Chapter 15
Josie
I had to admit: I was kind of enjoying making fun of Grayson. It wasn’t often that a girl had a chance to talk shit to someone who was worth fifty million dollars and they just had to sit there and take it.
Yeah, I had looked up his net worth. The Surge were paying him fifty million bucks over a six-year contract. An absolutely stupid amount of money.
I’d worked at a lot of Spurs games, so the novelty of the whole thing had worn off a long time ago.
But I had never been this close to the action.
The seats that the usher escorted us to were on the floor, in the front row.
I was literally one foot from the waxed wooden floorboards of the court, with nothing between me and the NBA players who were practicing before the game.
“All right, this is pretty cool,” I admitted. “It makes it worth putting up with you for a few hours.”
“I’m glad you’re so easily amused. Your eyes are huge right now, like a pussycat looking at a laser pointer.”
I pointed as we sat down. “That’s LeBron James. He’s, like, the most famous athlete in the world.”
“Cool.”
“My point is that he’s a little more impressive than a laser pointer.”
Grayson shrugged, but said nothing else.
Sitting this close meant having our own personal server who arrived with an iPad to take our order. We both got a large beer.
“They have food, too,” Grayson told me.
“I’ve spent too much time in this arena unpacking soft pretzels and reheating hotdogs,” I said. “Besides, I want to get a good buzz going as quickly as possible. It’ll make the date go by faster.”
“Good plan,” he replied. “I bet that’s one of those smart things you learned in college while I was busy earning my scholarship.”
“As a matter of fact, I did learn how to drink in college!” I agreed.
He shifted in his chair, leg brushing against mine for a moment before he pulled away. Sitting this close, it was impossible to forget just how big he was, an imposing force of muscle and strength.
“Where’d you go to school?” he asked.
“Minnesota.”
Without looking at me, he barked a laugh. “I should’ve known.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He glanced sideways at me. “I went to Wisconsin.”
“Ahh, no wonder you don’t know the difference between your and you’re. You probably majored in cheese curds.”
“I’d insult your school,” he replied smoothly, “but you gophers have suffered enough having to live in Minneapolis.”
“Seriously? You’re insulting the twin cities when you had to live in Madison for four years?”
Grayson gave me a smug grin. “Madison is a great college town. Minneapolis is basically just Milwaukee with delusions of grandeur.”
The lights in the arena dimmed as the teams were announced, which ended our argument.
But there was a different tone to our banter tonight.
It was a little more playful, a little less biting.
I guess it helped that we both knew what we were in for tonight, as opposed to the first date where we both expected the other person to be pleasant.
We sat in silence until tip-off. Two more fans arrived and sat next to me, forcing me to lean closer to Grayson. Strangely enough, he tensed as my leg brushed against his.
“Relax. I don’t want to be this close to you either,” I muttered.
Grayson grunted, but said nothing.
For a little while, we sipped our beers and watched the game. I was enthralled by the action—being this close gave me a totally different sense of how the game was played.
Eventually, to break the silence, I teased, “Too bad you didn’t play basketball in college. This is a real sport.”
“How do you figure?” he asked skeptically.
I gestured at the men running up and down the court just a few feet away. “They don’t wear layers of padding and specialized equipment. All they need is a pair of sneakers.”
“Sure,” he muttered.
“They play more of the game, too. A starter goes, like, forty minutes. How much time do you spend on the ice per game?”
Grayson twisted in his chair to frown at me. “Hockey is significantly more difficult in terms of cardio. Skating burns your legs out fast. I wish I could casually jog across the court like them.”
“Sure,” I replied. “Your sport isn’t just figure skating with sticks.”
“Look at LeBron,” Grayson insisted. I could tell I was getting under his skin, now. “He’s just standing around right now. We never get to stay still in hockey. We’re always moving.”
“If you say so.”
He let out an exasperated sigh and shook his head.
We ordered another round when the first quarter ended. Then we sat there awkwardly while waiting for the second quarter to begin.
“You’ve got a nice place,” I said. “At least, it looked nice from the outside.”
