out, the stadium is quiet when he pulls into the lot.
He and Aria are scheduled to shoot a Level Up sports beverage commercial today.
He’s set to get dressed in game day attire, and Aria is coming with her glam squad so she can put on a concert look.
It’s the most involved of their publicity events so far, but it’s also the only one for which they are getting paid.
Griffin stops by the locker room, and the automatic lights are all off. No voices echo, no undesirable smells linger. Not a single shower runs. He changes into compression pants and a shirt and makes for the field, where he was told the production crew would be waiting for them.
He exits the tunnel onto the field, and Aria is perched in a director’s chair in the end zone with several professionals buzzing around her with makeup and hair tools.
Aria hums to herself, eyes closed, and Griffin can’t help but smile.
Despite what the world sees—the powerful woman who can’t quit winning—these parts of her, the quiet singing, her ease in pivoting when their table got set for romance, her quickness to throw money at the animal charity, are what Griffin likes best.
Griffin starts to feel like he’s watched her from the shadows too long and calls out, “How do I get a line in ‘Glass Heart’?”
Aria keeps her eyes closed, the makeup artist gluing fake lashes to her lids, but a laugh escapes her lips. “Thought you’d had enough of that song by now.”
Griffin draws closer. “My viral moment may be over, but my love for the song endures.”
“Said like a true fan.”
“Now, now. Don’t forget this all started because I am, in fact, the true number one Aria Wilder fan.”
The makeup artist finishes up with the eyelashes and pats Aria on the arm to let her know she’s good to go. Aria opens her eyes and looks over at Griffin with sparkle-lined lids. Griffin cocks his head. “You look so different in stage makeup.”
“Isn’t it fierce?” Aria asks.
Griffin nods his head because saying yes is the right thing to do, but he’s not fully convinced.
In his opinion, the best Aria has ever looked was at the game on Sunday—and it was not only because she was wearing his jersey.
He loved seeing her in his number, but it was also the fact that she just looked like all of her at once.
The glamorous pop star, but also the woman who is sometimes afraid, the woman who craves creative authenticity, the woman who wants to show up with all of herself.
The woman who eats pizza, who forgives his friendship fumbles, who is a devoted sister.
The woman who inspired him to think more about who he is.
After their conversation at Enzo’s, Griffin really did start to think about what else there could be to him beyond football. If someone like Aria Wilder can see value in him outside of the sport, it seems reasonable that he should look a little harder himself.
Kelsey, from Aria’s team, strides up wearing knee-high boots with jeans tucked in and a flowy blouse. She claps a few times. “Chop, chop, hair and makeup! We need to start.”
Across the field a film crew assembles and begins to unload the equipment.
“We’ve only been granted a certain amount of time on the field, and after that”—Kelsey mimes a throat-slitting motion—“we’re cut off. These Wardens staff don’t play.”
“I think we’re just about done,” Aria says, her team nodding back at her. “So hopefully all throats will stay intact.”
Kelsey turns on her heel in the direction of the crew, and Griffin hangs back. Once Aria is on her feet, dolled up to the heavens, he offers an arm.
Aria stops in her tracks, glances at his arm held out, and a slow smile creeps over her face.
Griffin feels his face start to heat. “Too much?”
Aria pauses as if to consider it, then swiftly links her arm in his and gives it a gentle tug. “You’re so good, like down to the bone, that it might just be the league’s best-kept secret.”
Griffin starts walking, arm in arm, with Aria. “Don’t tell anyone, but the real league secret might actually be how good Elliott’s chili is. It’s divine.”
Aria pulls in a rapid breath. “Share some of it with me, and I think I can keep your secret.”
“Deal.”
As soon as Griffin and Aria reach the production team, they’re cornered by the man in charge and taken to different parts of the field.
Griffin is handed a pressed game day jersey that he throws on.
He is coached to act like he’s running a play, stop, then turn and catch a bottle of Level Up, an icy-blue drink.
Griffin leans into the act—now having more experience under his belt—and begins enjoying himself.
He hits his line every time after he catches the bottle tossed by an off-camera team member: “Time to level up!”
“You’re a natural,” the producer calls out.
They only need a few takes, and by the end, Griffin is wondering if Aria was right, if maybe he has other talents hidden under the surface. Not that he has aspirations to become an actor, but if he can pick up these skills, what else could he learn?
“Nice work, Griff!” Aria calls over.
She stands on a stage with a large green screen behind it. Griffin can only guess they’re going to enhance the footage to make it look like she’s performing on an arena stage.
“We’ll let Aria wrap her solo shot—which, let’s be honest, probably won’t take but a single shot with her track record—and then we’ll shoot you throwing her the drink at the end.”
“Sounds like a water break to me,” Griffin says, and at his announcement, the filming crew breaks up. They chatter among themselves, some check their phones, and the lead producer heads over to the other leadership to discuss time checks and load out.
Griffin stands and watches Aria. She radiates so much energy when she stands on a stage, there might as well be a spotlight behind her powered only by her presence.
It’s the same magnetism that inspired him to belt out “Glass Heart” that very first night, but today, in Griffin’s eyes, she shines even brighter.
It’s as if knowing the rest of her makes the image she puts out into the world stronger. Deeper. There’s no way that bringing that into her music would turn off the fans. The whole package of Aria Wilder is just like what they’ve already grown to love—it’s just better.