Page 38 of The P*ssy Next Door
The next day's reality of being the almost-girlfriend of a professional football player was crazeballs.
Jules led me into the VIP suite that the Kingmans and freaking Kelsey Best had reserved for the game. There was a whole-ass buffet with hot foods in silver serving trays and was that an ice cream bar? Wait, wait, and an actual bar with a bartender? This did not feel real, but if I had to watch a football game, this was definitely the way to do it.
“Willa,” the other women all called my name in unison, and I instantly got a warm feeling in my chest, like we were all old friends meeting up for a beer. Then they introduced me to a few other people who were joining us for the game including the freaking Manniways and plus-size supermodel Sara Jayne Jerry.
Every single one of them acted like I was cooler than the other side of the pillow. Marie Manniway even handed me her card and acted like we were already best buds. “I hear you have a coffee shop. Perhaps we could talk about you hosting some of the Cowgirls and Cowpals get-togethers, which I have a feeling we'll be inviting you to very soon.”
What was a Cowpal? “Oh, yes, that would be amazing. We're up in Thornminster, if that works for you.”
She nodded like it was no big deal to come to my hole in the wall coffee shop in the suburbs from her fancy-ass mansion in Peachy Creek. “Anywhere the Kingmans and their partners and lovers hang out works for us.”
Aha. I bet pal was short for partners and lovers. But why Cowgirls and Cowpals and not Mustang Girls and Pals? Oh. Oh wait, I got it. Because cowgirls ride mustangs, and she was being inclusive knowing that not all Mustangs were into women. I was going to like Marie.
“Want to try the alcoholic root beer float with me, Willa?” Sara Jayne Jerry held out a frosty mug to me.
“Like I'd say no to that.” Or say no to anything she offered me. I took it, took a long sip through the straw, and gave myself a brain freeze.
“Good, right?” She ordered two more and held all three in one hand. When I raised my eyebrows at her skill, she smiled and said, “I used to work the beer tents at Oktoberfest back in the day, before all of this.” She waved her hand around to indicate the suite and its utter decadence. “I thought I had to have it all figured out back then. I'm sure glad I didn't.”
She walked away and foisted the two other mugs off on Mr. Kingman and the man sitting next to him. Then gave that guy a kiss on the cheek, which he returned with a pinch to her butt. Cute.
Here I was, surrounded by football royalty, the unrivaled queen of pop, and a goddess of a supermodel, and they were all treating me like I was one of them.
We grabbed plates for the snacks, and normally, I'd just grab one or two things, having been trained under the watchful judgment of my mother about my eyes being bigger than my stomach. But Jules, Pen, Trixie, and Kelsey all loaded their plates, and no one looked at them funny. If they could, I could too.Those nachos looked bomb.
I sat right in front near the windows next to Jules, who nudged me with her elbow, her grin wide and knowing. “Badass, right?”
I huffed out one awed laugh. “Very. I've never experienced anything like this.”
Trixie leaned over, her smile warm and reassuring. “You'll get used to it. Trust me, the Kingmans have a way of making you feel like family in no time.”
They already had.Except my family had never made me feel so comfortable, like I belonged. Not like this.
I glanced at Hayes's dad, who was deep in conversation with Sara Jayne Jerry's guy, who I think I'd heard was somebody's agent. Mr. Kingman caught me looking and gave me one of those sports guy head nods, with a wink and a smile. I hadn't even talked to him and felt a rush of gratitude for the easy acceptance he'd shown me. It meant more than I could say.
The game finally kicked off, and where I'd normally be pulling out my Kindle, my eyes were glued to the field, searching for that familiar figure in his away-game white, blue, and orange. The Mustangs had the ball first, and after the kickoff return, they were right at the fifty-yard line. The first couple of plays only got them a few yards, but at third and six, Chris threw a pass right to Hayes.
I watched, transfixed, as he spun away from a defender and leaped, snagging the ball out of the air like it was the easiest thing in the world. Before I knew what I was doing, I was on my feet, screaming and pounding on the glass with both hands. “Run, you beautiful butthead, run.”
He raced down the sideline, his movements fluid and powerful, and I couldn't stop screaming or jumping. Football had never been this exciting before. Who fucking knew?
“Touchdown, Mustangs!”
The suite erupted in cheers, everyone jumping to their feet in celebration. In one of the craziest moments of my life, I found myself chest-bumping Kelsey, her joy and laughter infectious as all of us ladies danced in happy circles.
Jules gave me a high five too, but with an added smirk and some teenage snark. “Beautiful butthead, huh?”
“I mean,” I shrugged, “am I wrong?”
She laughed. “No, you are not.”
The stadium's Jumbotron replayed the touchdown, but then it showed another view, and the cameras were trained on our box. Of course, with Kelsey here, they'd want to capture every reaction. But as I caught sight of my own face splashed across the hundred foot wide screen, my stomach dropped right down through the floor, making its way to the basement of the stadium.
Xander. What if he was watching? What if he saw me, here at the game, celebrating with the Kingmans?
I tried to push the thought aside and pretend it wasn't a big deal. If we'd been on TV, it would have been for all of, like, four seconds. Unless we ended up on replays, InstaSnap, FlipFlop, and a whole variety of other media outlets that liked to show international popstars at their fiancé’s football games.
Crappity crap. I checked my phone quickly, and so far, no angry face emoji from Xan. Okay, good. Maybe he wasn't watching. I decided to focus on the game and the incredible display of athleticism happening below and worry about Xan finding out I was betraying him later. Much, much later. Like never, if possible.