AN: Howdy. Hopefully, this chapter clears up the cliffy. As for the timeline of this story, lord, I just can't seem to get off this first week. I guess there's a lot of things happening with Bella and Edward. I'm hoping once we get past the first game and get back to Seattle, the timeline can progress, and we can get back to Alice, Em, Rose, and all that.

To Brina and May! Thanks for being willing to drop what you're doing to read my nonsense. Much love, for real.

Chapter Fourteen

-And the Crowd Goes Wild-

Hold up; wait for a gosh-dang second. Is Garrett throwing Edward's ex-fiancée in my face? And that's the proof he's going with on why I am unlikeable. I'm not sure what to say at first. Unmistakably, the guy sees it as a checkmate. I'm surprised at why I don't freak out or allow my fears to get the better of me—considering how my moods have been lately. The tabloids ran an entire story about how I wasn't good enough for Edward and then lauded Gigi as the goddess who escaped, which drove me into a tailspin.

But all this does is amuse me, and I stifle a chuckle. I smirk while covering my mouth and pause before saying, "I'm sorry," suddenly turning serious. "That's all you know about me, then? That I broke up Edward and Gigi."

Garrett defends himself by stating, "Yeah, he was really into her. He even proposed, but then you came back into his life, and that was it. He lost interest, and she bailed."

I begin to say, "Um," but I am speechless. What does he expect from me? My sympathies? Guilt? Call me selfish, but I don't care about Gigi or Edward's feelings for her. I already have a lot going on; I don't need any more unnecessary drama. So, I ask, "Why do you care so much? Is Gigi like one of your friends? Perhaps family?"

Garrett chuckles as if that were ridiculous. He reclines in his seat. "No, not even. I didn't like Gigi."

I blink rapidly. Are we speaking the same language? Am I missing a key piece somewhere? Again, I ask, "Then why do you care?"

"Because Edward's my friend and a good guy," Garrett says, glancing around the room before turning back to me and lowering his voice. "And he doesn't deserve to have some girl showing up and toying with his emotions."

"Excuse me?" I gasp at the accusation. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh, no," he says, clicking his tongue and nodding. "So, you're not the girl he hooked up with in September and then ghosted his ass?"

My chest tightens, and the shame he demanded of me appears tenfold. "He...he told you about that?"

"Believe me, he didn't have to," Garrett says, but then goes into a story about that night two months ago and describes how Edward had abruptly canceled their plans to go out partying.

Edward tapped him on the shoulder in the locker room after the game and said, "Yo, man. I can't do that thing with you tonight. There's this girl."

Garrett was caught off guard by that. His buddy wasn't the type to flake at the last minute—not even when he was with Gigi. "Really, dawg?"

"I've been crushing on her for a while now, and she wants to meet up with me."

"Is it the actress from last year?"

"No, man. She ain't from the industry."

"You going normie?" Garrett asked and he wasn't against it, but the interactions between the famous and non-famous raised eyebrows. In his experience, most of the ladies creeping up on the sidelines who were fans wanted more than a one-night stand or romantic connection. They craved cash and recognition, and Garrett suffered greatly due to the drama. "Dude, just be careful."

"Bella's not like that," Edward reassured Garrett, and that was the first time he heard my name. "We've got history."

The next day, Garrett texted to see how his boy was doing, and from the response he got, it seemed positive. However, as the days went on, with no word from me, Garrett said he witnessed Edward rapidly deteriorate before his eyes. "Even after the Gigi breakup," Garrett tells me, "Edward bounced back—actually, he seemed better, less weighed down. You, on the other hand, fucked him up."

I remember the texts he sent me. The anguish and desperation were expressed in those messages as he pleaded, "Just talk to me, Bruiser."

According to Garrett, it affected Edward in all aspects of his life. "The guy threw like a robot—no emotion, just all mechanics," he says.

Edward still did well enough to win games, and Coach Biers didn't notice or seem concerned, but there was a difference in how he played: zero passion, no fun. Things improved slightly in late October, but that happy-go-lucky guy everyone knew as EC was dulled and muted.

