Page 77 of Your Play to Call
“I feel like I know the answer but are you okay?” he asks.
“I just don’t get it. He’s harmless but this wasn’t okay. Who does something like this?”
“Someone who is only worried about themselves.”
“And I didn’t tell you that he called me because there was nothing to say. I told him I was happy with you and that he should leave me alone—”
“Willow. Take a breath. I’m not mad at you because some dickbag ex has no boundaries.”
I take his advice, breathing slowly in and out, and look across the table at Tripp.
“Okay. Thank you for being... you.”
“Let’s get out of here. We’ll take the dessert to go and chill out at home.”
I like the way he says home.
We gather our things, pretend people aren’t staring at us as we do so and go to the exit, which is just as chaotic as when we arrived. Seth waits for us at the door.
“We’re right there.” He points to the car that’s maybe a fifteen second walk away. Members of Tripp’s security are strategically placed along the path.
Getting past the press isn’t bad. They seem to be your standard, trying to get a thousand pictures, but not really going the extra mile to yell anything or cause a reaction. After we get through the mass of cameras and bodies, I relax. I just want to get back to the apartment and hide under a mound of blankets.
But there’s another group of people coming our way.
“Tripp! Tripp Owens! Nice game today.” Their words slur and they’re wearing the opposing team jerseys.
“Today is awesome,” Seth says. There’s a little security glimmer in his eye because this man lives for the job. He’s had more than enough run-ins today.
“Hey! ASSHOLE. Great catch today! Gonna start calling you butterfingers,” one of them yells to us still kind of making their way towards us. They’re right by our car.
Great.
“I aim to please,” Tripp says and waves at them.
Seth puts his hand out for us to stop. The guys are still in front of the car.
“You got your digs in, very funny, now we need you to move along,” Seth says, trying to get them to go anywhere else.
“Free country. Free street.” These guys are hammered.
Tripp’s security starts coming our way and the press follows. They may not have anything to do with this reaction, but they will capitalize on this situation.
The mass of people we just got through are behind me, starting to crowd on the sides. I’m not scared but it’s more annoying than anything. Exhaustion falls on me like a too-heavy blanket. I just want to be home.
One of Tripp’s guys comes and puts his hand on my back, letting me know he’s nearby. Tripp is still holding my hand but putting his neck out, trying to see what’s going on with Seth and the rowdy group of fans.
“I’m going to go help out.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I say.
“They’re a bunch of drunk football fans. Maybe if I give them some attention they’ll get their fill and get the fuck out of here.”
“I don’t know, Tripp.”
“Stay here, Lo. I’ll be right back.”
Tripp picks my hand up and kisses it, before making eye contact with his security detail, who nods in understanding. He walks up to the guys; Seth puts his arm out stopping Tripp before he gets too close.