Page 44 of The Life and (Medieval) Times of Kit Sweetly

“Well, I’m on your side,” says the woman. “What was that website?”

Eddy clicks around on his phone. “I’ll send it to you. Here, Kit, take a selfie with us.”

He holds out his phone and I lean in. The other people in his group lean in too, and all of us smile.

“That’s great,” says Eddy. “Uploading to Twitter now with your video and tagging you all.”

“Thanks for your support,” I say. “Hope you can make it next Friday.”

“You know we wouldn’t miss it!” says Eddy. “Whoa, shit! Watch out!”

In the arena, Chris’s horse veers wildly toward us. For a moment it looks like he’s about to run it into the mesh surrounding the crowd. But he pulls up at the last minute.

I shoot him a look. Our eyes meet.

“Are you okay?” I mouth.

He nods slightly, then smiles and waves to the crowd.

I’ll have to talk to him after the show, but that’s still a long way off.

“Need anything else before I go get more beer?” I ask Eddy and his friends as I pick up the empty pitchers in front of them.

They shake their heads, but the dark-haired woman puts a hand on my arm.

“I’m Bettina Vasquez with Good Morning, Chicago! I love stories like this, and I’d be happy to have you on the show sometime.” She hands me her card.

Ahhh, that’s why she looks familiar.

“I’d love that.” I tuck the card into my pocket. “I’ll email you.”

She waves to me as I trudge up the concrete stairs away from their party.

I’m on my way back to the kitchen, wiping sweat from my forehead with what I thought was a clean napkin, when I see Jett. He’s reading something on his phone and carrying his backpack.

He’s not seen me yet, and I’d love for him not to see me covered in this mess of a wenching dress. For a moment, I contemplate ducking behind the curtain that separates the arena from the hallway, but that’s the coward’s way out. Besides, he told me I’m beautiful all the time. And I’m not trying to impress him.

Yeah. Right.

I swipe at the globule of turkey grease running down the bridge of my nose and clear my throat. “Not staying for the fanfare?” I blurt out as Jett passes me.

It’s a stupid thing to say, but it works. Jett stops walking and looks up from his phone. The fanfare is the part at the end of the show where he and the other musicians play a trumpeting end to the tournament.

He shoots me an easy smile. “Hey, friend. I’m ducking out early because my little brothers are sick, and the sitter can’t reach my parents.”

He shrugs. Such a good big brother.

I almost make a joke about barfing, but mercifully restrain myself. “That’s right,” I say, remembering a snippet of last night’s text conversation. “They’re downtown seeing Hamilton, right?”

“Lucky them,” mutters Jett, making a face. “Next time they get tickets, you and I are tagging along somehow, some way.”

“I second that plan.”

His eyes crinkle at the edges as he smiles at me. “How’s your night going?”

Sweet lady knights who’ve come before me. Please, grant me the strength not to kiss this boy. Right here. Right now. “All good here. Eddy Jackson’s in my section with his buddies. They all just shared my video on their Twitter accounts.”

“Love that guy,” says Jett. “There’s your influencer part of the plan in motion.”