Grayson glanced at me for a moment, like he was waiting for me to tack an insult onto the end. “It’s all right. The thing I love the most is the location. I’m close enough to the arena to walk to games when the weather is nice. And the River Walk is less than a mile away in the other direction.”
“I bet you get a lot of attention walking places instead of driving,” I lightly teased. “You probably love that.”
The big hockey player grimaced. “That’s actually what I hate the most about this job. Aside from being forced to go on publicity dates with women who hate hockey.”
I snorted.
“I wear an Astros cap and sunglasses when I walk around. That usually helps me blend in. Usually.” He sighed heavily.
“The fame gets old real quick. I can’t go anywhere without fans pestering me.
Yeah, I know, I shouldn’t bitch about it.
I have it easy. And I do like having a good relationship with fans. But still. Sometimes…”
He hesitated, staring off at the court where the players were about to start the second quarter.
“Sometimes I daydream about retiring early and, like, moving to New Zealand. Somewhere nobody knows who I am, and I can sit and drink a latte and read a book in a coffee shop without being interrupted every thirty seconds for a selfie.”
I almost made a joke about his reading level, but there was something about the conversation that stopped me.
“I can’t imagine how bad it is for somebody really famous, like a musician or movie star. I feel bad for Taylor Swift.”
“Oh yeah, poor T-Swifty,” I commented. “I’d do anything for just a tenth of the amount of money she makes in a year.”
“Like post two makeup tutorials a day on TikTok?” Grayson asked.
“I know you’re making fun of me, but yes! I would sell out so hard if it meant earning more. A guy like you can’t relate, but it’s tough to earn a living these days.”
“I know a woman like you can’t relate,” he countered, “but money isn’t everything.”
“The Surge are paying you fifty million dollars,” I reminded him. “That kind of cash would fix everything wrong in my life right now.”
His brow furrowed with thought. “You looked up how much I make?”
“I was curious,” I quickly said, maybe a little too defensively.
Grayson scratched at his thin beard. “Money solves a lot of problems, sure. But only up to a point. After all your bills are covered, and maybe some world travel and retirement if you’re lucky, you get diminishing returns.
Yeah, the Surge signed me to a fifty million dollar contract.
But my quality of life would be the same if it was only five million. ”
I looked over at the man in surprise. Was he actually opening up to me? There was no insult, no biting comment to go along with his words. Just a brief, genuine insight to who he was.
“Want to know something crazy? I’m actually having a good time,” I admitted. “This is the first time I’ve gotten to enjoy a Spurs game rather than slinging beer to annoying fans.”
“It helps that we’re courtside,” Grayson said with a flicker of a smile.
“True that.”
The arena of fans suddenly laughed. I craned my neck to stare up at the screen above the court—they were doing the Kiss Cam.
The couple on the screen must have been siblings, or just friends, because they both shook their head at the camera.
The view switched to an older couple, who immediately turned to each other and shared a quick kiss, which drew a lot of cheers.
“Uh oh,” Grayson said.
“What?” I asked right as the camera changed once more.
The couple on the screen was us.
Grayson Steel
Surge Captain
&
Josie Harper
Contest Winner
The crowd cheered at the sight of us. Well, they were cheering for Grayson at least.
We glanced at each other reluctantly.
“Let’s get it over with so they can move on to another couple,” Grayson said.
“Fine,” I agreed.
We both hesitated a moment, then leaned in for a quick peck on the lips. It was even more tame than the older couple before us.
The crowd immediately let us know they disapproved with a chorus of boos. The noise was a lot louder here on the floor compared to up in the stands—it felt like the entire arena was furious with us.
“If you think this is bad,” Grayson said, “you should see how they react if you miss an easy goal.”
I spotted the camera guy on the other side of the court and flashed a smile and a thumbs-up. But the jumbotron didn’t switch camera views. It stayed on us while the arena booed.
“I don’t think they’re going to stop,” Grayson muttered.
“I don’t want to make out with you.”
“Same boat,” Grayson said. “But Bob did say we need to be believable tonight.”
“Then you should’ve kissed me like you meant it the first time—”
Without warning, Grayson slid his palm along the side of my neck, squeezed a handful of my hair, and kissed me.
Hard.