“It was a good idea,” Monica says. “Rhodes has one. It’s always filled to the brim with his people. Trent never bothered.” She turns my way. “He didn’t have me when he started, and he’s an orphan.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Football pulled him through and was his ticket out.” Setting the popcorn tub down, she wipes her fingers with a napkin. “I was looking to purchase a box, but there wasn’t any to be had—our boys are a hot ticket now. So August offered co-ownership of his. Trent insists he’ll be the one to buy in. Said it was his games I had to go see—that’s some hardship—and so he’s the one to spend the money.”
“And you let him have his way,” I say knowingly.
Crimson lips curl in a small smile. “Choose your battles, you know?”
Jan takes a pull on his beer and then huffs a laugh. “You women scare me, the way you effortlessly manage us.”
“Take notes, Big Boy,” Monica says. “Compromise goes both ways. You’ll be a lot happier once you figure that out.”
“Oh, I’m sure.”
It occurs to me that Jan and his fiancée broke up soon after their accident, and that he might be a little salty about women and relationships at the moment.
“Anyway,” Monica drawls with a gleam in her eye. “Now that you’re here, Pen, we can go about decorating it a little more to our tastes and choosing menus together.”
“Oh, I...” Hell. Despite Jan’s taunting, I’m not actually “here” for any real length of time. “Wait, you have to decorate this?”
Jan looks at me like a professor having to work with a beginner student. “Having a box is like buying a condo. It’s up to the box owner to furnish it and pay for food, drinks, and staff—all provided in house, of course.”
“The house always wins,” Monica says dryly.
“I honestly thought we’d be sitting out in the regular seats.”
“August wanted you comfortable,” Jan says idly.
Something in the way his gaze stays firmly on the field has me wondering if that really translates into August was worried about my safety.
“Besides.” Monica nudges my shoulder. “As soon as I heard our boy Luck was getting married, I wanted to meet you.”
It’s sweet how much of a mother hen Monica is.
“Unfortunately, I’m not able to sit out in crowds for very long.” She doesn’t sound upset about it, more pragmatic than anything. “So it’s box viewing for me.”
Taking a handful of the popcorn she offers, I munch on it before speaking. “I also had this vision of sitting with the rest of the players’ families.”
“They’re scattered about, mostly.” She sees my expression and explains. “WAGs have to fend for themselves.”
“WAGs?”
“Wives and girlfriends,” Jan puts in.
“Oh.” I let out a half laugh. “For some reason, I thought of dogs.”
Monica cackles. “Girl, same. I don’t know who came up with the acronym, or if it was on purpose, but, having heard some other sport’s terms for women, I’m guessing the implied ‘bitches’ wasn’t entirely out of mind.”
My nose wrinkles. “WAGs and families have to buy their own seats?”
“Yep. Billionaire owners fret about profit margins and squeeze every dollar they can.”
About ten minutes before kickoff, May and June file into seats around us, happily chatting now with Monica. Sarah arrives soon after, Daniel, Priti, and her ex-husband, Harry, in tow.
She’s vibrating with happiness as she makes her way over. I’d say she only had eyes for me, but her gaze keeps darting to January in awe. Monica might as well be a seat; I think it amuses her.
“Isn’t this the greatest?” Sarah asks, stopping in the aisle by our row. “I’m so happy! They let Edward in!”
