29. Cassandra
Diego ranthe ball into the end zone to thunderous cheers. The stadium shook as the Breakers entered the fourth quarter with a sizable lead and a rapidly clear path to the championship.
“The bye week didn’t slow them down any, did it?” Lena yelled over the noise.
Bye week hadn’t slowed anything down.
Diego and I returned to Norwalk with question marks still surrounding our relationship. We wavered somewhere between dating and friends and yoked together by a massive NDA. I’d been in some strange relationships before, but never one predicated on being in the vicinity of Elvis-themed landmarks to get laid.
“So, how was Mississippi?” Lena asked.
Our tailgating time had been dedicated to discussing Noa and Lena’s trip to Iceland, a whirlwind tour that had stretched from the capital into the mountains and the stories of Noa’s inability to fit into everything from chairs to subway cars had us both in laughing fits.
My cheeks burned, and I feigned nonchalance. “It was nice. Diego’s parents are incredible. His mom is a manic-pixie Southern belle. She was wonderful and desperate to teach me to cook.”
Lena laughed, eyes skirting to the field as the defense crushed another attempt at a down. “I didn’t take you for a cook.”
“Neither has anyone else. I got to meet all Diego’s grade school friends, too. Got all the good stories about him.”
She dragged her eyes off the field. “Oh, I love that. What are the good stories?”
“Sadly, nothing too scandalous. Just dumb kid stories. Oh, and I made friends with a guy named Ram, who sent us home with a bunch of moonshine.”
“Wow, we didn’t get any good liquor in Iceland.” Lena grinned, brown hair glinting in the sun. “And how’s it going between you and Diego? That seems like a lot of together time.”
I shrugged, playing off the lie. “It was fine. His mom knows about the contract. And at this point, it feels more normal to be with him than without.”
Lena raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips. “Really?”
The trill of a whistle jolted us from our conversation as the ref called the game to an end. The Breakers celebrated, and a mob of cameras flooded the fields for post-game interviews and reaction shots. At the center of the storm stood Diego, a sea of microphones in his face.
He scanned the stands, arm extended and finger pointed until it landed on me. His bright white smile shined. The type of smile people wrote songs about and cataloged in photographs for magazine covers. He turned his palm, beckoning me onto the field.
Lena chuckled. “You two are getting great at this fake dating thing. Hell, I’m even starting to believe it.”
My chest tightened as a rush of fire burned through my body. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
Diego jogged to the sidelines, ignoring the people in his wake, and I bounced down the bleachers. The reporters’ attention shifted, flashes and questions hurled at both of us as Breakers’ fans stopped exiting the stadium to gawk.
“Good game,” I called, leaning over the railing and ducking my head to his ear to keep the conversation between us.
Or at least attempt to keep the conversation between us.
With fans on my side and press on his, I blamed the lack of air on the crowd and definitely not on the way Diego’s eyes raked up my body. Or the way his lips hitched up in a grin that electrified my entire body. Or the way he smelled like turf and sweat and I had to do everything in my power not to lick him for a live audience.
“It’s hard to have a bad game when my favorite good luck charm is in the stands.” His hand snaked to the back of my neck, his forehead resting against mine.
“Are you trying to flatter me into coming to more games?” I pressed my palm to his shoulder, disappointed when I hit unyielding shoulder pads.
“Among other things.” He tilted his head, and his lips brushed mine with each word, leaving me dizzy and oblivious to the people around us. He exhaled, body relaxing as his lips slanted against mine.
His tongue glanced along the seam of my lips, urging them open as he tilted his head. The hand against my neck slid up my throat, cupping my cheek in a way that made me feel precious and wanted all at once. And then he pulled away. “Head back to my place, okay? I’ll order dinner and meet you there as soon as I can get away.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak as the temporary lust bubble that seemed to surround us popped and the outside world came rushing back in.
Diego winked and made a break for the tunnel, leaving me with an audience of reporters eager for more.
“Cassandra!” My name from a stranger’s lips shocked me. “How long have you and Diego been dating?”
I eyed the tunnel that Diego had disappeared to. “Just a few months.”
“Did he say you”re his good luck charm?” An older lady in a gray skirt suit and a pair of heels that pierced the turf asked.
A man in a pair of gray sweats shot forward. “And what’s your comment on the rumors that Diego will break up with you at the end of the season?”
I recoiled at the question.
“Think you’ll make it to the off-season?” Gray skirt asked.
A lady snapped my picture. “Is it true you started dating Diego before Zoey?”
The players had all filed into the tunnel and behind me, the mob of fans turned their attention on the exchange.
“Leave her alone, you damn vultures!” A tornado in the form of a blue hair and sharp gray eyes pushed herself between me and the press.
“Yeah, you should know, Pop!” gray sweatpants yelled back.
“Aren’t you all sports reporters? Where do you get off traipsing all over my beat?” She lightly tapped my arm. “You can take off. You don’t have to answer shit to these people.”
“Thanks,” I sighed, glad she’d shaken me out of whatever stupor I’d found myself in at being cornered without Diego by my side. “I’m Cassandra.”
