Page 10 of The One Timer

“This feels dangerous,” I say when we get to the end of my row, and the stick boy keeps going toward some stairs that lead down below. Chase can’t find out I work for his grandma. I can’t afford to lose my job.

Merry gives me a hug. “You’ll be fine. There are a million people around. You have your chance to meet your Prince Charming and flirt your pants off until he takes you home with him. Isn’t it exciting? Call me later.” She turns and heads up the stairs to the exit.

Left here on my own to face Chase, I’m suddenly self-conscious about my old, off-brand jeans and no name-brand canvas sneakers that were obviously purchased from Walmart and made cheaply. It’s a good thing the hockey jersey Merry got me covers my tired T-shirt that says Gans for Tires in black print on yellow. Ugh. I was clearly not prepared for this.

Nerves rattle my body all the way down to my bones as I follow the kid—Danny—down the steps, and I hold my hand over my mouth to cover my chattering teeth. The bubble of nausea threatens to unload my tummy, and I stop before I take the last step down to the hallway where the stick boy waits for me.

For a nursing student who’s seen more than one dead body and observed the gory details of a liver transplant without even a hiccup, you’d think I could manage meeting one attractive young man without losing my cookies.

Danny raises his brows in question at my hesitation. I stare back at him, mute and horrified at my ridiculous nerves.

“Don’t worry. He only wants to meet you. He’s a good guy.” He smiles and waves a reassuring hand for me to follow. A breath escapes me, releasing the knot in my stomach with it. I take my hand away from my mouth and try smiling back.

“I’m nervous.” Duh? I move my feet, feeling more like a sheep going to slaughter, like I’m being drawn inevitably to my doom rather than the excited anticipation I should be feeling. But maybe it’ll be worth it.

No maybes. If I’m going down—and by down, I mean losing the best job I’ve ever had and losing the respect of one of the finest women I’ve ever met—then I’m damn well going to make sure it’s worthwhile. I don’t know exactly what that means, but before I have a chance to contemplate the realm of possibilities, we round the corner.

I find myself faced with a crowd of loud people wielding cell phones, microphones, and even a few TV cameras. The press. On the other side of the hallway, there’s a door labeled Visiting Locker Room. Shit. I back up until I hit a wall. The kid looks at me and nods.

“You wait there. I’ll let Chase know where you are.” Danny pauses and adds, “Don’t leave. I’ll get in trouble if you take off.”

I nod. I doubt it’s true. According to his grandma, Chase Whittier isn’t the kind of guy who’d get a stick boy in trouble. In fact, according to his grandma, he’s a certifiable saint.

“I’ll be here,” I mutter, looking around and pulling my phone out for company, wishing Merry had stayed for the showdown. Dipping my head, I hide because I don’t want anyone—such as Mrs. Whittier or my Aunt—finding out I’m here.

The last thing I need is one of those people with cellphones or cameras to notice me.

I scoff at myself. Who am I kidding? It wouldn’t matter if they noticed because why would I interest them? I’m no one. And I’m good with that.

I text Merry.

Me: I’m pretty sure he sent the stick boy for me to find out why I was in his grandma’s seat.

Guilt bubbles up, tasting a lot like acid reflux.

Merry: Silly girl. It’s a lot more than that. If all he wanted was to satisfy his curiosity about who got his grandma’s tickets, he would have asked to see me, too. But he didn’t, did he?

Me: No…but maybe the stick boy got it wrong and—I don’t know

Merry: Stop it. He wants to meet you because you’re gorgeous. So play that card for all it’s worth and have that night of your dreams with your rich hockey hunk.

I want to laugh, to jump in with two feet, but it’s hard because I’ve been holding myself back, sacrificing anything fun or frivolous for so long for the sake of getting myself out of my Aunt’s house, out of being dependent on unreliable people and in control of my own destiny.

Now, I feel bound by the rule that says I can’t indulge as if I were actually shackled in chains.

The buzz in the hallway elevates, and I look up to see Chase emerge from the locker room.

Me: I gotta go. Talk tomorrow

Merry: Count on it. Have a ball

She signs off. No more dots bubble up. I should stash my phone, but I grip it like I’m trying to squeeze it like I’m trying to strengthen the flexor muscles in my forearm. Like I’m Linus from Charlie Brown, and it’s my security blanket.

He’s with assistant coach Nash Lewis, and as the reporters start peppering questions, he glances around like he’s looking for someone. My body reacts as if he’s a ferocious wolf with giant sharp teeth about to attack me.

Maybe he is, metaphorically speaking. As the idea takes hold, my body’s nervous reaction morphs into a different kind of nervous tension—the excited kind. And make no mistake, this excitement is the kind that has been asleep for a long time, but now—it’s waking up with a leaping vengeance like it’s all energized with tingling in all the naughty places in anticipation of something explosive.

I try to listen to Chase as he answers a few questions from the press. I can’t hear most of the Q&A, but I make sure he can’t see me as I use a couple of tall dudes for cover, keeping them between me and Chase’s line of sight.