Football

EMMA

I wake up feeling surprisingly good, considering the tears I shed last night. It’s been a while since I had a good night’s sleep. I glance at my phone and realize it’s already two in the afternoon.

Damn, I’ve almost slept the whole day away. This week has been a rollercoaster, both physically and emotionally.

I hop out of bed and take a quick shower.

I’ve got a whole Patriots fan kit ready to go—a shirt, shorts, snapback cap, and shoes, all emblazoned with their logo.

I want to show the guys that I’m on their side. It’s a small way to thank them for always being there for me.

I curl my hair into loose waves, letting them tumble down my back, then apply my makeup a bit heavier than usual.

I think it’s time I put in a little extra effort, so I opt for my usual smokey eye. The blue of my outfit makes my eyes pop. I put on my snapback backward, grab my phone and purse, and head to the kitchen.

The guys are already there, beers in hand. Levi’s wearing his number 12 jersey and Alex is in number 11. Clearly, I have no idea who they’re rooting for on the team. I’m still pretty clueless about football.

Diablo’s just wearing a Patriots shirt with no number. I guess he’s going neutral, like me. All three of them turn and stare as I walk in. Alex visibly gulps and Levi turns his back to me.

Diablo walks over and gives me a quick kiss on the lips.

“You look stunning, baby love, especially in those shorts. They make your legs look even longer, and the tan accentuates your beauty.”

“Thanks.” I blush at his words.

“Let’s get this show on the road, shall we?” I grab a water from the fridge and head to the front door, the guys trailing behind.

Diablo helps me into the SUV before getting in himself. He immediately takes my hand, our fingers intertwining, and rests our hands on his lap.

I don’t want to start a fight and ruin the day, so I let it be.

We finally arrive at MetLife Stadium, where the Patriots are playing the New York Jets.

The guys practically leap out of the SUV, acting like excited kids. Diablo is as reserved as ever. He’s still a bit unsure of my mood, so he’s treading lightly.

I call out to Alex and Levi to stop their mad dash to the gates.

“You idiots, we’re not using the gates. Remember, I told you I have special tickets?” I pull out my phone and dial my contact’s number. He directs us to a side entrance, meets us there, and shows us to our seats.

We’re seated right behind the row where the Patriot players sit before they’re called to play. To say we have the best seats in the house would be an understatement.

Alex and Levi are jumping up and down like little kids. Diablo has a huge smile on his face; even he’s impressed. I’m just happy to see the men in my life relax for once.

I’ve never been to a football game or really watched one on TV. I don’t know the rules or the plays, when they need to change players, or why. The only thing I understand is when a touchdown is scored.

Luck is on our side and the Patriots win the game 23–21. The guys are ecstatic.

“Guys, stop jumping up and down like little girls or I won’t take you to meet them in the locker room.”

Yes, I’ve pulled some strings to get the guys access to meet the players.

As the players walk past us, presumably heading to the locker rooms, one guy catches my eye. He’s staring at me through his helmet.

I can’t make out his eye color or anything, just his intense stare and his towering height. He’s at least six-four or six-five. His jersey bears the number 85. Why is he staring at me?

He shakes his head as if to clear it, then walks past us, removing his helmet with his back to us. Couldn’t he have done that while facing me?

Why are men so frustrating and complicated? Some act like children, like Alex and Levi right now, and some are aloof like Diablo and number 85. And here I thought women were supposed to be the confusing ones.

After about thirty minutes, my contact comes to fetch us from our seats. The guys are finally going to meet the players. I drag my feet as I follow them, Diablo keeping a close eye on me the whole time.

I give him a small smile, trying to reassure him that I’m okay. I have a lot on my mind right now. I watch the guys enter the locker room.

I decide it’s a good time to arrange for us to have the VIP room for tonight; might as well keep the party going. I call Travis and make the necessary arrangements when an idea strikes me.

The club could use some fresh publicity, and what better way to promote it than to have the winners of today’s game as VIP guests?

A few tweets from them and our PR rep about where they’re celebrating are sure to draw more people to the club.

I call Travis again, instructing him to open the entire upstairs area as one VIP room. That should give the players enough space to socialize without being bothered by fans.

As I finalize the arrangements, it hits me that I’ve just arranged something without discussing it with the team’s manager, coach, or even the players. I can be such an idiot sometimes. I’m not even sure they’ll come to the club.

