Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Mia
"Whattookyousolong?" Milo asks in a rushed, single breath. He flashes a laminated press pass at the security guard before thrusting it out for me to take. "The Sloths are already leaving the field."
I wheeze my way past the guard, who looks nervous that I might keel over and die on his watch. That makes two of us, buddy. My body was built for dancing on tables after one too many martinis on a night out, not for sprinting multiple city blocks.
"I got here as fast as I could," I pant out as I hurry to Milo's side.
He looks down at my outfit and frowns, deep wrinkles settling in around his mouth. He's going to worry himself into having a stroke if he doesn't learn some deep breathing exercises, stat.
"This is a long story," I tell him, gesturing to my ridiculous outfit. "No time to explain. Show me to my camera!"
The last time I videoed anything was in high school broadcasting a decade ago, so I can only hope the skill is like riding a bike and is going to come back to me the moment the camera hits my hands.
Broadcasting was never my passion, but Milo convinced me to join the program sophomore year when he set his sights on a career in sports broadcasting after being cut from the soccer team.
Over those three years of high school, I got pretty good at recording all kinds of athletic events despite having no knowledge of sports.
As I follow Milo through a long stretch of concrete hallway, I'm aware that this is the closest I've ever gotten to paying any attention to the local football team.
The only thing I know about them is the name of their mascot, and that's only because Simon the Sloth is a real cutie on social media.
Though I'm not sure the team should trust whoever made the decision that a sloth would be the right animal to try to rally sports fans around.
Hopefully, the Sloths move a little faster than their namesake. Otherwise, filming the second half of this game could be an agonizingly slow experience.
"The good news is no one will be paying any attention to us on the sidelines," Milo mutters.
"Huh?" I tilt my head at him, confused until I realize he's looking at my outfit again. "Oh, right."
"At least you like the pants I got you," he teases seconds before we burst free from the hall and step onto a turf field.
The noise of the crowd distracts me. Looking up in awe at the nearly packed stands, I can't pretend this is even remotely similar to filming a high school game.
My previous confidence about offering my brother a superhero-level save is quickly dissipating.
In my panic to get here, I didn't have time to think about how high-stakes this could be.
My brother works for one of the most popular local news stations, and unlike me, the rest of the city is absolutely enamored with the Sloths. Sooo many people are going to be tuned in for the halftime update that Milo is due to give any second now.
"Focus, Mia!" Milo grabs me by the arm and drags me along the sidelines until we reach an area crowded with people wearing badges that match ours.
He stops next to a man wearing a suit tailored far too well for him to fit in with the other camera guys.
My brother tells him, "Thanks, Earl," as he takes the camera from him. "Lunch is on me next week."
Milo turns with the camera in tow, and I release an "oomph" as he shoves the heavy piece of equipment into my gut.
He points to his earpiece. "Thirty seconds."
With fumbling fingers, I do my best to familiarize myself with the basics of the camera as quickly as possible. Thirty seconds isn't even remotely enough time to feel confident that I won't mess this up for Milo–and an entire city's worth of sports fans–but here goes nothing.
Milo launches into his half-time update for the news station, and I focus on keeping the camera as steady as possible. There's definitely a chill in the air, so I'm grateful for my stolen coat's warmth, otherwise I would be shivering my way through Milo's reporting.
Midway through his update, a bunch of uniformed men come running out onto the field from a different tunnel than the one Milo led me in through.
Half-time must be drawing to a close. Even from this distance, I can tell some of the men on the home team must be incredibly attractive.
The tight pants really do something for me.
I swear, male athletes are always perfectly dressed for the female gaze.
What are the odds I can part ways with Milo as soon as the game ends and sneak away to get my flirt on? Surely the team will be looking for a way to celebrate their win. Unless they lose... in which case, I'm also fine with offering myself up as a consolation prize.
Milo clears his throat aggressively mid-sentence, and I quickly realize that I've let the camera drift off-center while my attention has drifted. Embarrassed, I center my shot back up for Milo to finish his reporting. As soon as he signs off, he rushes to my side with a frown.
"You good?" He glances in the direction of the team in an attempt to see what caught my attention.
"Yep." I smile brightly at him. "Just couldn't help noticing some of the more attractive Sloths on the field."
I laugh as he grimaces at my answer. Being twins means Milo has been forced to bear witness to basically all of my tragic dating choices over the years. He thinks I have questionable taste in men and that I should stay single for the rest of my life.
The team heads to a TV timeout, and I'm relieved for a chance to drop my aching arms by my sides. Milo swoops the camera out of my hands, and I'm so relieved I barely hold in a groan.
"Thanks for staying," he says. "I could have tried doing the post-game interviews with a tripod, but it's always better to have a real person running the camera. Are you sure you don't want me to take a turn getting some of this game footage?"