“I’m well aware.” She grinned, the light smattering of freckles coming to life. “Poppy. Everyone calls me Pop. Full disclosure. I run the Breaking the Breakers social media account.”
“So, you’re just getting them out of your hair so you can talk to me?” I asked. She didn’t give off that vibe, but what the hell did I know? I sure as hell didn’t expect to be mobbed with questions.
“I mean, if you want to talk, that’d be great, but no.” She brushed a hand through her hair and followed me up the stadium steps and away from the sidelines. “It’s just the hypocrisy, you know? They’re just as eager as anyone to find out some dirt on the players, but they do it under the guise of being above board professionals.”
“And you’re not above board?”
“Fuck yes I am.” She stopped as we passed a snack bar. Employees boxed up supplies as a trickle of fans ambled their way to the parking lots. “And I have a degree, which, let me tell you, half the people on the field don’t have. I just got into reporting a little differently.”
“As a gossip columnist?”
“I prefer human-interest sports reporter. I’m interested in the games as a fan, of course, but I cater to fans’ interest in the players’ personal lives.” She scoffed. “Don’t look at me like that! It’s all good press for the Breakers. At worst, I report on Trent Vogt’s nights out and honestly, that’s just townie news at this point. He’s not exactly discrete.”
“Well, I appreciate you breaking that up.”
“No problem.” She waved her hand before reaching into her purse and pulling out a card. “If you ever want to talk, though, call me. I love what you and Diego have going on, and my readers are rooting for you to make it past playoffs.”
She floated away and despite the kind words, I couldn’t help the pit in my stomach at the offhanded comment. People were rooting for me to make it past the season. I wouldn’t. I’d be gone before the end of the year.
I navigated out of the stadium, stopping to say goodbye to Lena before I left. Pulling out of the parking garage, I navigated through downtown and into the suburbs, feeling more at ease as the chaotic cityscape made way to sprawling lawns and cheery cottages. I fished out the key that Diego gave to me. A gesture more practical than romantic after we made plans to hang out and I spent an hour on his porch.
Still, the tiny set of metal made my heart skip a beat.
My stomach grumbled as I pushed through the door. I glanced at the clock. Depending on the press conference, Diego could be home in fifteen minutes or another two hours.
I opened the fridge, well aware that not much would be inside. Diego hired some mysterious cook who came in once or twice a week, loading him up with pre-made meals and slipping back into the ether. I’d found her notes peppering the kitchen counter and a small assortment of ‘extra’ meals that suddenly popped up after week five, when I spent more time with Diego than at Becca’s apartment.
I sifted through the extra containers, selecting an orzo salad with black olives and sitting at the table. My phone, set on the counter, buzzed, and expecting to hear Diego’s voice on the other end, I answered it without a second glance.
“Ms. Barton?”
The formal greeting made me check the caller ID to find an unknown caller with a Norwalk area code. “Um, yeah. I’m not interested in buying anything.”
The woman laughed. “Don’t worry. I’m not selling anything. I am a colleague of your sister’s, Rebecca. She said you had moved to the area and were looking for a job.”
Leave it to Becca to juggle a brand-new job, new home, and score me a job interview. An absolute poster child for over-achieving firstborns.
“Right, I’m sorry, but she hadn’t mentioned you’d be calling.”
“Oh, she gave me your number weeks back. I didn’t have an opening at the time, but we just lost our receptionist, and I found your number. Are you still looking for a job? We could schedule an interview.”
“Um, sure, yeah.” I scrambled around the kitchen for a slip of paper. “It’s a receptionist job?”
“Front desk for our ortho clinic. It’s Monday through Friday, through a hospital system so full time with benefits.”
I set aside my hatred for office work and jotted down the information, hanging up with an interview later that week. My fingers danced over the phone screen, unsure if I should call Becca. Probably not. If I did, she’d be on the phone with the woman in a heartbeat, strong-arming her into offering me the job tonight.
I frowned at the address. An answer to my prayers and a death sentence. A retirement plan, health insurance, a steady paycheck, a reason to stay in Norwalk. An aura of responsibility that might not make my sister, my parents, or Diego cringe in embarrassment when someone asked what I did. But also boring, monotonous days yoked to a desk with the same people for weeks and months and years. I pocketed the paper with a sigh.
The security system chimed, and Diego walked into the kitchen with a smile and dinner. His eyes roved down my body before landing on the orzo salad on the counter. “Couldn’t wait?”
I slid the top onto the container and stood with a grin. “It’s hard to tell how long you’ll be stuck at the stadium after the game. I’m glad it wasn’t long today.”
“Well, we’re having a winning season and I’ve got you on the sidelines. My team is happy, my coach is happy, and the press are happy. It’s hard to come up with much controversy during the post-games.” He slid an arm over my shoulders, pulling me into his chest and brushing a kiss over my cheek. “And I have you to thank for that.”
I closed the fridge and gripped his forearm, letting my body relax and hoping I could hold on to the feeling.