I pull into the parking lot for the Miami Manatees headquarters. It’s Saturday morning before practice, and I’m going to take some pictures. I haven’t been able to do practice pictures for a while now due to soccer season, but with it being Saturday, I can do it.
I’m also surprising Aiden, too.
I turn off my engine and gather up my purse and camera bag. I left his apartment early this morning, telling him I wasn’t sure how I was going to spend my day just yet. We’re going to have dinner tonight, but we have no plans until then. I thought it would be fun to see his reaction when he spots me up against the glass taking pictures.
A cold front moved into Miami overnight—temperatures are in the forties this morning. Where did that come from? I had to dig out my faux-fur vest this morning. It’s a soft pink color, and I rarely get to wear it here in Miami because it stays so warm. I slipped it over a long-sleeved black shirt and, on a whim, tied a leopard-print scarf around my neck. I think I look rather chic today, and I hope Aiden will notice. Not that I want to distract him during practice.
Okay, maybe I do.
Just once or twice,I think wickedly.
I spot some players pulling into the lot, but so far, no Aiden. I retrieve my hot matcha and my bags, get out of my car, and head toward the building. It’s the corporate offices and training facility all rolled into one big complex. I step onto the sidewalk, walking underneath the massive row of palms and smaller trees lining the pavement. I take a sip of my drink, hoping it will warm me up. It’s amazing. I’ve lived in Miami for less than a year, but I’ve definitely adapted to the warmer climate and fe—
Whack!
Something rock-hard and cold hits the corner of my head, and for a moment my vision is blurred by a green object as I fall to the ground, my matcha flying out of my hand along with my bags. I scream as I fall, panic and pain gripping me in unison. Is someone attacking me? Have I been punched? Hit with a rock?
Then I look in front of me on the sidewalk.Wait,I think, studying it.Is that a lizard?
I process what I’m looking at. And a dead iguana is staring back at me.
“ACK!” I scream. “Oh my God!” I have been hit by a falling iguana.
Wham!
Another one falls next to me, narrowly missing my hand, and I screech some more as the crap is scared out of me again. I snatch my hand back and stare at the lizard. It’s a huge one—he looks to be about twenty-five pounds—and they both look DEAD DEAD DEADER THAN DEAD. I’m completely grossed out.
Why are dead iguanas falling from the sky? What the hell is happening?
“Scarlett!”
I turn and see Aiden running across the parking lot, a look of panic on his face, followed by Wyatt.
Now in addition to having a headache, I’m mortified. Who on earth gets hit by a falling dead iguana?
Apparently, me.
I put my hand to my head. I can already feel a lump forming, and there’s some blood, too. This is beyond embarrassing.
“Scarlett! What happened?” Aiden asks, immediately dropping down next to me. His gray eyes flash with concern as he stares at my forehead. “Christ, you’re bleeding. How bad does your head hurt?”
“I got hit by the little iguana,” I say, wincing. “My head ispounding.”
“What?” Aiden asks in confusion.
“I think you’d be knocked out if you got hit by that one,” Wyatt interjects, staring at the one that is the size of a sandbag.
Aiden blinks, as if he wasn’t even aware of the dead iguanas around me. He surveys the scene around me, and then a look of shock passes over his face. “Falling iguanas.”
“I got hit by the smaller one.” Embarrassment surges through me. This has to be a Scarlett-only experience. Getting whacked in the head by a frozen dead iguana. “I have a headache, and I feel a knot, so the iguana must have hit me there,” I muse.
Again, mortifying. My boyfriend is helping me after I got hit in the head by a frozen dead iguana. I couldn’t make this up if I tried.
“You need to have Jones look at you,” Aiden says, gently brushing his fingertips against the lump on my head. “You’re bleeding and swelling.”
“No, I’ll be fine,” I reassure him. I don’t want to see the team doctor.
“No, you might have a concussion,” Aiden says, his voice firm. “I won’t let you go unchecked, Scarlett.”