Garrett continues, "Then you popped up last week, and that asshole is out of his mind happy, talking about being a dad and everything."

"And that's bad?"

"No, I think it works out perfectly for you."

"So, that's it. You think I'm some normie only out for his money and fame," I say calmly. He folds his arms over his chest and nods. The strength inside me not to feed into the hostility is unprecedented. "Were you listening at dinner at all last night?"

"Yeah, the cutesy wedding story you all told? Irina and them were convinced." He shrugs. "I wasn't impressed."

I wanted to yell, scream, and stomp my feet. Goodness, I even felt like crying, but somewhere deep, I heard Edward's voice say, "We have so much history, Bruiser. Why are you letting these people who don't know us fuck with your head?"

"Okay, I'm tapping out," I say, slapping my hands on the chair arms and pushing myself up. "You have a good night and good luck tomorrow."

And as I turn to leave, he grabs my arm. "Bella, wait."

"Garrett," I say with a sigh, and he lets go of me. "I don't know what you want from me."

"Sit down." His blue eyes are suddenly sincere and pleading. "Please?"

"All right," I say and retake my seat, but I'm more closed off than before.

"Look, I'm pre-judging you on all my previous bullshit, and that's not your fault, but I'm protective of EC. He's the best guy I know," Garrett says.

"I agree with you."

"And I've seen women come in and out of his life, but you scare me the most."

I chuckle uncomfortably. "How? I'm barely tall enough to reach the top cupboards."

Garrett rolls his eyes, but a smile breaks out. "No, not size-wise, but what you mean to Edward." I stare dumbfounded, and he continues, putting his hands together and focusing on his words. "I don't know how it is for women, but for guys, we only fall hard once. That's it. I mean, yeah, sure, whatever, we can care for or even love a woman, but there's just one girl we fucking give our whole heart and soul to. If that one girl breaks our hearts, we're done. It's fucking over."

"You speak from experience?" I ask.

"Yeah," he says, eyes averted from mine as he suddenly focuses on a piece of lint on his jeans. "My high school girlfriend. I bled my heart to that girl, and she fucking crushed me. I don't want the same thing to happen to my boy."

"Garrett," I say, and he looks at me, "I'm in love with Edward." Of course, just saying those words causes me to bite the inside of my cheek to control my feelings. "He's been my one since I was seven. He's been the only guy I've ever wanted. I know that my months of ghosting him caused him pain, but I didn't do that because I was playing games with his emotions or trying to mess with his head." I must swallow a big lump before continuing more gently and softly, "I was frightened that he didn't feel the same way."

"Well, take it from me. That couldn't be further from the truth," Garrett says, and his tone and eyes soften considerably.

"Is that an actual compliment?" I tease. "From you?"

He nods and ducks bashfully. "I give them sparingly."

"What happened in September was a mistake. I regret it so much—you have no idea. What I can tell you with absolute certainty is that I'm not going to hurt him."

Garrett intently examines my face, and he believes whatever he sees. "I'm sorry for being an asshole." He extends his hand my way. "Forgive me?"

Taking his peace offering, I put my hand in his and say, "Of course I do."

He adds, "I'm glad," putting his palm over mine and giving me a warm smile, which I return.

My phone rings, and my eyes widen with hope, raising an obvious but silent question.

"It's him," Garrett says like it's obvious.

When I take it out of my pocket, I see Edward's FaceTime and eagerly answer it. "Hey!" My grin spans from ear to ear. "It's about time you called."

His face fills the entire screen, but it moves around as if he were speed walking. "It's the first chance I got," he claims. "Are you in the room?"

I softly utter, "Nooo." When I look up, Edward enters the lobby. Rising from my chair, I run in his direction as my heart races. "Babe!"

As Edward looks my way, I leap into his arms. He barely has time to pocket his phone and catch me. I am kissing him while encircling him with all of my limbs. He responds with an appreciative grunt, and I can tell he aches for me as much as I ache for him. We keep our mouths firmly in contact until I am forced to breathe.

