Page 114 of Last Night Was Fun

They wove their way through the parking lot along with other last-minute fans draped in team colors. Before the main gates, Pedro diverted them toward the employee entrance.

“Showtime,” he said with a wink at Beth.

Beth giggled.

“You guys had better tone it down if she’s supposed to be someone else’s girlfriend,” Emmy playfully scolded.

Pedro smoothed his hair with a flare in his cheeks. Beth scoffed and punched Emmy in the arm.

“Just calling it like I see it,” Emmy said with a laugh.

Sure, they could have easily bought tickets and walked in with the masses, but they needed people to believe they were there on official business. Otherwise, Emmy had no shot at getting to Gabe. And their concocted “official business” was that she and Pedro, ID badges in hand, were escorting Beth, a player’s girlfriend, to the game for the evening.

In truth, they were probably supposed to have special passes and be on an approved guest list, but they had none of that. Instead, they had Pedro Torres’s silver tongue, Beth looking like an artfully tousled glambot dressed down for the ballpark, and Emmy trying not to nervously hurl over the chances of it all going to shit.

When they approached the correct entrance, someone with an earpiece intercepted them. Emmy and Pedro flashed their badges and got a nod, but the barrel-chested security guard eyed Beth.

“Who’s this?” he asked in a voice lower than the bass line of the song pumping through the stadium.

Pedro tittered like the question was silly.

The security guard arched a brow.

“Sorry,” Pedro said, and cleared his throat. “I’m just surprised you don’t recognize her. This is Brendan Davies’s girlfriend.” He said the name quietly as if someone overhearing might incite a mob of fans. “We are with the visiting team. We are her escorts to the game tonight.”

The security guard eyed Beth again. She tossed her hair and gave him a snooty look in return. They’d opted forgirlfriendbecause surely an MLB wife would have a ring of unfathomable carats on her finger, and that was something Beth did not have stashed in her purse.

On the drive, Emmy had stalked every player’s social media to find a believable candidate who wasn’t already married to someone famous and/or in a recognizable relationship. Mr.Right Fielder was a perfect option.

“I’m in LA for a shoot. Do you want to see my ID?” Beth said in her best impersonation of an unimpressed influencer.

The security guard shriveled under her icy gaze and stepped aside to let them pass. “Enjoy the game.”

Emmy exhaled the breath that had been lodged in her lungs. “That was amazing. And remarkably easy?” she said once they were into the hallway and out of earshot.

“You were incredible,” Pedro gushed starry-eyed at Beth.

She flipped her hair with a giggle. “Thanks. So were you. I totally bought it.”

“Okay, well, keep up the act because now we have to get to the field,” Emmy said, and turned toward what she thought was the right direction. They’d entered a belowdecks catacomb much like the one she and Pedro worked in.

“Well, I’d hazard a guessupis the right move here,” Pedro said, nodding toward an elevator at the hall’s end. A flurry of voices came their way from around a corner. They sounded both excited and official, so they scurried into the elevator before they had to interact with anyone who might question their presence.

Soon, they were on the club level weaving in and out of fans loaded down with beers and cocktails and nachos. A few players remained on the field warming up in the final moments before the first pitch. Emmy could see the performer preparing to sing the national anthem pacing around by home plate next to a camera crew.

“Where are you, Gabe?” she murmured as she kept walking. She sidestepped a dad in a team jersey with a little boy mounted on his shoulders.

“Let’s go down,” Pedro said, and pointed at a staircase leading to the field level.

Emmy and Beth followed but they were quickly stopped by another security team member.

“Tickets?” the woman asked.

“Shit,” Emmy quietly hissed, but Pedro wasn’t fazed.

He tilted his chin at an authoritative angle and held up his badge. “We’re with the team.”

The woman looked at it and frowned. “You still need a valid pass to enter this section.”