Chapter 40 #2
Gosh, she was pretty. Dark-eyed with amazing cheekbones and cute dimples, she had a fun, bohemian flair, dressed in ripped jeans and a white peasant top, her arms tinkling with silver bracelets.
Effortlessly cool and fresh, especially in contrast to me, still in my blue work suit and dark rings under my reddish eyes.
What did it mean that she was familiar with Tim’s dog?
A red light caught the edge of my vision. The cameras were panning from me to her and back again. So slowly, so deliberately that I couldn’t fool myself what this was about. I’d been naive and oblivious in the past, and now I had to be savvy.
I knew what this might look like. Jealousy.
I gave her a huge grin, and the cameras perceptibly backed away.
Amy grabbed my arm and Lizzy’s as if something had just occurred to her. “Hey. You guys have something in common. Tabs is a big-time journalist, and Lizzy is a best-selling romance novelist.”
I looked at Lizzy again. “You’re not Lizzy Bennet? Oh, of course you are. How stupid of me. I’ve seen your author photo a million times. I love your regency romances.”
Lizzy sighed, twisting a coil of her ringlets. “I don’t feel like a novelist at the moment.” I made a questioning face to her. “Writer’s block.”
“Hey, you should do one of the matchmaking events at Tabitha’s parents’,” Amy said. “They’re offering weekend stays for animal-loving singles to meet up. You could get some ideas and break the block.”
“Hmm.” She wrinkled her brow. “It might not be a bad idea. I could drag my sister Jane along too. And my cousin Emma.”
Suddenly, a roar went up. The game was about to begin. My shoulders dropped, relieved I didn’t have to talk anymore for eighty minutes. Then I realized Tim was going to run past us soon, and I’d have to be focused on him the whole game for the sake of the cameras.
“Here he is. Tim! Langston! Tim Langston!” Amy started clapping and hooting as Tim ran toward us, his team in a single file behind him.
He seemed unusually grim-faced, his jaw set, like he was nervous.
The game? Or the prospect of seeing me again, knowing he wanted to tell me last night had been a mistake?
Lizzy joined in as enthusiastically, jumping up and down.
The crowd around us chanted. The cameramen stepped closer.
I tried to bounce, but my feet wouldn’t leave the ground, as if my shoes were filled with concrete.
I tried to call out, but the words caught in my throat.
This was like a terrible nightmare, and now it had been preserved on film.
Tim glanced our way, probably because we were lined up on his path and because Amy and Lizzy were yelling so loudly.
I almost didn’t want to catch his eye, but I did.
He saw me—and his face shut down. Tense, anxious, eyes wide, like a deer caught in the headlights, like he was seeing someone he didn’t want to deal with right now.
Except, no. I wouldn’t accept that answer.
Not after the night we’d shared. I cheered louder, finally bounced like everyone else, supporting this amazing man.
But he stared straight in my direction with an unmistakable grimace, and my heart sank.
“That was an odd look he gave you,” Amy said. “Oh, look! There’s Fitzy!”
A half hour later, I was exhausted from trying to play this right for the cameras.
I wanted to be sucked into the game, but it was hard to concentrate when I didn’t know the rules and I was supposed to be focused on someone I didn’t want to see or think about.
Were we going to talk afterward? What was it going to be like when I saw him face-to-face?
Amy gave a gleeful squeal. Despite her running commentary for my sake, I still didn’t fully understand the game, so I watched, dazed, as Tim pounded up to the ball, scooped it up, and kept going.
Though my heart was low, I couldn’t deny that he looked like a sweating, pumping, driving machine of muscle and agility as his powerful legs ate up the field.
All through the game, he had confidently led and directed the other enormous teammates in what I now knew were scary-looking scrums, rucks, and mauls.
“What’s going on?” I asked as he sprinted down the field.
“Look what he’s doing,” Amy said, her face toggling between amusement and surprise as Tim, ball in hand, launched himself into the air, hit the ground, and slid across the finish line, or whatever it was called. A roar went up from the crowd nearest to us.
Beside us, Lizzy laughed outright. Now Tim was getting to his feet, to a standing ovation from the same part of the crowd that was roaring.
“Oh my God, he’s like a small boy trying to get the attention of his crush,” Amy said.
“Look at him staring over here, trying to gauge your reaction. He’s been doing that the whole game.
Usually, he’s total focus, eyes on the game.
And now he just called a play that he shouldn’t have, and I highly suspect it’s because it showcased his skills. ”
She and Lizzy turned to each other and laughed some more.
My stomach churned with confusion and disbelief. If I was his crush and he was trying to get my attention, why shoot me that grimace when he came out?
But the stadium spotlight blaring on him showed he was looking over here, bent over, the ball tucked under his arm, his heaving breath misting in the cold night air. Maybe he was just checking in with the camera near us?
Earlier today, when I’d watched the shorts, I’d noticed he’d instinctively known how to engage with the camera and keep the viewer in the loop with these breaking-the-fourth-wall looks of his, mischievous and conspiratorial.
Maybe he was doing that now?