"God damn, honey," Edward murmurs. "You taste good."

Climbing higher in his arms, I hug him tightly and give him little, gentle kisses. "You taste good, too. I've missed you so much."

Edward replies, forcing our mouths together, "You have no idea." We continue to forget that we are still standing in the center of the foyer. People walk by, some staring, some taking pictures, and some recording us on their phones. My man senses the intrusion and regretfully moans as he gently lowers me to my feet. His hands go to my face and hold me tenderly. "Have you eaten, honey?"

"Not yet," I answer, raising my tiptoes to kiss his lips again, but he straightens to his full height of 6'4" and completely removes himself from my range.

Edward takes my hand and says, "Let's go to the penthouse and order some room service." We walk towards the elevators but only take a step or two when he sees Garrett lingering uncomfortably beside the lobby sofas. Edward nicely nods at him and asks, "Hey, man, what are you doing down here?"

"I'm waiting for someone," Garrett says.

"Then I came down here looking for you," I say.

"Ah." Immediately, Edward recalls briefly seeing me next to his friend before I came running at him, and his initial reaction isn't jealousy. "You keeping my girl company?"

Garrett smiles. "You know I have your back."

Edward raises a fist, "On and off the field," Garrett retorts by bumping it. "Have a good night."

Edward had to be in his room in thirty minutes, and the clock was ticking. Fortunately, it's a room below mine. We had just enough time to place a room service order, share a quick kiss, eat dinner, and catch up on each other's days.

The dish we ordered is simple and plain, taste-wise. Even though I had a good day and hadn't vomited once, I didn't get overconfident and lose control by bingeing on hot wings or Mexican food—all the things I adored. Our little nugget didn't like anything spicy and revolted at the mere smell of it. So, for me, it's potato salad and a California Club. Edward ordered the largest burger available, with extra beef patties plus a side of onion rings. The poor guy was starving. He didn't eat much during the team dinner. His stomach was anxious about the impending conversation with Coach Biers, and had been in knots the entire time.

After we ended our FaceTime call in the bathroom, Edward sought out the coach but ended up getting brushed off. Coach Biers said, "We'll talk later, EC," before directing him and all his teammates to the stadium gym.

In the gym, they did cardio and weightlifting for two hours. A practice on the field was next, followed by a brief lunch around midday. The squad assembled at one and examined tapes of the opponents' previous games to pinpoint their weaknesses and formulate a strategy. After another meeting at four, everyone left for dinner at this posh restaurant around six. And during that entire period, Coach Biers didn't say a thing to Edward.

It wasn't until the coach drove Edward back to his hotel after everyone had been let out for the evening that they finally had their one-on-one meeting.

That's why he didn't call me until he approached the lobby doors.

"What did you guys talk about?" I ask.

We're sitting on the bed with our legs crisscrossed, the food half-eaten and displayed before us like a picnic, and our knees touch as we face each other. It's eight forty-five, and I have been dreading each second as it passes. I want to fall asleep in his arms and wake up in them, too.

Edward pushes the hair away and kisses the exposed part of my shoulder. He breathes out deeply, but his lips stay pressed against my skin. "He issued me my first and final warning. If I mess up again, he'll bench me for three games."

Running my fingers through his hair and dragging my nails along his scalp, I say, "That seems excessive."

"You think?"

"Yeah," I cock my head as his mouth reaches my ear and add, "don't you?"

He says, "Not really." I get the chills and goosebumps from his heated breath. "I know the rules, and I broke them."

"Did you talk about anything else?"

"No," he says, then pulls back abruptly and puts my shirt strap back in place. "What were you and Garrett talking about?"

Oh, I think, staring into his pale greens as they slowly deepen with jealousy. "You," I say.

"Yeah?" He says, now sliding his hands up my thighs. "About what?"

"Well, I was looking for you, but he said you were probably in your room already waiting on the coach's call and being a good little boy," I say teasingly.

