Page 75 of Leave It On The Field (Grand Slam 3)
“Walk, Sophie,” she says, pushing me from behind.
“Is it the ‘take her out’ part? It’s a figure of speech. No one’s going to literally take me out.”
“Keep moving,” Mason says, grabbing my arm as he starts to pull me up the stairs.
“Have you seen enough, Sophie?” A guy stands up and points at me.
“Sit,” Mason commands, throwing a finger in the guy’s face.
The guy thuds back down into his chair like he’s suddenly lost all control of his legs.
“Who else has something to say?” Mason looks around to see if anyone else wants to challenge him. Everyone looks down quickly.
As we continue toward the concourse, Millie and Nash are coming back down the stairs. When they get to us, Nash trips and spills his beer—its contents flying all over our section.
“I’m so sorry,” Nash says from behind me as Mason continues to pull me up the stairs. “Let me dry you off.”
As we step onto the concourse, a guy in an L.A. jersey points at me. “Princess Sophie! Look, it’s Seb Miller’s wife.”
A bunch of fans stop to look at me.
“Keep distracting, Seb!” Another L.A. fan holds up her beer cup to toast me. “He’s playing like shit. You’re our secret weapon.”
“Walk, Sophie,” Raine says. “Put your eyes down and walk. We need to get out of here.”
The crowd starts to follow us. Raine loops her arm through mine. Butch gets in front of us and starts plowing through the crowd like an angry bulldozer. Mason has his arms wrapped around us from behind.
As we start moving faster, the crowd keeps following, pressing closer into us.
Someone yells from behind us. “Did you not get to have sex with Seb before the game tonight? I’ve never seen him look this bad.”
As Butch breaks into a trot, I trip and one of my flip flops flies off.
“Stop! I lost my shoe.”
Raine scurries over to grab it. Just as she’s coming back, a man wearing Seb’s jersey walks by and throws his beer at me. I scream as the cold liquid hits my face.
“You’re the reason we’re losing!” he screams. “You’re killing Seb!”
Butch pushes him against a wall. “Go! I’ll hold him, and then get the car.”
Before I can even wipe the beer out of my eyes, Mason wraps his arm around my waist and lifts me off the ground. He starts running. Raine’s in front of us, trying to clear traffic.
When a few cops join us, the crowd quickly dissipates. The yelling fades into the background as we finally get to the entrance to the L.A. team offices. When we clear the doors, Mason puts me down into a chair in the corner of the room. He squats down in front of me.
“Are you hurt?”
I shake my head as I try to wipe the beer off my face. I look down at my dress. It’s soaked. “Where are my parents?”
“We’re right here, honey,” Mom says, pulling tissues out of her purse. “It’s okay. You’re fine. Let’s just get out of here.”
“Butch is bringing the car around,” Raine says. “He’ll be here in eight minutes.”
A few L.A. employees start pulling out their phones as they look over at me. Mason stands in front of me to block their view.
Mom kneels in front of me. She dabs the last of the beer off my face as she forces out a laugh. “I got wet too. We don’t even like beer. They should have at least thrown wine.”
“You don’t have to try to make me feel better, Mom,” I say, sniffing as I feel the tears coming again. “I don’t even think that’s possible right now.”
