I’m not sure what his head shake was about, but I have a feeling it’s not anything good. Oh well, I can’t think about that. I grab my phone out of my back pocket and search for the game. Trying to see how much longer I have. There are two minutes left in the last quarter and the Rattlers are up by ten points. By the time I get there, he should be walking out.
Headlights and taillights flash by as we make our way to the stadium. Traffic isn’t as heavy as I figured it would be, but I’m counting my blessings. The driver pulls around the back of the building and waits in a lengthy line of yellow cars. “We’re here.”
“Can I wait in here with you until they walk out? I don’t know the area very well and don’t want to wait out here alone.”
“There are people standing around everywhere.” He motions to the small groups of what I assume are fans milling around the exit. When he sees that I’m not going to budge, he sighs. “Yes, you can wait in here. But the time is still running.”
“That’s fine with me.” I stare out the window, waiting for some sign of the players leaving. After a few minutes, they file out one by one, some of them in pairs. Even when getting bombarded by fans wanting signatures, they smile and sign whatever is handed to them. Some even taking pictures.
I see Bentley’s silhouette as he walks out, and I open the car door. My heart speeds up at the sight of him. I thought this feeling would go away after two dates but hear it is, yet again.
He hasn’t seen me yet and I step out of the car, ready to rush toward him. Except a woman comes out behind him and wraps herself around him. I stop in my tracks. What the fuck? A part of me wants to call out and get this crazy lady off of him, but the other part…that part wants to see what he’s going to do.
Bentley stops as well. I can’t tell if it’s out of surprise or familiarity. I try to get a closer look without catching his attention. The woman has long blonde hair, and she turns just enough that the light shines down on her. Holy. Shit. That’s the woman I saw taking photos at the restaurant. And I’m pretty sure it was the woman interviewing him after the game I went to. Why in the hell is she hanging all over Bentley?
I take a step forward and the movement catches his eye. They widen at the sight of me, but he still hasn’t pushed her off of him. My heart sinks with every second he doesn’t do something. He could take a step toward me and that would be enough. He hasn’t though, and I don’t want to stand around waiting for him to react.
I turn around and get back in the cab. Tears threaten to roll down my cheeks, but I push them back as much as I can. “Can you take me back to the airport?”
“We just left there,” he argues.
“Please,” my voice cracks despite trying to keep myself together.
He must hear the desperation in my voice because he pulls into traffic and we’re heading back. I pull up the list of flights, looking for one that has seats available and can get me out of here as fast as possible. I don’t even care where it goes, as long as it’s far away from Bentley.
This is why I didn’t want to get involved with him. I thought I could handle the attention he gets, but if he’s not going to make it clear that he’s taken, and act like it, then I don’t know that I can be with him. It’s Braxton all over again. The only difference is, I let my guard down completely this time. The realization breaks me and I let the first of what I’m sure are many tears roll down my cheek.
Twenty-Seven
Bentley
“Serena,” I yell, too late to do any good. The cab she got in is already speeding off down the road. Shit. Shit. Shit. This is not good. My brain finally gets over the shock, and I pull away from Savannah. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
She snorts. “Don’t tell me you don’t feel the chemistry between us.” She smiles and takes a step toward me.
I back up. Jordan and Ross were right. This chick is off her rocker. “Excuse me? Where the fuck did you get that idea?”
Hurt flashes across her face. “Why else did you talk to me after the game in Missouri? Especially when there were a dozen other reporters to go to. You can’t say it has nothing to do with my looks.”
I’m speechless for a few moments, and that doesn’t happen often. I’ve talked to her once. I’m not sure how she conceived this idea in her head. “Because you were the only one not in my face with a microphone.”
Her head snaps back as if she was slapped. I can’t believe I’m even having to deal with this. “I assumed you were into me after making it apparent that the woman you were with was a friend. And honestly, I can do so much more for your career than she ever could. You need to be with someone that knows the business.”
“You’re nuts,” I yell. A few of the people still hanging out after the game turn toward us, waiting to see what drama unfolds. I don’t want to deal with this publicly, but it’s the only way she's going to get it through her head to stay away from me. “It doesn’t matter what I called her. She wasn’t ready to be put in the spotlight and I was respecting that. And I know you had something to do with getting those pictures of me and her and the prior women I’ve been with put into that gossip magazine.” I point my finger toward her without getting any closer. “I should have never given you that interview, and if you come near me, or her, again…I will file a restraining order.”
“How are you going to do that?” She crosses her arms over her chest, nonchalant. “I’m part of the press. I have a right to be at the games.” Is this lady serious? Being a part of the press doesn’t mean you get to be an asshole. And that’s what she's doing right now.
“I’m sure your bosses would think otherwise if I go to them with this stunt you pulled.” My voice is low and steady, letting her know it’s more than just a threat. I’ll get all the other players she’s harassed together so they can give their accounts. This woman isn’t here for the right reasons, that much is obvious. She’s only trying to catch herself a gravy train to a life she thinks she deserves. “I want you to stay far away from me, or I’ll make sure those press privileges are revoked.”
Instead of giving her a chance to reply, I turn toward the parking garage and rush to my car. This delusional woman has just fucked up the best thing that has happened to me. I need to fix it, and there is only one place Serena would go.
Twenty minutes later, I’m pulling into a parking spot at the airport. I run inside, and I don’t care if I look like an insane person. Most people would if they were searching for the woman they love. It’s scarcer here at night than it is during the day. That should make it easy to spot Serena, but I don’t see her anywhere. Surely, she hasn’t already boarded another plane and left. It’s impossible, though. It’s not like there’s only one plane coming and going at a time. Shit.
I pull my phone out of my pocket and tap her name. Straight to voicemail. Damn it. No ring, nothing. Just her voice telling me to leave a message. My next best option is Hazel. Maybe she’ll answer.
I look for her contact information in my phone and send her a text. I would call her, but it’s late and I don’t know where or what she’s doing. A part of me is hesitant to hear what she has to say. She’s protective of Serena, and I understand why, but it’d be nice to explain the situation and maybe she could help me.
While I wait, I search the flights that are going out. There isn’t another one heading to Missouri until tomorrow. Hell, I don’t even know if that’s where she went. For all I know, she could be on a flight to California. I assume she has some perks to being a flight attendant and can ride on pretty much any plane her company owns.