"I'm not that good if I'm breaking curfew and doing naughty stuff with my girl in the bathroom," he says with a wink.

Throwing my arms around his neck, I say, "Then I asked him why he didn't like me."

Edward frowns slightly. "Honey, I told you he liked you."

And I realized that Garrett probably said, "Oh, Bella? That one-night stand you knocked up. Yeah, she aight."

How many teammates lied to his face about liking his new girlfriend? I'm sure they saw how much Edward is into me and didn't want to pop his happy balloon by talking smack.

These ideas, I believe, are what led me to say, "He said I broke up you and Gigi."

Edward leans back and narrows his eyes. "He did what?"

"He says you were really into Gigi, and that's why you proposed, but then I came into your life, which made you lose interest in her, and then she broke it off with you."

Edward murmurs, "Unbelievable," and puts a finger to his forehead as if he is about to have a headache. "That asshole doesn't listen for shit."

"That's why he said he didn't like me," I say.

His incredulous eyes snap to mine. "He told you he didn't like you?"

That hurt, and betrayal bleeds out of him, and I regret not keeping my mouth shut. What am I doing? Garrett is Edward's close friend and tight end. They must be able to trust one another "on and off the field," and me stirring the pot with stuff that didn't matter made me look so catty and immature. It disgusts me, and I have to fix it.

He starts to unravel as I answer, "Yes." My hands move to his face and draw his attention back to me. I hastily added, "We talked it out, and it was a misunderstanding. Garrett immediately apologized and asked for my forgiveness."

Edward searches my eyes. "What was the misunderstanding? I told him you were why Gigi and I didn't work out. He acted like breaking up with her was a good thing, but then he uses that shit to make you feel like..." He shakes his head in disappointment. "Bella, he knows how much you mean to me, and he knows if I fucking lose you."

"And that's the misunderstanding, babe!" I interject, and his brows curve downward, still unsure. "Garrett didn't realize how deep we are in this together and how madly in love I am with you. But he knows that now. He is a really good guy and was only looking out for you."

Edward tries to suppress a smile, but the corners of his mouth quiver just a little. "Like Alice did with me?"

My breath comes out in relief. "Yes, exactly. She knows how devastated I'll be if this ends."

"So does Garrett."

"They're just doing their due diligence as our best friends," I say, kissing his pouty lips. "Don't be mad at him."

The tension in his muscles is released, and he kisses me back. "I'm not mad."

"You promise?"

He nods and smiles a sincere smile. "I promise."

I smirk and add, bracing myself for the imminent assault, "Good, because Tampa is a tough team to beat, and you're going to need Garrett to carry your butt through it."

"Oh, really?" Edward glares playfully.

I answer, "Mmmhmm," but a chuckle or two erupts. "You're a hack without him."

He says, "That's it," then hurls himself at me while tickling me with his hands on my waist.

"No, no, no!" I wriggle under him on the bed to escape, but he is all around me. "Babe, I give! I give!"

"You've given up, huh?" He doesn't stop, only moving to my chin and inner thighs, the most delicate and ticklish parts of my body. "Too bad, Bruiser. I got you. You're mine."

I'm laughing so hard that I'm having trouble breathing. My hands fight to escape while being turned on as they grip his solid biceps. He only eases up to kiss me. Our mouths are tightly sealed, and I try to pull Edward's body down by wrapping my arms around his neck, but he doesn't budge.

The alarm on his phone goes off: Beep, Beep, Beep.

"Fuck!" Edward presses his forehead against mine. "I don't want to leave."

I don't want him to leave either, but I can't allow him to mess up again, so I gently press him on his chest and say, "You have to go, babe."

He sits up, brushes some food off his forearms, and removes pieces of it from my hair. "Let me clean up first."

"Edward—Babe!" But it's too late. He's already got a trashcan and is tossing everything into it. "I can do that. You have to leave."

