Page 264 of Just for the Cameras
“Right over here,” Corinne says as she directs us to a sectioned-off part of the sidelines, right near the end zone where the Foghorns are warming up.
“Thank you,” Scarlett says as we walk right up to the sectioned-off square.
“Where is he?” I ask, scanning all the players and looking for his number, trying not to look desperate even though I am. I just want to see him, even if he doesn’t want to see me.
“Over there.” Scarlett points toward the opposite end of the field, where he’s bent over, stretching his hamstrings out.
My eyes fall on him, and my stomach twists in knots as he lifts up, his hair just long enough to fall over his forehead before he pushes it out of his face and twists his body, stretching his lower back.
There is a group of fans in the first row of the stands trying to get his attention, holding up signs and footballs, looking for a signature. When he turns toward them—because they’re calling out his name—he waves to them, and it’s so cute as the little boy in the very front jumps up and down in excitement.
Graydon picks up a football and asks one of the trainers for something. The trainer takes a Sharpie out of his pocket, and Graydon quickly signs the football before handing it to the trainer and pointing at the little boy.
The trainer takes it over to the little boy, who hugs the football and starts crying.
“Oh God,” I whisper. “I don’t think I can take that.”
“He does that all the time,” Scarlett says. “One of the few players who don’t care about wearing out their autograph for kids. He’s one of the good ones.”
“I know,” I say, staring at him. “It’s why I love him.”
Just then, he turns toward us, and my stomach lurches when he spots me, his expression morphing into surprise as his eyes narrow in on my shirt, his number in bold on my chest.
“I think it’s safe to say he sees you,” Scarlett whispers.
“Yeah, I think he does, but he’s…he’s not moving over here.”
“Give him a second. He might still be stretching.”
He stands taller, and he says something to the trainer who delivered the ball. The trainer nods, and then Graydon turns his back on me and walks away.
Embarrassment fills me immediately as I realize that even though I told him he could choose his own path, this isn’t some magical moment—where he spots me, walks up to me, and kisses me because the minute his eyes land on me, all he can think about is claiming me.
Nope, instead, he walks away the moment I come into view.
“I…I don’t think I can stand here and keep a smile on my face,” I say, covering my mouth like Gretchen told me to do when talking so people can’t decipher what I’m saying.
“Maybe he…maybe he’s coming back.”
“He went into the tunnel,” I say.
“He could still come back.”
“Scarlett, come on.”
“Okay, yeah, umm, let’s just wait a second before we leave. I know Gretchen wouldn’t want people to think there’s something wrong between the two of you. Then we can go to our seats—”
“And watch the game? There’s no way,” I say, trying to keep my face neutral. “I can’t sit through this game and put on a happy face with all the cameras pointed at me.”
“I know, but you already showed your face, so people will be looking for you in the stands. You know what, let me see if I can have Gretchen get us into one of the suites. We can show your face on and off, but you canhang in the back for the most part with me. That way, it doesn’t stir any trouble, and from there, you can decide what you want to do.”
“Okay, yeah. Thank you.”
Scarlett puts her arm around me. “Of course. I’m here for you, girl.” She squeezes me, and then we both stare out at the field where Hutton is warming up on the twenty-yard line. He waves to Scarlett, and I’m so caught up in their love for each other that I don’t notice the tall figure running in my direction until a cacophony of cheers erupts in the stadium.
“Oh God,” Scarlett says just as Graydon stops right in front of me.
My heart skips a beat as he closes the space between us and says, “Hey, beautiful.”
