Page 4 of The Interception (Southern Sports Sweethearts #2)

Chapter Three

Layne

Driving Andrew’s truck from Savannah to Charleston was not as unnerving as I had anticipated, probably because I didn’t have my big brother breathing down my neck and reminding me every five seconds that it’s his baby—after his wife and dogs, of course.

The convention center where the orientation is scheduled is packed to the rafters with lines halfway around the building.

I clutch my information packet to my chest, not daring to lose any of the paperwork necessary to secure my place, even the certificate of acceptance into the Charleston Cattery Conservation Society, whatever that is.

I have a bad feeling when I attend the first meeting, I’ll be leaving with a cat.

“We have three lines divided alphabetically,” someone says, shouting over the crowd.

A man stands on a step stool, shooing traffic this way and that.

I can’t help thinking there must be a better way to organize the flow of people.

He frantically points to the signage hanging above three doors, each emblazoned with bright red letters.

Scanning them, I note that I should file into the middle line.

I behave like a dutiful school student and get into the correct line, though it bends and weaves around display tables and security check-ins.

Admittedly, I don’t have a lot of confidence in my ability to make it past the first round of this competition, let alone into the finals, but I do hope this will be a good experience that will allow me to get my name out there.

At this point, I’d take a job waiting tables… again.

“Oh. My. Gosh. Is that Ender Langley?”

I startle when the woman behind me pokes my shoulder and leans in conspiratorially, her light blue gaze locked in on someone in front of us.

I follow her stare until mine lands on the face that was spackled on every article I read about the Bay Bridge Cook-Off.

He’s not as tall as I imagined, but I’m no shortie.

Add in my heels, and I’m just a little shorter than him.

His thick, dark brown hair is mussed, probably because he ruffles it constantly—at least every few seconds.

Maybe he’s nervous or stressed? I know I am, which is why I keep fidgeting with my hair as well.

I realize I’m assessing him a little too well when he turns and we make eye contact.

“Oh, it is him,” the woman whispers. “I hope I’m paired with him, but it’s probably a pipe dream.

In more ways than one, if you catch my drift.

” She smiles wide, flashing me a mouth full of artificially bright white teeth.

I’m too distracted by her comment—and Ender’s soft brown eyes still locked on mine—to process much more.

Ender’s eyes shift down to the floor for a blink, then fix on mine again. Oh gosh, I’m staring. He knows I’m staring. I blink and look away as if I was merely staring into oblivion and he got in the path. Then it hits me. Paired?

“What do you mean paired with him? For the competition?”

The woman narrows her eyes at me as if I’m a complete and utter moron. “Of course.” Now that she has deemed me too unintelligent to converse with, she turns away and chats up the woman behind her instead.

Partners? I don’t remember reading anything about getting paired in the packet of information Lottie gave me, and I’m not so sure how to feel about it.

On the one hand, it might be good to match with someone who has done this before, but on the other, there is a good chance we will clash and nothing will go right.

It has been my experience that I’m not everyone’s cup of tea, so to speak.

I’m excitable, a little messy in the kitchen, and when I’m in the zone, I tend to block people out.

The line moves forward, and I manage to calm my racing nerves.

Once my paperwork is reviewed, cross-referenced, and stamped, I head through the double doors.

Inside the amphitheater—which is really the Timberwolves stadium temporarily converted to a convention-style center—everyone scatters to find a seat before the official presentation begins.

I’ve lost sight of the judgy woman and score an aisle seat that allows me an unobstructed view of the stage.

“If everyone could please find a seat and settle in, we’ll begin in five minutes.

” The lighting dims, indicating people had better stop chatting and get moving.

I’ll be pleased when this part is over and I can head to the house I’m borrowing.

Thanks to Lottie’s friend, I won’t have to stay in a hotel for weeks…

or days if I get kicked out in the first round.

By the time everyone is seated, the room is hot and humid.

I’m not a fan of Charleston’s swampy temperature, but Savannah isn’t much better this time of year.

The weather can’t decide if fall has officially arrived, or if a third summer is appropriate.

It wouldn’t matter either way. Afternoons would soar to over ninety with swamp humidity regardless.

Georgia pays no mind to the calendar. Apparently, neither does southeastern South Carolina.

My mind is brought back to reality when the speaker steps up to the microphone again.

The room hushes, and I glance beside me to see who has taken up a significant amount of space, including the entire armrest. Ender Langley’s eyes settle on mine for a blink before he turns his focus to the stage.

Up close, he’s nothing short of model perfection.

Which is fine. Totally fine, because I’m here to win a contest, not drool over a professional football player who also happens to be a six-time champion for this competition.

“Welcome everyone to the Thirtieth Annual Bay Bridge Cook-Off! I’m excited that this year’s turnout has nearly doubled, which means a lot more fun for our town and our viewers.”

Viewers? What is he talking about?

“As you all read in your orientation packet, this year’s competition will be televised live from the Dawson Stadium, home of the Charleston Timberwolves!

Thanks to record turnout, we will also be changing up the usual format and pairing our cooks for the competition.

Once we get down to the finals, each team will race to see who is Charleston’s best duo. ”

A round of applause echoes through the theater, nearly deafening.

Live television. What on earth has my sister-in-law gotten me into?

Wasn’t it enough to be humiliated by Chef Aiello just yesterday?

Now I get to crash and burn on live television?

I’m about to dart from the room, leap in the truck, and head home when an idea emerges.

What if, by some twist of fate, I’m paired with the champ sitting beside me?

