“What is it?” I whisper back.
June shakes her head as if to forestall the conversation. And just in time. The bathroom door opens, and a woman walks out. A swoop of shock has me shooting quick looks at my friends. I know they’re mentally nodding along as if to say,I know!
It isn’t every day Monica Reyes, Oscar winner and massive star, walks out of a bathroom and into a luxury stadium suite. Or maybe it is. I’m way out of my depth there.
She spots us almost as quickly as we’d spotted her. She falters only a tiny bit, but she puts on a wide smile and strolls forward. “August’s siblings I recognized immediately by their eyes, which means you must be the fiancée, Penelope?”
On-screen, she shines—light brown skin, a tumble of glossy black hair, full lips and symmetrical features that can play good or evil with equal conviction. In person, she’s just as stunning, but more real. There’s a constellation of tiny freckles by her temple. Laugh lines fan the corners of her eyes. She’s wearing jeans and a team jersey with the number 87.
It helps, but I’m still starstruck.
“Pen,” I offer, holding out a hand that’s shaking a tinge. “I desperately want to play this cool and act unfazed and continental here, but I know I’d only end up failing spectacularly at that. So I’ll get it out now. I’m a huge fan and kind of want to pee my pants.”
While June and May utter half-hidden groans of despair, Monica laughs. It’s a low and easy rolling sound as she shakes my hand and appraises me with smiling eyes.
“Honesty is always best. Please don’t pee yourself. We’ve got a good bathroom here.”
“I’d never live it down, so I’ll control that.”
She grins wider, red lipstick against snow-white teeth. “We’re cool. As long as you don’t stare at me the whole time and drool.”
“I can absolutely guarantee I don’t drool, outside of sleep.”
“And the staring?”
“I’m sure that will fade.”
With another laugh, she gives me a friendly pat on the arm. “I can see why the boys like you. Trent’s my man,” she adds in exclamation.
Only then do I remember that her boyfriend was one of the guys who had helped move my things. “Jelly—Trentwas very kind to help. I hope I can repay him in some way soon.”
“He told me you made them all dinner.” Her hazel eyes dance. “I think that makes you even in his book.”
“Eh. The guys all helped. And it was nothing, really. I have enough Italian in me to feel bereft at missing the chance to feed someone who enters my house.”
“I’m Hispanic, but it’s the same for me,” she says warmly.
The door opens and, from that point on, guests pour in. It shouldn’t be a surprise that they include more actors, pop stars, rappers, and various athletes from other sports—the seven footer I know plays for the Lakers—but I find myself drifting close to the wall and just taking it in.
Although they’d squeed over Monica, May and June have been in this life long enough to be far more comfortable with the fame-filled room. They make their way around, talking to whomever about whatever.
“Sometimes, we Lucks tend to forget you don’t like mingling,” Jan says, suddenly at my side. His size and presence acts as a protective wall between me and the room.
“But I do like watching.”
“This isn’t so different from what you grew up with.”
“Jan.” I shake my head, smiling wryly. “I grew up in the audience, or waiting at home for my parents to return. Not all this.”
He searches my face and gives me a look of reassurance. “At the end of the day, they’re just people underneath the gloss.”
“Oh, I know.”
I don’t fool him. He inclines his head my way, keeping his voice low. “And yet you look like you’re two seconds away from bolting.”
I huff out a breath. “I’m fine. I just... Sometimes I forget that this is your world. August’s world.”
“Only a small part of it. August’s true world is down there.” He nods toward the stadium that’s slowly filling up. “And here, with us. Family and football. That’s what matters.”
