Page 11

CHAPTER

ELEVEN

ANNALISE

M iranda finishes painting the white heart on my left cheek. “Done! You look perfect.”

I stare at our reflections in the mirror, each of us sporting a navy heart on one cheek and a white heart on the other. We’re decked out in our Crane hockey jerseys. Miranda picked one up for herself today, number sixteen. Apparently, it’s one of the new player’s numbers and had the most jerseys available. She felt bad that no one was buying his jersey, so she bought it. Plus, she states that sixteen is her favorite number, so it works out. In Miranda logic, that tracks.

The hat and sweatpants were a bit much, so I opted for jeans. The jerseys and painted faces will have to be festive enough.

“I’m worried,” I state.

Miranda, already knowing why, responds, “I’m sure he put you somewhere private. He wants you to enjoy the game, not be surrounded by people the entire time.”

“Yeah, I hope so.”

It’s not often that I just go out without proper planning. I don’t even have security on set as I wasn’t planning on going anywhere besides here and the hotel. My least favorite part about being a celebrity is the complete lack of normalcy. I can’t just pop into a coffee shop without being surrounded and asked for photos and autographs. And not all fans are nice. I’ve been in some scary situations over the years. Just thinking about it has me questioning our evening plans.

Miranda takes my hand and squeezes it. “It will be fine, and if it’s not, we’ll leave immediately.”

“Okay.” I nod.

A knock on the door sounds. Before I can ask who it is, Simon barges into my trailer.

“Hey! You can’t just come in here uninvited,” I protest.

“Well, you ignored me all day unless we were in a scene, so what do you expect me to do? I have to talk to you.” He stands in front of the trailer door, blocking my exit.

“Too bad. I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Anna…” he pleads.

“What are you getting from this?” I snap, against my better judgment. “Surely not money. You have plenty. What is it?”

His stare flicks to the floor before returning to me. “Nothing.”

I shake my head. “I don’t buy it. Tell me. What is he giving you for making this happen?”

He swallows. “A leading role in the next Bobby Flair movie. Says he’s close with Bobby and can make it happen.”

“I knew it,” I say.

“Come on, Anna. Bobby is the best filmmaker in the business. He turns good actors into legends. This is my way in.”

“You’re going to have to find another way. I’m not doing this, Simon. There is nothing you can do or say to change my mind. Keep your shit together, and do the best job you can while finishing this movie, and I’ll put a word in with Bobby for you. It’s not a guarantee, but he might listen. He’s like an uncle to me. But I’m not going to pretend to be your girlfriend, and I’m not going to put up with any more of your crap on set. You have to do better.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“If it’s warranted. If you start to actually care about our work here, then yeah. I can’t recommend someone who gives ten percent, though. And believe me…Bobby Flair is as legit as they come. He loves his work. He’s not going to hire you regardless of anyone’s recommendation if he doesn’t think you’re worth it. He’ll take one look at your work on this film and move on. Trust me.”

“I can do better,” he says.

“Obviously,” I scoff. “You’re a good actor. I have no idea why you’re trying to ruin this project.”

He blows out a breath. “I’m sorry, Anna. You’ll see a whole new set of skills on set tomorrow.”

“Good. And block my father.”

“Done.”

“And move out of the way. We have somewhere to be.”

He eyes our outfits. “I had no idea you were into sports.”

I shrug. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“Does this have to do with your boyfriend? You going with him?” He raises a brow.

“I said I’d help you get a meeting with Bobby if you earn it. That’s where this stops, Simon. We’re not friends. Now, please move.”

He raises his hands in mock surrender. “Alright. Alright. I’m leaving. Have a good night.”

“Yeah, you too.”

Miranda and I make our way to the front parking lot where the limo Jaden sent is waiting.

“Awesome, let’s go be sports girls!” Miranda claps her hands. “Can’t wait to cheer for the home runs.” She eyes me, and I shake my head. “Baskets? Points? Scores? Goals?”