"Honey, I got this, okay?" Before I even get out of bed, Edward has the room mostly tidy. He drops the garbage can when I approach him and snatches me in his arms. He gives me a bear hug and kisses my neck. "Bruiser, you are my love."

"You are my love," I say, biting my lip and burying my face into his chest.

We continue to hold each other while swaying softly to music only playing in our heads. Edward's final alarm is what forces us to separate.

"I gotta go," he says, stepping away and grabbing his hat off the side table. "Irina will be here to pick you up around eleven, okay?"

I reply, "Okay," and give him a mock salute.

"You're a beautiful smartass, you know that?" Edward says, but he's too focused on me, and the side of the doorframe gets struck by his broad shoulder as he moves backward. "Ouch. That hurt," he says, but carries on, shifting his body, till he can clear the door. He pauses momentarily and gives me one more glance. "Goodnight, honey."

"Night," I say, and as he leaves, I shout, "Good luck tomorrow!"

Oh, today is not off to a good start.

The little nugget woke me up around three, and I spent two hours hunched over the toilet. When I finally felt well enough to crawl back into bed, I couldn't sleep. So, by the time my alarm went off around nine, I was exhausted and hungry but still too terrified to eat. The thought of food made my stomach uneasy, and I could only sip water. Thank goodness, I had those Sparkling Mama Fizz Elixirs that Alice bought me, and I used two packets before heading down to the lobby and meeting up with Irina.

At eleven o'clock sharp, she arrived in her rented Maserati, just as Edward had predicted.

She gets out of the car, and I am blown away. This woman is so beautiful and stylish. She is dressed to the nines in dark denim, six-inch Louboutin heels, and a bejeweled Seahawks jersey bearing her husband's name and number: White (33). Her hair is curly and perfect, and her eyeshadow matches the team colors.

Thankfully, she prepared me for the expectations of a WAG on game day. The wife or girlfriend must come through for their man and represent.

Irina said, "All eyes will be on us, Bella. We must have full makeup and hair, be dressed to kill, and scream our lungs out in support."

Taking that advice to heart, I took the time to do my hair and makeup. I put on my best-fitted jeans and matched them with a white chain-detail sequin cami top, topping it off by slipping on a pair of nude four-inch covered stiletto booties. Although it's a beautiful seventy degrees in Florida, I brought my fancy leather jacket just in case. It's the priciest item I own, save my Hermes watch.

As I leave the hotel through the sliding doors, Irina whistles and says, "Well, damn, woman, look at you."

I curtsy and chuckle. "Not too bad, huh?" My hand motions toward her. "But you are killing it over here, man."

"You like?" Irina gives me a quick spin.

"That jersey is awesome. Where did you get it?" I ask.

"I made it," she says.

My mouth hangs open in shock. "You made this? That's crazy. It's so good."

"You really like it?"

I approach her and remark, "What's not to like?" as I run my fingertips over the Swarovski crystals. "You made this, seriously?"

Irina smirks. "Sure did." And she levels her gaze on me, and I want to ask her to make me one so badly, but we barely know each other. "Would you like me to make you one?" she asks.

"Are you kidding me? I would love one."

"Great!" Irina says, spinning on her heel and going over to her car. She opens up the back door and pulls out another jersey. "Because I made you one yesterday."

"Shut up! You did? You're so amazing!" I say, struggling to hold back my excitement.

"Here you go, darling." Irina hands me a Seahawks jersey that is equally as glittery as hers, but this one is for me specifically and has the best name and number: Cullen (12).

I hold it close to my chest and wipe the tears from my eyes. "Thank you."

Irina smiles warmly as she pulls me into a side hug. "You're part of the team now."

There's some traffic getting to the game, but it gives Irina and me time to talk. She describes her enjoyment of the away games to me. Not all the time, but on rare occasions, she's able to leave her kids at home with her parents and do a solo trip. It gives her a chance to rejuvenate and enjoy the afterparty with Laurent.

When they're in Seattle, they go home and order takeout. Irina said it's wonderful to experience both the glamorous and the everyday aspects of life.

