“I CAN’T BELIEVE you just went in for it like that after I’d downed a pound of onion rings.” The mood inside Grant’s truck was light, exuberant as we were heading back to his place. Something about that kiss had seemed to erase whatever measure of tension we were still keeping between us.
“I like a girl who tastes like onion.” Grant kept a straight face as he turned onto the street his place was on.
“And what was the deal about you waiting for me to kiss you? That wasn’t waiting patiently, FYI. That was the opposite of waiting and the opposite of patient.”
Grant glanced at me. He hadn’t stopped smiling since we’d walked out of that diner hand-in-hand. Not even when we found a barrage of cameras waiting for us, taking what seemed like one thousand shots by the time Grant and I sped away from the curb.
“Well, you were taking too long. And I’d been patient for seven years. I didn’t want to wait another seven seconds.”
“Clearly not.”
Grant waited for the gate to open, then pulled into the driveway. Most of the lights were off inside the house, but hundreds of lights were spread around the grounds, lighting up the gardens and walkways and fountains. Driving up to his house at night like this made it feel like we were pulling up to some ancient European castle.
“I’ve got a home game this Sunday. I was wondering if you and Charlie would like to come to it.” Grant kept his gaze fixed out the windshield, even after we’d pulled up in front of the door. It was like he was almost nervous, unsure what my answer would be.
“Are you kidding? Charlie was just begging me to go to your next game, so yes, please. We’d love that.”
He exhaled, his shoulders falling like he was relieved. It was strange how confident he could be, sometimes to the point of arrogance, but the most unexpected of things would render him unsure. “Great. I’ll let the team owner know to expect you two on Sunday.”
“The team owner?” I twisted in my seat after unbuckling.
“Yeah, I’ll get you a couple of special passes, and all you’ll need to do is go to the team owner’s box when you show up and there’ll be seats for you.” He turned off the engine and twisted in his seat too.
“We don’t need to sit in the owner’s box. Those folding chairs out in the grandstands will work just fine.”
Grant shook his head emphatically. “No way. The media knows your face. Probably plenty of fans would recognize it on game day. I’m not letting you and my daughter sit out in the stands unless I put a team of security guards with you. And by security guards, I mean they were mercenaries in their previous job and have fifty pounds of muscle on me.”
“Grant”—I blinked—“you’re being paranoid.”
“No, I’m being realistic.”
“I’m sure all of the other player’s girlfriends or families sit in the stands,” I argued, not understanding why he was being so difficult on this.
“Yeah, most of them do,” he said, loosening his tie like it was suddenly choking him. “But none of them are Grant Turners’ girlfriend or daughter.” Before my brow got halfway up, he continued, “And before you accuse me of thinking mighty high of myself, it’s not that. It’s not arrogance talking, it’s common sense.”
Instead of arguing right back, I took a moment to consider what he was saying. I knew what he was saying had merit. He was one of the most stalked, interviewed, and photographed players in professional sports today. By default, anyone associated would be victim to the same kind of scrutiny. I didn’t want to worry about Charlie having to dodge a camera in her face all day long, but I didn’t want her to start down the slippery slope of thinking she was above everyone else because her dad’s name carried a certain degree of clout in the upper stratosphere.
“Not to mention if anything happens to you, during the game”—Grant’s tone filled in the dot, dot, dot—“it’s going to be much harder to explain it to the whole nation than it will be to a handful of mucky-mucks in the owner’s box.”
He had me. He knew he had me too.
“I can’t believe I’m going to my first professional football game and sitting in an owner’s box. No one will ever believe I was born and raised in The Clink again.” I let out a sigh and tried looking defeated, but really, I was thankful Grant had given this so much thought. He’d put twice the amount of thought into it than I had, and he was right, this was the best option.
“Aren’t you going to park this in the garage?” I asked when he crawled out of the cab. “Wouldn’t want to get water spots on it if it sprinkles overnight.”