I ordered black. Mason added something sweet. I pretended not to judge him for it.
That was when I saw her.
She stood a few feet away, wrapped in a thick coat that swallowed her frame, red knit beanie pulled low. Our away colors. A red and white Surge scarf looped around her neck and practically swallowed her face. But I still recognized her. She had a warm pretzel in one hand, talking animatedly to the guy who’d sold it to her.
“Hat Girl?” I stepped closer. “Are you stalking me now?”
She turned, eyes lighting up the second she spotted me, but her expression quickly changed to something heavier. “I can’t believe you’d ask me that. After everything I’ve done for this team.”
Mason looked between us. “Do I need context, or is this one of those things I’m better off not knowing?”
“Both,” I said. “But mostly the second.”
Nicole huffed, adjusted her scarf, and pointed her pretzel at me. “I’ve only ever missed two Surge games in my life. Once, when my dog, Pawdrey Hepburn, died. And when my appendix burst, and they wouldn’t let me check myself out for two hours.”
Mason choked on his coffee.
I stared at her. “You’re serious.”
“Season tickets,” she said, chest out. “And as president of Surge Nation fan club, I get special discounts on travel packages for away games.”
“President of what?” I laughed, and Mason jabbed me in the ribs.
“It’s not so funny when I’m cashing in on group hotel rates, priority seating blocks, and early access to merch.”
I took my coffee from the cart and studied her curiously. I’d obviously had my fair share of run-ins with fans, but none of them intrigued me as much as this one. “So I’ve been playing for a president this whole time and didn’t know it. Better up my game.”
“That’ll be hard, seeing your stats are already through the roof,” she chided, then took a bite of her pretzel.
Mason rolled his eyes so hard that it impacted the airwaves around us. “The bus is here.”
Sure enough, the team bus idled across the street, plumes of smoke curling up from the tailpipe.
“I promise I won’t overlook you in the stands anymore,” I said, allowing him to drag me back to the rest of the team.
The bus doors hissed shut behind me, sealing off the cold air, and Mason didn’t waste a second.
“Well,” he said, dropping into the seat beside mine, coffee sloshing dangerously close to the lid. “That was… festive.”
I slid my headphones halfway on, then stopped. “Don’t start.”
“I’m not starting anything,” he said, grin baked in. “But you were totally flirting with her.”
“I was having a totally normal conversation.”
“With a fan? Yeah, right,” he scoffed. “You don’t even look at them when you pass by, signing whatever shit they shove into your hands.”
“She’s not just a fan, okay. She’s my neighbor.”
That slipped out too clean, too fast. Mason’s eyebrow crept up like it had a mind of its own. “Neighbor? You didn’t mention that part.”
“I’m mentioning it now,” I said, and settled deeper into my seat. “And not that it’s any of your business, but my focus is on the game. Always has been. I don’t have time for anything else.”
The lie barely made it past my teeth before it soured. I felt it immediately, lodged somewhere behind my ribs, annoying and undeniable.
“Anything else, like a hot neighbor?”
I glared at him, and he raised his hands in surrender, satisfied that he’d said enough. His words played over in my head as the bus rolled off, but I just turned my music up to drown it out.
