I get ready while she’s in the shower. My vision keeps drifting to my phone. Willing a text from Bentley to come through. This long-distance thing is starting to wear on me. Looking into the travel agent business is going to be a top priority on my next day off. Something has to give.
* * *
Of course, we’re running late. That’s what happens when you let Lana get ready last. She takes her sweet ass time and then we’re left scrambling to get our shit out of the hotel. I swear I could pummel her right now. I have no idea what the hell takes her so long. She doesn’t even look like she’s wearing makeup. I swear if we are dinged for being late, I’m going to start making her take showers at night. Or better yet…stay in my own room instead of trying to save International Airlines money.
It doesn’t matter now, though. We’re rushing through the airport like a couple of lunatics. Bags bouncing along behind us, and almost falling while we run to the gate we were supposed to be at twenty minutes ago. Something catches my eye as we pass the bookstore. They are in every airport across the world, but it’s a magazine I see, and my eyes widen.
I stop in my tracks and Lana keeps hurrying forward. It takes her a few minutes to realize that I’m no longer with her. “Hey, what are you doing? We have somewhere to be right now.” She leaves her suitcase where she was standing, because sometimes she lacks common sense, and marches over to where I’m frozen. “What is going—?” Her questions die as she sees what I’m staring at.
People push around us, trying to get to their gates. Searching for food, or just killing time before their flight. But my eyes are glued to the picture on the front of one of the trash gossip magazines. It’s me. Well, I know it’s me I’m sure nobody else does. It’s from the game Bentley played in Missouri. The game I went to, and he pulled me out of the stands afterward. You can’t see my face which is a bonus. But it doesn’t stop the shock that rolls through me at the fact that I’m on the fucking cover of a tabloid. My name isn’t mentioned anywhere on the cover. There’s a question in bold, capital letters:WHO IS THE MYSTERY WOMAN?
I didn’t realize that athletes ended up in these sort of publications, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. That’s not what alarms me, though. Beneath that is:Will she be another in the long line of broken hearts?Pictures of Bentley with other women surround the one featuring me. It’s like a punch to the gut after my dreams last night.
These are pictures I’ve seen before. They popped up when I first started looking into who he was as a person. But seeing them altogether, and how different they are from me. I’m plain in comparison. Boring, and not who most athletes fall for. I’ll never live up to those standards. I may be well traveled, but inside…I’m still that girl from the country trying to find her place in the world.
Lana steps between me and the rack of magazines, successfully breaking my line of sight. “This is trash. You know that, right? They do it to rile people up.” She wraps her arm around my shoulder and pulls me toward the gate we’re supposed to be at. Passengers won’t be boarding for a bit, but we need to get things ready. “Don’t pay any attention to it. We need to go, though.”
“You’re right.” I take two deep breaths and let her lead me to our flight. “It’s nothing. Meaningless dribble.” Except, how do I know? We see each other maybe once a week or two, and other than the phone, we aren’t able to communicate as much as I would like. All those insecurities I pushed down earlier come bubbling back up.
* * *
Passengers will begin boarding soon. We’ve finished wiping everything down and getting the snack area ready. This really is a thankless job. I don’t think people realize all the crap we have to do before we even let them on the plane.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out and see Bentley’s name flash across the screen. I’m still stunned by the magazine cover I saw, and the only way I’ll get answers if I answer the phone. “Hello?”
“Thank God,” he breathes in relief. “Did I catch you before you take off?”
A small smile tugs at my lips. He doesn’t sound like someone who is trying to hide something. “Obviously. Otherwise I wouldn’t have answered the phone.”
He doesn’t address my smartass comment. “What did you and Lana do last night? I tried calling but you didn’t answer.”
“We ordered in, and then I passed out.” My voice is clipped, and I hope he can’t hear it. I’m not trying to be snooty, but the images on the magazine, a real life representation of my dream, flashes across my mind.
“Well, while you’re in Austin, you’re going to relax. Except for when you meet my mom and sister. The rest of the time, we’re going to hang out at my house, binge watch TV, and have all the crazy sex we can manage in a short amount of time.”
“Mhmm,” I reply. Thirty minutes ago, that would have sounded wonderful. Thirty minutes ago, I didn’t see all his past conquests splattered across a glossy piece of paper.
“What’s wrong?” I can’t tell if he’s playing dumb, or if he really doesn’t know about the magazine cover. Surely that’s something his agent would have clued him into.
“You haven’t seen anyone else since we’ve been together, right?” I’ll be shocked if he heard the question. It comes out barely above a whisper. My fear is fueling the question.
“Why would you even ask that?” His voice is hard. Shit, I’ve offended him. “I already told you that I’ve been one hundred percent committed to you since that first day I saw you. I don’t understand what’s going on.”
Lana walks by me and motions for me to hurry it up. It’s almost time to get the passengers on board and situated. I might as well do this now. If not, it’s going to eat at me the entire flight. “There’s a, um, magazine with a picture of us from the game.” He says something to interrupt but I don’t let him. “And surrounding it are pictures of you with a bunch of different girls. I didn’t think they were recent, but I need to know for sure. We can’t keep going forward unless we are on the same page.”
“So those are the games she’s going to play.”
That catches my attention. “Who is she?”
He sighs, and I can hear the frustration he’s been holding onto. “That reporter that interviewed me after the game. Jordan said she was trouble, and this is how she’s launching her attack. I wish I knew what the hell she wanted. You know, other than stirring up shit where there is none.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about her before?” I’m hurt he didn’t divulge that information with me.
“I was hoping it would be a non-issue. And that by not giving her anything about you, she’d drop it.”
“Well, thanks for that at least.” He’s sincere. If there’s one thing I’ve become accustomed to, it’s detecting people’s bullshit. Even over the phone. “I’m sorry for coming at you. I just didn’t know what the hell was going on.”
“No, you’re right,” he concedes. “I should have told you after the crap she pulled at the game. Jordan said she latches onto up and coming rookies. If they don’t give her all the information she wants, regardless, if it doesn’t pertain to the game, she makes their life hell.”