I raise an eyebrow at him with a pointed look. My brother is a great sports reporter, but he's mediocre behind the camera. He tried to take a turn shortly after half-time, and nearly missed a great pass from Number 33.
Number 33 has one of the top three asses on the team. I may have accidentally zoomed in once. Milo can have fun explaining that to his station's video editors later.
Time moves differently in football, where the clock is constantly starting and stopping. I'm glad we seem to be reaching the final minutes of the game because while muscle memory has helped me hold my own behind the camera, the weight is absolutely killing my arms.
Maybe I should try going to the gym for an arm workout sometime or something. Better yet... I could do more shopping. Carrying heavy bags seems like an efficient method of lifting weights to me.
"Time to get back up and running." Milo cheerfully hands the camera back to me, kind enough not to sucker punch me in the gut this time in the process. I've built up so much goodwill for doing him this favor that he's going to owe me at least three normal-sized favors in return.
Even though I'm only recording a football game, I feel a voyeuristic thrill being behind the camera. Looking out at the world, knowing no one is looking back at me, is unexpectedly fun. I think I might have to tell Quinn I've discovered a new kink for myself.
That's not the kind of detail most people should share with their boss, but Quinn and I have become good friends over the years while I've helped her build her sex toy brand into the empire it's become today.
Besides, HR can't tell us not to talk about sexy stuff at a company that literally sells sex.
We hand out orgasms like Halloween candy.
In other words, the HR team gave up on warning me to be appropriate a long time ago. My employee folder is as thick as some of these football players, but I'm too good at my job for HR to recommend firing me anyway.
I smile to myself at the thought.
A freezing gust of air suddenly blows through the stadium, chilling me to the bone.
I shrink deeper into my stolen coat, grateful that the garment is oversized on me so that I can burrow inside.
The wind sweeps toward the center of the field where the two teams are lined up facing each other. The Sloths have the ball.
Something is wrong, though. None of the other plays took this long to get started.
"What's going on?" I whisper to Milo beside me.
He gulps audibly. "Looks like something is going on with Spencer Mills, the quarterback. I really hope he's not injured. I'm not sure if the team can make it in playoffs without him. Their second-string guy is way too green to take over."
I zoom the camera in to get a better look at the quarterback just as the man seems to turn and look straight back at me.
He takes a few long strides straight toward my lens, and I can feel myself go a little googly-eyed looking at him head-on.
The obnoxious helmet he's wearing does nothing to hide his flawless dark skin, piercing caramel eyes, and chiseled jawline.
He looks more like a movie star than an athlete.
"Uh, Mia?"
Milo taps me on the shoulder, and I tear my gaze away from the camera with a great deal of annoyance. Ogling attractive men is my number one hobby, never to be interrupted except in cases of life or death emergencies.
My brother stares at me with an expression I've never seen before, his features all twisted up in confusion or maybe alarm.
The sensation that I'm missing something hits me square in the chest. "What?" I ask in a hushed tone, a wave of insecurity passing over me. Is it weird of me to think that Milo isn't the only one staring at me?
I look around and am hit with a wave of nausea as I realize everyone seems to be staring in our direction.
I press closer to my brother. This is the last time I nap in stupid clothes.
From now on, I'll take all of my naps fully dressed in my best outfits just in case another situation like this ever arises.
"Okay, seriously, what's going on?" I whisper, doing my best to disappear even further into my coat.
"I don't know. Maybe it's your outfit," he jokes in a strained voice.
All I can do is roll my eyes. He seems to forget so easily that I rushed here to help him, and my outfit is an unfortunate consequence of my desire to help my brother. He should be nicer to me.
Hopefully, no one I know is here to see me dressed like this.
While my outfit is admittedly embarrassing, there's no reason for anyone to even notice me down here on the sidelines while the game is happening.
Except, the game isn't happening. Two officials attempt to get in front of the quarterback to get his attention, but he waves them off and steps around them, leaving them both red-faced, shouting after him.
Something on the sidelines near us has thoroughly captured his attention, but when I look around us, I can't see anything obvious that would cause a scene.
When I look back through my camera lens, I could almost be convinced his intense stare is trained specifically on me, but I know that's only a trick of the camera angle.
A whistle blows, signaling a timeout.
"Looks like Coach Lamb called a timeout to see what's going on with his star player," Milo murmurs in explanation.
The whistle doesn't seem to faze Spencer Mills.
Another gust of wind tears through the stadium, this time whipping toward us from the opposite direction, past the team and straight into our faces.
This time, I don't pull the coat any closer because I'm too busy with my eyes fluttering closed as I inhale something so sweet I wish I could melt into a puddle.
The wind just brought me a first-class delivery of the scent of my mates.