I nod. “Yeah, that one, I think. They shoot a puck into a net and make a goal.”

“Yes!” she cheers. “Let’s go watch that.”

The limo driver turns into an unoccupied alley on the far side of the arena. As he pulls to a stop along the curb, a door opens, and Ms. Dreven appears. Instead of the classy business attire she wore last time I saw her, she’s sporting a Cranes jersey, skinny jeans, and some expensive knee-high boots.

She opens the limousine door and welcomes us to the stadium.

“So far, so good,” Miranda whispers behind me.

She’s right. This private entrance is setting my nerves at ease.

Ms. Dreven thanks the driver and leads us in through the door. “So I hear this is your first live hockey game,” she says as we follow her through the hall.

“First hockey game, period.” I chuckle. “I’ve never watched one.”

“Oh, you’re in for a treat. I’ve seen the most anti-sports people converted after watching a live game. There’s nothing like it.” She motions toward Miranda’s jersey. “I hope Miles sees you. It’ll make his day. He’s one of our new guys, and I’m guessing there won’t be many number sixteen jerseys in the crowd today.”

She’s wearing a number twenty-nine jersey with the name Dreven embroidered across the back. “I’m assuming number twenty-nine is your…”

“Husband.” She smiles. “He’s the goalie. Can’t miss him.”

“That’s fun,” I say.

“Yeah, it is,” she agrees, a proud smile still on her face.

After following her through a series of back hallways, the noise of the stadium grows louder.

Ms. Dreven gestures toward a door. “This is you. The suite is very private. A few friends and family members of the players are in there, but they won’t bother you. You’ll have a server who can bring you any food or beverage you want, and there’s a bathroom in the suite so you won’t have to leave,” she says.

“Thank you,” I say as I enter the suite with Miranda right behind me.

“Enjoy the game,” Ms. Dreven says. “Jaden will meet you in here afterward.”

We thank her again and head inside. There’s a bar top along the back wall of the suite where a bartender is mixing drinks. “Want anything?” I ask Miranda.

“Definitely.” Miranda follows me to the bar. “What’s a very ‘hockey game’ type of drink?” she asks the bartender, making air quotes with her fingers.

He smiles. “Anything you want to be.”

“What do people drink the most?” I ask.

“Beer,” he replies.

I turn to Miranda, and we shake our heads, noses scrunched.

“What about a martini?” I ask him.

“Very hockey.” He nods.

“You’re totally lying, but we’ll take two, please,” Miranda states with a laugh.

Drinks in hand, we make it down a few steps to the two empty leather chairs in front of the big opening that looks down on to the stadium. The team is skating around the ice, warming up.

“Hi,” a cheerful voice says to my side. “You must be Jaden’s orchard date.” The voice belongs to a heavier-set man with rosy cheeks. He’s decked out in Crane’s gear from top to bottom. There’s a woman at his side, beaming at me. She, too, is wearing nothing but navy blue and white with a giant foam finger on her hand.

“I am. Are you the Appletons?” I ask.

They nod wildly, wearing matching goofy grins.

Their joy is contagious, and I can’t help but smile back. “Thank you so much for everything you set up the other night. Your orchard is absolutely beautiful. That was such a special night.”

“Of course,” Mrs. Appleton says. “We’d do anything for Jaden. He’s such a good guy.”

“And a talented player,” Mr. Appleton adds.

“I’m excited to see him play,” I admit.

“Oh no, we forgot our foam finger!” Miranda exclaims, sounding legitimately bummed.

I want to tell her left is a more appropriate word. Before I do, Mrs. Appleton pipes up, “Oh, just ask the server, dear. She’ll bring you whatever you want.” She points at the wall where two menus reside. “There’s a booklet with all the food and drinks available, and the other tells you everything the Crane store carries. Order whatever you want.”

“Oh my gosh. This is already so fun,” Miranda squeals as she flips through the books.