I had no idea what to anticipate next. Everything this past week has come in like an aggressive hurricane, whipping and whirling me every which way, and I struggled to breathe. Although Edward was a hotshot and well-known NFL player, I couldn't picture him in that role. I was constantly reminded of the boy I fell in love with in Forks whenever he looked at me or kissed me.

In time, I'll be able to reconcile the two, but not today.

As Irina and I settle into our seats close to the sidelines, I am struck again by the enormity of this life.

The sun is shining on the field, and the retractable skylight is open. Close up, the area is enormous. It gives you the distorted impression that everything is miniature when you see it on TV or even from that box seat.

That isn't the case.

Irina and I regrettably got to the stadium barely 30 minutes before kickoff and missed our men warming up on the field. All the pre-game ritual starts with the cheerleaders dancing and some announcements.

However, as more people enter and take seats, the intensity increases, and the energetic music playing energizes everybody.

Irina sees my constant smile. "Are you enjoying yourself?"

"This is amazing," I say to her.

"Wait," she says, patting my calf. "It gets better."

And that wasn't a lie, either.

Not even a moment later, the Tampa Bay Buccaneers' fight song plays when game highlights are shown on the screen. It's a sea of red as the spectators rise from their seats. As the music reaches its apex and the roars become audible, they yell and cheer while waving towels and foam fingers. I had to cover my ears to prevent my eardrums from being ruptured. To put it simply, everything explodes. Smoke fills the stadium as fireworks are set off with bangs and booms.

The announcer's voice blares from the speakers: "Welcoming back our beloved team, let me hear you scream for our Tampa Bay's Buccaneers!"

All the fans stand, clapping and stomping their feet, which reverberates across the bleachers and shakes the seats. The team comes out of the tunnel and onto the field. Their names are listed off as the players wave to the crowd, but I don't care about them or pay attention. My focus stays glued to that tunnel, knowing that Edward is expected to appear at any moment.

As the Buccaneers line up across from Irina and I are seated, the announcer shows less pizzazz or enthusiasm as he introduces the Seattle Seahawks to the field. There's no surprise to hear 'boo' in the crowd, but Irina and I jump from our seats and scream, "Let's gooooo!"

Our boys wore white jerseys, navy blue pants, and neon green gloves. It's not hard to find Edward. He leads the team out of the tunnel. Following close behind him are Garrett, Laurent, Tyler, and Seth. I grip Irina's hand as the team lines up close to where we are seated. My heart is beating so hard with love and excitement. I watch Edward closely. He's trying not to be obvious, but he scans the stands for me. Our eyes meet briefly, and I want to yell out his name, wave, blow kisses, or do something.

Most of all, I want to turn around to show him I'm wearing his jersey, but Irina tells me to play it cool. Luckily, the '12' on my shoulder is visible to him and gives it away. Edward tilts his head down and shows me his smile. I smile back, but he has to break eye contact. Coach Biers is already annoyed and has to redirect his attention towards the field as the national anthem is played.

I watch his back the entire time. Sure, I had my hand over my heart and sang along, but my eyes narrowed on his toned arms, broad shoulders, thick legs, and firm behind. Goodness, he makes that outfit look good.

Irina catches on to my ogling and swats at my arm. "Girl, you need to focus."

"I am focusing!"

"On the game, not on his tight end!"

"Oh, right," I say, blushing and bashfully tucking my hair behind my ears. "My bad."

After the anthem ends, and some announcements about our veterans are made, Edward is called to the fifty-yard line, taking Garrett and Laurent with him. They meet the other team and briefly shake hands. The referee comes and stands in the middle.

"They're doing the coin toss," Irina explains. "Edward's the captain, and since the Seahawks are the visiting team, he gets to choose heads or tails."

"If we win the coin toss?" I ask.

"We'll get to choose from three options: we can kick, receive, or defer."

"Um, what is defer?"

"It's when the winning team defers their choice to the second half."

