Chapter 13 #2
We make our way down to the lower level, following the concrete hallways that wind through the arena’s underbelly.
With a flash of our passes, we’re waved through security.
As we enter the restricted area for family and friends, the buzz of the crowd fades and the rumble of postgame media happening on the other side of the locker room doors grows.
Within minutes, the doors swing open with a metallic groan, and we all turn to them.
Cameron’s ex, Gigi, strolls out, each sharp click-clack of her heeled boots announcing her presence like a warning bell. My stomach drops.
In her dark fitted trousers and turtleneck sweater that looks seductive yet doesn’t show an ounce of skin, she looks polished and put-together, but practical.
Ugh. Her hair is cut in one of those stylish asymmetrical bobs that frames her sharp cheekbones perfectly.
That same cut would transform me into Lord Farquaad from Shrek, complete with the pageboy helmet hair.
Meanwhile, I’m wearing faded jeans with a rip in the knee that wasn’t intentional, a Bobcats t-shirt that stretches a little too tightly across my boobs because I shrunk it in the wash, and white sneakers that have faded to a sad beige after years of loyal service.
And since tomorrow’s hair-washing day, my hair is in a messy French braid that may or may not be giving off medieval milkmaid vibes.
Fuck me.
How is anyone supposed to believe that I’m Cameron’s new love interest when this is his ex?
“I knew I should’ve left,” Sophie mutters, her fingers tightening on her purse strap.
As if she has supersonic hearing, Gigi swivels and homes in on Sophie. Her face lights up, as if she never read the text she received from her. The one that politely asked her to stay away.
“Soph, hi!” Her voice goes up half an octave, all warmth and familiarity, and she glides over with her arms extended.
Before Sophie can get out a “hello” or some sort of hex, Gigi envelops her in a hug.
When I get a whiff of her perfume, I have to fight the urge to ask her where it’s from.
I’ve yet to find a perfume that doesn’t fade within an hour of application, yet this woman just escaped a hockey locker room of sweaty men and she still smells like a damn garden.
Sophie extracts herself from Gigi’s grip and offers her a weak smile. With desperation in her eyes, she turns to us, and with forced brightness, she says, “These are my friends, Kennedy and Maya.”
Gigi flicks her deep brown eyes in our direction. The moment she realizes who Maya is, her lips—painted a blood red that somehow doesn’t make her look like she’s trying too hard—spread into a sugar-sweet smile. “You’re Cole’s girlfriend, right?”
My best friend meets Gigi’s glance with a cool, unreadable expression.
Maya loves Cole with everything she has, but reducing her to his girlfriend like that’s her crowning achievement?
Not the way to win her over. She welcomes new people into her life about as often as a solar eclipse occurs, and Gigi just guaranteed she’ll never make the cut.
Not that she ever stood a chance.
Maya only gives her a nearly imperceptible nod. “Yep.”
Gigi sticks out her hand. “It’s so nice to meet you. I’m Gigi. Short for Giulia—with a G.”
“Nice to meet you,” Maya says, her tone insinuating it’s anything but. “Who are you here with?”
“Oh, I’m not dating any of the players,” the frustratingly beautiful woman says, her tone light but deliberate. “I used to date Cameron, but we broke up and took some time to work on ourselves, so who knows what the future holds.”
Me, Gigi. The future holds me.
“I meant what publication,” Maya clarifies, “since only media is allowed in the locker room right now.” Her close-lipped smile might as well be a sneer.
She knows damn well Gigi isn’t a reporter, but she’s asking the exact question that’s on my mind: what was she doing in there?
“Ah,” she says, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear easily. “I’m not a reporter. I was just visiting the team to congratulate them on a good game.”
Her attention flicks over to me like she’s only now really noticing I’m here. And she’s obviously not impressed. Her expression isn’t overtly rude, but the judgment there makes me second-guess my outfit, my posture, and my entire existence.
“You’re the fan who bid on a date with Cameron,” she muses. Her tone says what she doesn’t: I’ve seen better. I expected better. If she wasn’t already on my shit list for being a cheater, cheater, pumpkin eater, her judgmental stare just guaranteed her a spot at the very top.
“More like Cameron’s the fan,” I counter smoothly, chin lifted, refusing to let her condescension land. “I’m a catch, so it’s no wonder he asked me out again.”
“You’re dating Cameron?” she asks, amusement in her eyes and tone, like she thinks I’m kidding.
“Yup,” I confirm. “It’s new, but my psychic Lisa feels confident about it, so I’m not worried.”
Her expression flickers with confusion. It’s brief, but it’s enough to know she’s thrown off a tad.
“Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but…” She tilts her head and frowns sympathetically, like she’s about to deliver bad news to a child.
“Whatever you think is happening between you two? I should warn you: Cameron’s world is complicated.
People come and go. He gets caught up in the moment, and then things just…
fizzle.” She shrugs delicately. “I’m not saying you’re not great.