Other VIP guests trickle in, and just as we were told they would, they all act normal. I’m guessing I’m not the first famous person to watch the game from this suite. It’s such a relief to feel normal out in a public setting. Or as normal as possible. Every few minutes or so, I become aware of someone from the seats below the box snapping a picture or video of us. I raise my chin, hoping I don’t have a double chin in the pictures they’re sure to post later. It’s definitely not a good angle.

“Ignore them,” Miranda says, holding a menu in front of her face to block out her mouth.

“I am.” I bring my hand to my mouth to cover my lips as I speak.

A girl on TikTok has built millions of followers by lip-reading, and she’s good. She posts videos of celebrities and deciphers whole conversations by reading their lips. It’s added another level of paranoia to my life. The last thing I need is something taken out of context and blasted all over social media.

Booklet still in front of her face, she asks, “Do you need pens?”

“Pens? No, why?”

“Slippers? A robe? Oh look! Funny straws.”

I laugh. “Miranda, we need none of those things.”

Her eyes widen. “Oh, I’m getting some things. Look at this.” She points at an item on the laminated page. “It’s a Crane hockey key chain and bottle opener…plus if your car is ever submerged in water, the end of it will break the glass!”

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not. Oh! Hockey puck ice trays! I’m going to need one of these pads of paper and a pen to make a list. I’ll order those first.”

I throw my head back in laughter. “Stop, Mir. You have to fly home with all that junk in a couple of weeks.”

“So.” She shrugs. “I don’t think it’s junk. It all looks well made.”

Two big foam fingers are placed in front of me, and I look up to see our server. “Mr. and Mrs. Appleton ordered these for you both.”

“Oh, that’s awesome. Thank you.” Miranda grabs a finger.

We look around the server to the Appletons, who are smiling big, and give them a wave and a thank you.

Miranda returns her attention to our server. “Can I order a Crane pen and paper set, please? I need to make a list.”

“Absolutely. Anything else?” she asks.

I hold up my empty martini glass. “I think I’m going to need another one of these, please.”

“Me too!” Miranda holds up her foam-covered hand, pointing the obnoxious finger at our server.

The server nods and steps away to help someone else.

“Who are you?” I ask, amused.

“What?” She shrugs. “I just really like this sport.”

“It hasn’t even started.” I cover my face, hiding another laugh.

Miranda grabs my arms. “Oh my gosh, Anna. What is happening?”

I follow her gaze to the ice below where the guys are… on their hands and knees, and… thrusting?

“Why are they humping the ice?” Miranda shrieks before hurrying to cover her mouth.

I’m laughing so hard now that tears form in the corners of my eyes. “You better hope no one was filming that little outburst. That’s not a good look to have out there.”

“Okay, but seriously…what is happening?” She looks from me to the players.

Mrs. Appleton leans forward and turns our way. “They’re stretching. And yes…it’s my favorite part, too.” She wags her eyebrows, causing Miranda and me to fall deeper into hysteria.

Once the game starts, the night flies by in a blur. We eat and drink, and Miranda orders an obscene amount of swag. The game is exciting, and though I barely know what’s going on, I’m jumping out of my seat and cheering as if my life depends on it. I’ve never understood sports until now. I totally get it. Jaden somehow got hotter as the night went on. He’s covered from head to toe, from his helmet to his bulky pads to his skates, and still—beyond sexy. It’s a rush from start to finish. I have next to no skin in the game, yet I wanted the Cranes to win so badly. And when they did—the euphoria in the arena was palpable. By the end of the night, the Appletons feel like family, and I feel like I’ve been a hockey superfan all my life.

Best yet, for almost three hours, I was a hundred percent present in my life. I didn’t think about my lines for tomorrow or worry about my dad, Simon, or the fans catching a video of me from an unflattering angle. I was in the moment with my best friend and an arena full of people, and it was brilliant.

Who knew I was such a sports girl?

Certainly not me.