I’ve become too presumptuous in my Mafia world. This is a whole different ball game. In my world, they do what I say, but the team doesn’t have to do what I say at all.

Damn, I should have thought this through before acting on it.

Lost in thought, I notice someone exit the locker room. He’s tall with brownish hair. He’s wearing a clean Patriots jersey with the number 85 on the front. The guy who stared at me is walking toward me.

“Why aren’t you in there fangirling like the guys you brought?”

Is he talking to me? I gulp, turning around to see if he’s talking to someone behind me. When he reaches me, I still haven’t answered.

I look up into his eyes. They’re a mix of blue and gray, seeming to change color.

He waves his hand in front of my face, snapping me back to reality.

“Well, I think they’ve got it under control and I need to take care of some business,” I finally say. “Why are you out here talking to me and not in there with them?”

“I was wondering where you were.”

“Why?” I question.

“Because,” he replies, leaving it at that.

“Because why?” I push further.

“Just because,” he repeats.

Well, this conversation isn’t exactly going places.

“Look, I should probably go rescue your teammates before they get abducted,” I tease.

As I pivot to head in the direction he’d come from, he lightly catches my arm.

“I’m Ryan.”

“Nice to meet you, Ryan,” I respond. As I start to walk away, he jogs to keep up.

“You didn’t give me your name.”

“It’s Emma. Now, if you don’t mind, I really need to get in there.”

I sidestep him and step into the locker room. The room falls silent. This is uncomfortable, especially since I’m here to convince a whole team to come to my club.

Number 11 approaches me, picking up on my discomfort.

“Hi, I’m Julian,” he introduces himself, extending a hand. I return his warm smile.

“Julian, could I ask a favor?”

“Sure, what do you need?”

“Could you point me to the coach? I need to ask him something.”

“Coach is tied up in his office on a call with his wife. What’s up?”

I feel like crawling into one of the lockers. Why didn’t I do some homework before barging in here? I feel like a complete idiot.

“Sorry, Julian. I’m Emma, the owner of the Bijoux Club. I’d like to invite you and all the players to the club tonight for a celebratory drink, on the house of course.”

“Well, Emma, you’ll have to ask the guys themselves if they want to go. I need to pick up my girlfriend from the hotel first, but I’m sure she’d be thrilled to go to a club and meet someone like you.

“She’s kind of sick of every woman knowing exactly who we all are. You’ll be a breath of fresh air for her,” he chuckles.

Before I can stop him, he hushes his teammates.

“Hey, everyone. Emma here has a question for you.”

The room goes dead silent. You could hear a pin drop.

Climbing onto one of the benches, I decide it’s now or never. Ryan has joined us by now.

“Thanks, Julian. I’d like to invite all of you to my club, Club Bijoux, to celebrate your win. All drinks and food are on the house.”

“The only catch is each of you has to tweet or post on your Instagram account tagging the club as your go-to spot when you’re in New York, and that you’ll be there tonight to celebrate the win.”

“Win or lose, after every game you can come to the club to either celebrate or sulk. I prefer celebrating, but that’s up to how you guys play.” I chuckle.

They all just stare at me as if I’ve sprouted a second head.

Shit, did I just make a fool of myself again? I’m so used to getting my way I didn’t consider they might say no. Shit, shit, shit. I hop off the bench, signaling to the guys that it’s time to go.

I’m sure my face is beet red from blushing. I feel really embarrassed. I’m ~definitely~ not used to not getting my way.

I notice all the players are on their phones. Great, just ignore me while you’re at it, why don’t you? I nod at Levi to round up Alex and Diablo, and then my phone starts buzzing non-stop.

What now?

Pulling out my phone, I see tag after tag on Club Bijoux’s Instagram from the players saying they’ll be there to celebrate tonight.

Before I can put my phone away, Ryan snatches it and types something before handing it back.

“Now you have my number. Text or call me anytime,” he offers, grinning, before heading to his locker and pulling out his own phone.

“Thank you, guys! See you at the club in, say, an hour?” That should give everyone enough time to do what they need.

“Will you be there?” someone calls from the back.

“Yes, of course I’ll be there. I invited you, didn’t I? See you all later.”

I smile at them before exiting the locker room with Diablo’s hand in mine.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Ryan winking at me.