do. A relationship with Cole Hawthorne was risky enough, but it was wrong to mess around while I raised a baby. It was even worse to get involved with my client.
It would have been nice if my head, heart, and womanly parts conference-called and sorted their out their issues. I couldn’t make the call without it being unanimous.
By Sunday, I was still fluttery, even more nervous as I prepped to hit the stadium. I applied a fresh coat of Monarch blue nail polish to my hands and toes and styled my hair into puffy pigtails to match Rose—much to her delight. I snapped a quick selfie with Rose in her jersey. I sent it to Cole though I didn’t expect a response.
Game days were…intense. And this match-up was a big one.
Monarchs versus Knights.
Not only was it a heated rivalry, the game was a playoff rematch from last season. Tensions were high, and the media fed off the drama like vultures. Just meant everyone would be watching.
And Cole would be raging.
The stadium’s parking lot buzzed with tail-gaters, and the sweet smoke of their grills wafted over the lot. Football I never understood, but I did love a hamburger and hotdog. Fortunately, the VIP booth promised its own food as well as champagne, priority seating, two flat screen TVs, and a glass enclosure so as not to be disturbed by the “fans.”
The booth seated twenty, but I wasn’t sure the Monarch’s upper management, the owner’s wife and grown children, and the few lucky player wives appreciated the appearance of a toddler. While the stadium filled with fans and rocked with music, the booth was soundproofed, ritzy, and decorated with very expensive white leathers and rugs.
No juice for Rose then.
No one took the seat closest to the glass—like they didn’t care about the happenings on the field. All the better for me, especially with perfect seats right on the fifty.
Rose and I sat, and the blonde in the designer dress nearest to me coo’ed over her. She offered Rose a carrot stick and ordered me an iced-tea from the passing waiter.
She shook my hand with a charming politeness. Refined, like she expected a dozen cameras and even more journalists to pop out from under the seat. What could make a woman so concerned about her image?
“Hi,” she said. “I’m Annie Morgan. Tim’s wife.”
Oh. Poor woman. I hoped my eyes hadn’t bugged out of my head.
I knew Tim’s reputation. Somehow he had fixed his image since their marriage and birth of their baby, but those in the trenches knew he whored around much quieter now.
I gave her a sheepish shrug as I shook her hand. “I’m Piper Madison. I’m Cole Hawthorne’s…” What the hell were we? “Agent.”
Annie knew. “Heard our boys had a tussle a few weeks ago.”
“Yeah…Cole has a bit of a temper.”
Annie sipped her tea and focused her attention on the field. “Tim probably deserved it.”
Ouch. I didn’t think it was trouble in paradise—I doubted either Tim or Annie were ever happy with their marriage. And it made sense. Tim used her to clean up his reputation, even had a baby to do it.
What sort of an idiot thought that idea would work?
Fortunately, the stadium roared, and a song blared over the stands. The floors and walls of the booth vibrated as the home crowd burst to their feet for player introductions.
The other dozen people in the box paid little attention to the field and merely popped a bottle of champagne right before kickoff. They didn’t cheer for their players, didn’t even get excited when the Monarchs were called individually.
I didn’t care. I was going to have fun. I held Rose up just as the announcer introduced the defensive captain. My stomach twisted in excited and nervous and proud knots.
“From Ohio State, number ninety-two, Cole Hawthorne!”
“There’s Cole!” I said. “Cheer for him!”
Rose didn’t have a clue, but she liked the excitement. She clapped her hands and laughed.
At least we could have some fun.
Rose entertained herself by dancing to the music before the game started, and I gave her a one of the Monarchs’ towels to wave while I snapped another picture. She lost interest a few minutes later, but I’d planned ahead and packed some blocks in the diaper bag for her.
It was prudent. She was entirely too young to watch the game.
It wasn’t pretty, and it wasn’t going to be clean.
The kickoff ended with a penalty as two of the Monarchs rushed after three of the Knights. The personal foul call