I glance over at him again and find he’s still focused on the stage. There’s a small chance I can grab him before someone else does, but I’ll still need to be quick. After all, he’s got another person to his right, people in front of us, and those seated behind.

“Now I know some of you veterans aren’t thrilled about sharing your space with so many amateur competitors, but I am certain you can find it in your hearts to take them under your wing.

You never know, you might learn something.

With that in mind, we’ve decided to give you all twenty-four hours to work out who you’d like to pair with.

Anyone who doesn’t have a partner by this time tomorrow will be paired by our administrators. Does anyone have any questions?”

A flurry of hands reach into the sky and the speaker addresses each one thoroughly. I notice a few people begin chatting amongst themselves, perhaps making arrangements to work together, so I don’t feel too awkward turning to my right and putting on my big girl undies to talk to Ender.

His warm brown eyes cover the room and he chews the inside of his mouth. It’s now or never. I gotta snag him up before someone else gets brave. I clear my throat and tap his arm. Ender’s head snaps toward me as if I just brought him back to reality, possibly from an absolute nightmare.

“Hi, I’m Layne Rossi. This is my first time here, and I was wondering if you might consider pairing with me? I’m a trained chef, and I’m really excited to—”

“Uh, no thanks,” Ender says and stands. He motions for me to move my legs so he can escape.

“What?” I ask, my entire body utterly depleted. I have no idea why I thought he might agree to work with me, but now that he’s shot me down before I can even finish my pitch, I’m annoyed. That’s twice in two days I’ve been insulted, and I’ve had just about enough of it.

Ender looks down at me after he wiggles past. “No offense or anything. I’m sure you’re great, but I can’t risk it. I need to win this. I’d rather pair with someone who’s done this before.”

“Right, I get it. But as I was saying, I’m a trained—”

He sighs. “I need to work with someone who can help me win, one of the other veterans, okay? Thanks for the offer, but I can’t deal with a newbie.” He gives me little more than a nod of dismissal and makes a beeline for the other side of the room.

Well, I’ve learned a lot about this competition today, including that Ender Langley might be a six-time competition winner, but he’s a giant loser to me.

And I have every intention of telling him so, right to his face.

Mr. Langley can say no all he wants, but he doesn’t have to be so rude about it.

I storm across the theater, not considering that my anger might be slightly fueled by yesterday’s humiliation.

Fortunately for him, he’s surrounded by people who are probably starstruck by his handsome face and his ability to…

I don’t know…catch a weird-shaped ball. Admittedly, I know very little about football.

Baseball has always been my jam, especially since my brother has played his whole life.

And hockey. A girl would have to be crazy not to adore that sport.

Football, on the other hand, might be my father’s favorite, but it’s sliding to the bottom for me.

Despite my anger and slight aggression, I can’t get anywhere close to the man, let alone within range to tell him to take a flying leap off the nearest cliff, so I take a deep breath and choose not to be violent.

Instead, I’ll head to the house I’m borrowing, make myself something decent to eat, and let the organizers set me up with a partner.

Every time I have hope that things are about to look up for me, it all crashes and burns.

I’m beginning to doubt my career choice when I remember how much I prayed about this. I worked hard through culinary school, sacrificed so much, and prayed until my head nearly exploded. There is no way this isn’t my calling, but I have absolutely no idea what I’m supposed to do from here.

After dodging and weaving too many people to count, I finally make my way to the parking lot.

I’m probably missing valuable information by not mingling and elbow-rubbing, but I’m exhausted.

I’m going to go to the house, pray that I haven’t gotten myself in too deep, and wait to see what the administrators have planned for me.

Traffic is a monster, but when I finally pull into the short drive leading to the house, I take a breath.

It has a pool in the back, a sweet little porch swing, and a rose garden in the front.

All things considered, this might turn out to be a decent escape from reality for a while.

At the very least, I’ll have a couple of days to regroup and reconsider my approach to procuring a job.

By the time I drag my suitcase inside and unpack, it’s dusk, and the only person who can brighten my mood is Lottie. I dial her number and fidget with the zipper on my bag.

“Hey, how was the orientation?” Lottie asks, her bright and sunny disposition immediately uplifting despite the sinking sensation in my stomach.

“It went.”

“Uh oh, what happened?”

I take a deep breath. “Well, because there were so many new applicants this year, they decided to pair people up. We were allowed to choose our own partners, and I made the dastardly mistake of asking Ender Langley to work with me. He basically insulted me to my face and walked away.”

“Wow, I’m sorry. Want me to come down there and knock some sense into him?”

This has me chuckling. If anything, my petite sister-in-law will only buzz in his ear like an annoying gnat. My brother, on the other hand, will not be so kind.

“Nah, it’s fine. I’m sure the organizers will set me up with a decent partner and everything will be okay. Still, there are a lot of people here. My odds of winning are almost as bad as my odds of getting a decent job anytime soon.”

“Don’t count yourself out just yet. You never know. A lot of those people will probably quit or lose the first round. You’ve got this, sis.”

A genuine smile tugs at my lips and I relax further. Our conversation naturally drifts toward other things until an hour passes. “I should get some rest. I’m sure the next few days will be brutal.”

“All right, but remember to let that sparkling personality of yours shine. It’ll be better than you anticipate, I promise.” Lottie’s insistence that it will work out rubs off on me.

“Right. I’ll do my best. Love you, and send my love to the less awesome Rossi.”

Lottie chuckles. “Will do. Love you too.”

I hang up, ready to begin tomorrow with a clean slate.