I’m just saying, realistically, you’ll probably fade into the background eventually. ”
It’s delivered so sweetly, so reasonably, that it takes a second for me to register just how insulting it fucking is.
“I get it,” I reply, matching her sympathetic tone. “And it’s nice of you to worry about me fading into the background… but between you and me? I don’t really do background. Never have.”
She purses her lips and smiles, the expression making her look like she just sucked on a lemon. “As his ex, I think I know him a little better than you do.”
“And as his present,” I answer with a pointed look of my own, “I should remind you that rule number nine of girl code is thou shall not go after one’s man unless thou are a ho-bag. I know you may not have an issue with cheating, but I certainly do.”
I flash her a bright smile.
She takes a step forward like she’s about to bitch slap me, but Sloane steps out of the locker room, ushering a slew of reporters and journalists through the door, causing us all to turn that way.
Sloane zeroes in on Gigi, her lips turning down.
I don’t know whether Gigi’s scared of Sloane or doesn’t want to start a fight in front of reporters, but she gives me a final once-over, shaking her head, and gives Sophie a quick goodbye hug.
Rather than reciprocate, Sophie stands in place, stiffer than the Nutcracker, her arms at her sides, until Gigi hightails it down the hallway.
“That was Real Housewives–worthy, Kenn,” Maya murmurs, her voice pitching. “And since when do you have a psychic named Lisa?”
“I don’t,” I admit, “but I saw a TikTok the other day saying good things were coming my way, so close enough.”
Sophie bounces on her toes, excitement dripping off her. “That was amazing. Wow. Team CamKen all the way.”
“Oh, I like CamKen for a couple name,” Maya muses. “Sounds much better than Kenron, which is what I’ve been secretly calling them in my head.”
“Kenron sounds like a Star Trek thing.” Sophie giggles. “My other front runner was Camedy, but it didn’t flow as well.”
“You good, Soph?” Sloane asks, approaching us. “Is she causing any issues?”
There’s no doubt who the she in question is.
Sophie puffs out a breath and shakes her head. “No, I’m fine. You sound like my br—wait, did Cameron ask you to watch out for me?” Her eyes narrow to slits. “If he did, I’m going to lose my shit.”
Maya smirks but ducks her head so Sophie doesn’t see it. A person is about as likely to find a unicorn in their backyard as they are to witness Sophie losing her cool. Both are technically possible, but one would really question reality if they saw either.
“No, he didn’t, but I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t keep my eye on her. Her badge doesn’t give her unrestricted access to the players, but she’s toeing the line,” Sloane says, rubbing her brow. “Dealing with Logan is enough.”
Maya cocks a brow. “What’d he do this time?”
Her shoulders deflate. “Told an Atlantic reporter that the entire team could be wearing butt plugs and still beat the Titans.”
“Oh no,” Maya mutters.
“Oh yes,” she says. “Then bet ten grand on it and ordered custom Bobcats butt plugs right then and there.”
A snort escapes me before I can stop it. I slap a hand to my mouth so I don’t burst out laughing. Logan’s a character, that’s for sure. He’d thrive on reality TV, and if he wasn’t dating Maya’s brother, I’d definitely submit him as a contestant on Love Island.
“Now, instead of tucking in my kid for bed, I’ll be spending the next few hours negotiating to keep that from being printed.
They probably won’t drop it unless I promise them an exclusive interview with Cameron.
He, of course, will bitch about it, and then the reporter will ask about his relationship status because Gigi’s made a show of popping up in the locker room and trying to hang around him. And that’ll cause a whole other thing.”
“You don’t have to worry about the last part.” Sophie smiles sincerely. “Cameron’s dating Kennedy now.”
“We’re not technically a couple,” I interject, bouncing nervously on my toes. “Just… seeing where things go.”
It’d be way too unbelievable to suddenly go from single to Cameron’s girlfriend, so we’re easing into it before making things “official.”
“Right,” Maya says slowly. “That’s why you just claimed him in front of his ex-girlfriend, even referencing the sacred girl code.”
“You did?” Sloane asks with a raised brow.
Heat creeps up my neck. “She was being condescending.”
“She was, and you handled it perfectly.” Maya squeezes my arm. “I’m just saying, for someone who’s ‘seeing where it goes,’ you were pretty territorial back there.”
I sigh. “I was being polite.”
Sophie quirks an eyebrow. “You told her she’d be a ho-bag if she went after Cameron.”
“Politely,” I insist.
We’re all silent for a beat, then all three women burst into laughter.
When they’ve composed themselves, I lift my chin, getting Sloane’s attention. “Do you know when the team’s coming out?”
“Not for a bit. Henderson is keeping them to review tapes.” She takes me in, her assessment nothing like Gigi’s. Instead, she smiles approvingly. “Wow. You and Cameron.”
“Yep. Me and Cameron,” I repeat, not liking how nice his name feels on my tongue.