I just hope our one time without protection doesn’t result in something too big for us to handle.
“This place is packed,” I say in wonder, gazing out at the field, at the majority of the seats filled in Wembley Stadium. There are people everywhere. I knew the NFL had been hosting exhibition games in the U.K. to gain interest in the sport, but I had no idea it was becoming so successful.
“We’re one of the most popular teams in the NFL right now. Of course they’re going to come out in droves,” says Harvey Price, lead publicist for the 49ers. He’s wearing a black three-piece suit, accompanied by a bright red tie. He’s a fast talker, slick looking, and I’m not sure I can trust him, considering what he said to me when Jordan introduced us earlier: “Ah, so you’re the new mystery girl in Tuttle’s life.”
Harvey Price’s words and his skeptical tone left me unsettled. More in the way he said it, versus what he actually said.
“I just didn’t realize football has taken off so well over here,” I tell him. We’re in a borrowed suite at Wembley, and it’s filled with all sorts of people. Family members of the team. Employees. Friends. Guests. Someone whispered Prince William and Kate—excuse me, the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge—were possibly going to show up later.
Now that I’d like to see. Or Harry and Meghan.
Hmm, especially Harry and Meghan.
“They like to watch, but I don’t believe any of them want to actually play,” Harvey explains. “They’re fans of the superstar players, the most visible ones, including Tuttle. But I doubt the NFL will ever really take off here. They prefer their own football. Soccer. Whatever you want to call it.”
I smile at him, then return my gaze to the field. The game starts at two-thirty, and it’s already two-fifteen. Yesterday was my first full day in London, and I didn’t get to spend as much time with Jordan as I wanted. Not only did he have practice, but the team also made a public appearance, a sort of meet-and-greet early last night that I attended, but then left after about an hour when the crush of people in the room overwhelmed me.
Plus, I was tired. I’m still not fully adjusted to the time difference. Besides, Jordan barely knew I was there. He was talking to so many people—correction, so many people were talking to him. He’s popular. Everyone wants a piece of him.
Including me.
Those old, lingering insecurities threatened at one point, but I pushed them away. I was going to be fine, I told myself. Jordan wants me there. I know he does.
But Harvey Price had a special request. He asked before the event started that Jordan and I not stand together or take any photos with each other. “I don’t want this exhibition game to turn into the Jordan Tuttle New Romance Show,” he said matter-of-factly. “The British paparazzi love to chase a
nyone from the US, because they know sites like TMZ will pay big money for scandalous photos. We don’t want to give them anything to talk about. This weekend should be about the team.”
I didn’t protest. Neither did Jordan. He did pull me aside, full of apologies, but I told him I was fine. I understood.
Doesn’t mean I liked it.
I kept my distance during the time I was there, and it hurt. Every time Jordan caught my eye, he’d wink at me, or smile. I’d smile in return, but I felt lonely.
So lonely.
He made up for my loneliness by kissing me fiercely the moment he slipped into our shared bed when he finally made it back to the hotel. I could feel the urgency in his touch, his lips. By the time we came up for air, I was pretty much naked, Jordan pushing inside of me after putting the condom on, making me cry out in pleasure.
“Don’t ever think I’ll abandon you,” he told me, his eyes bright, his tone serious. “That was Harvey’s idea. Not mine.”
“You two dated before,” Harvey suddenly says, startling me.
I turn to look at him, noting the shrewd expression on his face. “Yes,” I say, keeping my tone nonchalant. “We did.”
“You’re the girl from high school. The one who got away.” When I frown, he continues, “What Tuttle said in the Inside Football interview.”
“Oh. Right.” I don’t know how much Jordan has told Harvey, so I really don’t want to delve too deep into this conversation.
“How’d you two reconnect?” His tone is casual, but I’m not stupid. He’s digging for information.
“Social media.” I don’t bother telling Harvey that episode of Inside Football spurred me into action.
“A modern love story then,” Harvey says, a slight smile curling his thin lips. “Sorry. I’m always looking for an angle.”
“I’m sure,” I murmur, glancing around the room. I don’t really know anyone here. And I’d rather be talking to anyone else, even a complete stranger, if I’m being honest. This guy makes me uncomfortable. Like he’s watching me, waiting for me to make a mistake.
He’s judging me too. Seeing if I’ll measure up.
“You don’t like me very much, do you.” It’s not a question Harvey’s asking. More like a statement.