Chapter 5 Griffin
Griffin
As Griffin leaves the field and passes into the shade of the tunnel that leads to the back halls of the stadium, a friendly palm lands on his shoulder before Elliott says, “Griff, nice work today, man.”
Griffin slows his pace to allow Elliott to fall into step beside him, and together they weave through the cement-walled passageways toward the locker room.
“And two touchdowns for you isn’t too shabby.” Griffin reaches out and returns the slap on his buddy’s back.
As the pair traverse the hallways, Griffin is stopped several times by staff—one asking for an autograph, one a photo, and a maintenance staff member calling out his congratulations.
“You know, for the guy who made two touchdowns, I’m starting to think I’m invisible.” Elliott laughs. “Guess that’s just the Griffin Hayes golden-boy effect.”
“Or it’s all a figment of your imagination. Probably people just know that I’m approachable.”
They make it to the locker room door and file in, Griffin first. Many of the players are already back—some changing, others sitting and catching their breath on the bench.
Jerseys have been stripped off. The usual postgame sweat smell pervades the room, and despite the stink, Griffin relishes the post-win locker room.
The guys are worn out—some with scrapes and bruises, himself included—but he revels in the satisfied feeling that always follows a job well done.
Griffin stops at his locker, and Elliott slots in beside him at his own.
“Of course, you always have people stopping you like that, but I’m starting to wonder if people aren’t also a little excited about your new friendship with Aria Wilder.”
Griffin turns away. If he starts to blush, he cannot let Elliott see it.
Or the other guys. Truth be told, his mind has wandered back to Aria more than once since the concert last night.
He might’ve been thrown off by being pulled onstage—and very out of his comfort zone—but something about being there with her made it all feel . . . fun. Surprising in the best way.
He’s even more intrigued by Aria now that he’s gotten a glimpse of the special shine that comes only from being up close and in person.
Admittedly, most of the world also believes that Aria is special, begetting the continued chart toppers and sold-out concerts, but what Griffin noticed the night before was not all of that.
It was the wit in the words she threw his way onstage.
The sharpness softened by her playfulness.
The warmth and generosity in the way she pulled him, a stranger thrust upon her by the PR crew, into her moment.
Griffin can’t help but suspect that there is more to this woman than her public image.
“Eh. I think the Aria thing is just going to fade out of internet relevance from here. I mean, how long does any viral moment keep up its momentum these days?” Griffin says.
Despite his interest in Aria being piqued—admittedly the woman is gorgeous—Griffin wouldn’t mind taking a reprieve from being the subject of internet obsessions.
“Fair enough.” Elliott pulls off his jersey, grabs his water bottle, and sits on the bench. “I’m going to grab a shower. Wonder what they’ve got for dinner.”
Attached to the locker room is a space where the team is catered dinner after every game. The Wardens are militaristic about making sure their players stay well fed.
“I’ve got to ice before anything.” Griffin doesn’t say it, but it’s mostly for his knee. “Depending on what they’ve got, I might eat back at the condo.”
Griffin loves his penthouse condo, and even more so at night.
His floor-to-ceiling windows allow him a dazzling city view, and at night the lights look like a sea of stars.
The guys gave him a hard time when he hired an interior designer to help him outfit the place, but he took it on the shoulder.
It’s no secret that he’s a homebody, so why wouldn’t he hire a professional to make the space comfortable like he wants it?
“I swear if you could play the game at your condo, you might never leave.”
Griffin laughs. “Football will always be worth stepping out for.”
Elliott hops up and stows his water bottle back in his locker. “All right, I’m hitting the showers. See you tomorrow at practice.”
Griffin waves a hand. “Night, man.”
On his way to the recovery room, Griffin stops to chat with some teammates, congratulating them for their performances, hyping them up for the next game, commiserating over a fumble.
Eventually he enters the recovery area where there are high benches for massage and chiropractic services or physical therapy.
A couple of ice baths are set up, as well as an open area for stretching.
Charlie, one of Griffin’s favorite athletic trainers, stands by as he enters. “Hey, Griff. Great game. Want any assistance getting a good stretch?”
Griffin pauses. “Thanks, but I think I’m just going to ice.”
Griffin takes a dip in the ice bath, then heads to the shower to warm back up.
When he returns to his locker, his muscles feel slightly better, tension released, and he’s ready to get dressed and head home.
He’s got his favorite chicken, vegetables, and rice meal prepped at home—thanks to his nutritionist’s plan—and he’ll take that over the catered meal any day.
