Page 69 of Penalty Shot

It’s like he read a swoon mandate and is determined to follow instructions to the letter. Susan sighs beside me, which is when I notice that the cast and crew have stopped what they’re doing just to watch the Randall Show.

He’s a distraction even when he doesn’t mean to be.

I clear my throat to get everyone’s attention back where it belongs.

Randall walks away from the stage and sits in the theater’s back row. I don’t see him from my perch on the stage, but I know he’s there.

I realize this is an important week for the play. I suspect no one wants me here.

Urgent care went smoothly enough. Elise is a grown woman who can handle an injury. She’s strong and independent.

In fact, she’s fierce up there, plowing through the pain with as much determination as any athlete I’ve ever worked with.

These observations fail to comfort me.

I’m still getting over the sight of Elise slumped on the sidewalk, holding her injured wrist.

The desire to carry her in my arms and out of the theater is so strong, my hands grip the velvet armrests. I’m ready to launch out of my seat at the hint of her discomfort.

Heaven help anyone who gets in my way if she even winces.

My gaze tracks her movement when she pulls out her phone. My cell pings within seconds.

I’m sending Amber over to you. She can walk you to my place where you’ll be more comfortable. I’m sorry we’re running late,Elise texts.

Me:Don’t worry about me. How can I be useful? Do you guys stop to eat? Why don’t I grab something for everyone.

By everyone, I mean me, because I’m starving.

Elise:We usually get pizza delivered around six or seven.

Me:Let me grab real food. What do you want? Cheeseburgers? Breakfast food? Your own plate of fries?

Elise:There’s a Lebanese place I thought you might like. I would have taken you there tonight if I could get away. I’m sorry it didn’t work out.

Me:We can still have Lebanese food. Leave it to me.

That’s how a cast and crew of over twenty people end up at the back lot of the theater where picnic tables are set for exactly this purpose. I’ve ordered thirty boxed dinners from the Lebanese place, half of them vegetarian.

When the group came outside and saw the delivery, you’d think it was Christmas morning.

“Tough game last night, man. We were all cheering for you,” Kaden says while biting into a chicken kebob.

“Thanks. Elise told me you’re a Tampa Bay fan.”

“Yeah, but she’s converted me into a Mavericks fan.”

“You mean the takeout dinner converted you,” Elise jokes, a fork in her left hand. She’s dropping most of the rice she’s trying to eat.

The group’s conversation moves on to something else, giving me the opportunity to air my grievance.

“If I thought you’d let me feed you, I’d have you over my lap right now,” I whisper in her ear.

Our eyes lock and my dick, half-mast any time she’s within view, stands to fully alert. She turns away abruptly, lifting her mostly empty fork to her lips.

“When you drove out here earlier, is this is what you had in mind?”

She lifts her chin to gesture at the people eating, laughing, and chatting, some of them standing while others lurk at the edges having a smoke.