Page 11 of Playing for Love

“Oh. I was told to wait here.” I felt stupid and out of place though I did my usual pretend-you’re-a-princess act and never let on that I was nervous. A lesson from my well-practiced and ever poised mother. It worked. She smiled and nodded.

“Good luck. With the press and all I hope you don’t have to wait too long. But for Gabriel freakin’ Wyatt--I suppose it’s worth the wait. It was nice to meet you. Maybe I’ll see you again.”

I didn’t bother trying to remind her that I was technically waiting for Tate Fontanna, but since I hadn’t met him yet, I didn’t bother.

I said, “You too. Thank you for making my first game fun. I didn’t feel like I was here by myself after all.” I leaned down and gave her a quick hug. She hugged me back and waved as she walked away. Then I stood there looking around at all the people buzzing, slipped the phone from my bag, and checked the time.

Almost ten minutes elapsed.

The perfect time killer would be to call Denise. I punched in her icon and held the phone to my ear. After it rang three times I figured I should have opted for texting her, but then she answered.

“Mia, how was the game? Have fun? If anyone would enjoy a preseason game on a hot Sunday, you would.” She laughed.

“It was fun. Gabe didn’t play. But you probably know that since you watched—”

“About that—don’t tell Gabe, but I didn’t bother watching. I don’t have the same taste for football you do, girlfriend. And I knew he wouldn’t play. He told me the coach wasn’t putting him in.”

“Your secret is safe with me.” I felt like a traitor saying it. It was getting difficult being in between Denise and Gabe, seesawing on whose side I should be on, not wanting to be on a side. On one hand, Denise had been my best friend in college even if not as much since then. On the other hand, I really liked Gabe and admired how he was handling Denise’s abandonment—because let’s face it, that’s what it really was. Even if I hadn’t had a crush on him back in college, I would still be swayed by him. He was a really decent guy. And really hot and smart and—

“Tell me something about the game so I can fake it.”

I made a face and sighed dramatically. “Oh come on, Mia. He didn’t even play.”

“I know. But he was there and it’s his team.” And if she had been there, she could have watched him on the sidelines the whole game like I did. But I told her about the first touchdown because it had been the highlight of the game, and about Tate’s sack. Then she launched into her upcoming conference in Los Angeles.

“But don’t tell Gabe about it.”

“Why not?” Not that I would, because it wasn’t my conference. Plus it wasn’t as if I’d have a chance to since he had better things to do.

“I don’t want him to freak out that I’m traveling somewhere that’s not to see him. He’s starting to get antsy.”

“I’ll bet.” That was as neutral as I could be, but I was definitely on Team Gabe when it came to Denise’s lack of willingness to visit more often.

“Listen, I have to go—I have a bridal shower to get to in a few minutes. Take care and watch Gabe. Make sure he stays honest and true or I want to hear about it.”

“Will do.”

“And call me and tell me all about your date as soon as you can.”

“Of course I will.” Which I would. We said goodbye and I found myself still in the tunnel as some of the players emerged from the dressing room—or it may have been the press room. It was fascinating to watch, so I did. I was a notorious people watcher. Come to think of it, that had been one of the things Gabe and I found we had in common that night years ago when we first met at dinner. We’d watched people at the restaurant, making pithy observations and laughing.

By the time Gabe emerged, all dressed up in a suit and tie, accompanied by the admittedly handsome Tate Fontanna, who looked fabulous but wasn’t as dressed up in jeans, a white shirt, and blazer, I was feeling giddy with anticipation. My smile was automatic, but I tamped down the excitement and remembered to be my notoriously gracious self. For at least a few minutes.

“Mia.” Gabe’s unmistakable voice boomed over the crowd in that take-charge-without-being-overbearing way he had. The crowd parted naturally and Tate followed in his wake as they came to me, both smiling.

“Sorry about the loss,” I said, nodding at them both, my lips curved up in an understated way as if out of respect for the lost game.

“No problem,” Gabe said while Tate kept his eyes on me. “Pregame losses don’t count. You ready for a big fat Italian dinner with my family?” My eyes darted to Tate’s. Gabe still hadn’t introduced us. Tate didn’t look impatient, though Gabe wasn’t in a hurry, bordering on being rude.

“Is your family here?” I looked around, realizing I didn’t know who they were and they could have been standing out here with me waiting all this time.

Gabe grinned and put a hand almost at my back, hovering in that proprietary spot as if to guide me in his subtle way. “Nah. They’re already at the restaurant drinking wine, no doubt.” He moved us forward. Tate cleared his throat. I shifted my attention to him.

Gabe stopped and gave him a sideways glance. “This reprobate is my teammate Tate Fontanna. He’ll be joining us.” Gabe quirked his mouth as if daring Tate to complain. “Tate, this is Mia Lane, an old college friend and my girl’s best friend. She’s new to Boston and we need to take care of her.”

“Mia.” Tate nodded. “Don’t mind Gabe. He’s upset because he didn’t get to play today. No doubt thinks if he did we would have won—which even though it’s a preseason game, is still the point for the players even if it isn’t for the coaches.”

I nodded, “I know. Right? It counts for the fans watching too.”