Just as he’s about to get toweled off, Griffin’s phone starts buzzing on the metal shelf of his locker, sounding more like a pesky mechanical issue in an industrial engine than a small electronic device. He snatches it up to stop the sound.
Mike, his agent’s name, appears on the screen.
Griffin brings the phone to his ear. “A game day call means something’s happening. Good or bad?”
Mike’s slow, deep laugh fills the space. “You don’t miss a thing, do you? It’s good news today, so no need to worry.”
Griffin turns around and leans back on the locker. He took his time in recovery and the shower, so by now only a few of his teammates remain, many of whom are in the process of making an exit, gathering belongings, slamming lockers, and heading out.
“Lay it on me.”
“Aria Wilder.”
Griffin’s heart does a small leap. “Yes?”
“Her team wants to keep this thing between you guys going.”
“What thing?”
“You know, the staged friendship. The fans love it, and when the two of you come together you get major attention online. It’s a win-win for both of you.
Great press. Shows your human side. And for you, Griff, there’s nothing better than showing your fandom of a pop star to reach a new audience.
People who have never watched professional football a day in their lives are following you online, waiting for your next Aria Wilder pop-up. ”
“Hmm.” Griffin chews on his lip. He can’t argue that attention from new fans isn’t objectively a good thing in this business—in any business—but this sort of attention is so far from his thing.
He can take the spotlight on the field. There he has a job, and he knows how to do it well.
He prepares and trains. There are timers and buzzers, plays and plans, and when all of that runs out, he can hit the showers and head home for a quiet night.
Being pulled onstage or secretly filmed is not something he’s practiced for.
Sure, the concerts have been a blast. And Aria is electric, but is continuing this—and in the context of a fabricated friendship—really a good idea?
“What do you think?”
Griffin chuckles. “I think you can probably guess that this is definitely not my cup of tea.”
“I know, but remember: Football isn’t forever.
The more you build up your brand by doing things like this now, the more prepared you’ll be when it’s eventually time to retire.
We made the plan from the start that we wouldn’t let you be one of the guys who blows his NFL earnings on poorly managed real estate or a fleet of fancy cars.
We’re planning for the long run, and becoming friends with Aria Wilder is definitely good for that. ”
Admittedly, Griffin rears back at the reminder that football will eventually end for him—even if he’s glad Mike is looking out for his future.
Griffin tries to imagine himself without the sport, but the only picture that comes to mind is him as some underwhelming, lame version of himself.
A has-been who takes every chance to relive his glory days.
There’s not much else he’s good at, not much else he has to offer.
Griffin pushes the thoughts away. For now, he’s still a professional player, and he’s just been pitched a PR opportunity.
He’s not clamoring to say yes. But if Aria’s team pitched the setup, that means Aria sees it as valuable, so he wouldn’t be taking advantage. Griffin’s heart picks up a little when he thinks of Aria—his crush—his interest in knowing more about her, getting more glimpses of her behind the scenes.
That moment onstage, though initially terrifying, felt like opening up something new.
Aria’s presence was powerful yet warm, witty and endearing.
That woman has his interest. Spending time with her would be enjoyable, and although Griffin isn’t convinced the plan is error-proof, the pros probably outweigh the cons.
“I guess I’ll give it a shot. But first—what did they have in mind exactly? I can’t be her prop onstage every night. Especially with games and training.”
“No, no, no. An appearance or two that we’ve planned and agreed upon in advance. Social media stuff. It sounds like they’ve already gotten an ask for a commercial, but it’s still being discussed. Of course, you’d be compensated for such work.”
“So no going onstage?”
“Doesn’t sound like it. To be fair, I don’t think she needs you as a backup singer or dancer.”
Griffin smiles. “That works for both of us then. Yeah, I guess sign me up. But Mike? Let’s try to keep this whole thing simple, okay?”
“You got it! Trust me, this will be great for you.”
Griffin hangs up after saying goodbye and stows his phone away.
He’s ready now more than ever to get himself dressed and on the road to go home.
He pulls on his fresh clothes, dumps his towel in the laundry basket, and throws his gym bag over his shoulder.
He calls out his goodbyes to the staff that remains in the back areas and takes the familiar path through the maze of his hometown stadium’s hidden tunnels to the players’ parking lot.
As the cold night air hits the back of his neck, he picks up his pace.
Griffin slips into his car, a moment in which he usually relaxes with the knowledge that his work is done as he makes for home, but his thoughts go back to Aria Wilder.
The woman who keeps dipping into his life whether he likes it or not.