The referee has a mic, and his voice comes overhead as he introduces the two team captains. When he says, "Edward Cullen, the quarterback of the Seattle Seahawks," there are more cheers than boos, which surprises me.

"Even the people who are supposed to hate him, love him," Irina says.

"Heads or tails?" the referee asks.

Edward leans into the mic and says, "Heads."

The referee tosses the coin into the air, and it lands on the ground. All the players bend forward to read the coin.

"Heads!" The referee points to Edward. "Your choice."

"He's going to receive, right?" I say to Irina.

She scoffs and shakes her head. "Have you met EC?" I raise a brow at her questioningly. She answers, "He saves his aces."

Edward's voice comes over the speakers. "Defer."

The referee nods and points at the other captain, and that captain says, "We'll receive."

"Now our guys decide what side they'll defend," Irina says.

Listen, I don't know anything about football. Irina tries to explain it to me as the kicker lines up the ball and sends it over to the Buccaneers. Some player catches it and then hauls their butt towards the Seahawks. I'm looking for Edward, but he's not upfront with Laurent or anywhere on the field. No, my handsome, tall, sexy boyfriend is on the sidelines.

It's a relief that he's not in danger or getting tackled, but it's still nerve-wracking. Currently, though, the offensive line is trying to stop the runner from progressing further up the field. It's like watching a foreign film without the subtitles. I'm completely lost. All I know is that the Seahawks need to gain possession of the ball, score several touchdowns, and win the game.

Irina laughs at me and bumps me with her shoulder. "You look like you're trying to solve a complicated math problem."

"Never in all my twenty-two years have I been a huge football fan," I say.

"You never went to EC's games?" she asks, surprised.

"Oh, I have been to tons, but lusting over the quarterback and actually understanding the game are two different things."

"Fair enough," Irina says, but then her eyes focus on something behind me, and her whole upbeat and happy demeanor changes. "Great, just what we need."

I turn around and see a woman who looks like she's been ripped right out of that famous housewife show coming down the stairs toward us. She's tall and super skinny, with a really, really dark tan, platinum blonde hair, and practically wearing head-to-toe Gucci.

"Who's that?" I whisper.

"An ex-WAG. In fact, she was a main WAG for the Detroit Lions and was married to their quarterback a few years ago. Now, she's trying to sink her teeth into Garrett," Irina spits distastefully.

"What, Garrett? Really?"

"Right? I think he's feeling the pressure of wife'ing up. He's a really sweet guy when he wants to be, but that poor child has terrible taste in women. She set her sights on EC last year, but he shut her down. It was funny to watch, too. Your man is the sweetest guy I know, but he smells bullshit from a mile away, and he can be a stone-cold bastard."

"She tried to get with Edward?" I ask, and now I'm scrutinizing her. "How old is she?"

Irina scoffs. "A tired and used up twenty-five." She forces a smile and stands up to greet the woman. "Vikki! I didn't know you would be here."

Vikki practically steps on me to get to Irina, and they hug. "It was a last-minute thing. Garrett called and said he needed me here."

"It's good to see you," Irina says, touching my shoulder. "Vikki, I would like to introduce you to our newest WAG. This is Bella."

"Hi," I say, standing to shake her hand, but Vikki eases away and quickly scans me. "Um, it's nice to meet you."

"Hmm, yes. You too, Bella," she says sharply. "I didn't know a new girl was added to the roster. Which second-string player is yours?"

I shake my head, not entirely understanding her meaning. "What? I don't know. Um..." My eyes turn towards the field, and I find Edward still standing on the sidelines, but now he's in a huddle with his teammates. The game is paused. Some flag issues, I don't know, but he's not engaged with them. No, he's staring up and watching me. The warmth of his love spreads through my chest, and something happens to me. I face Vikki again and say confidently and proudly, "I'm with Edward."

The moment that name leaves my mouth, she inspects me. Noting the number on my jersey and seeing Irina's smug smile, it all clicks for her.

Vikki laughs. "You? Not possible." She peers over my head and addresses Irina. "EC told me he was working things out with Gigi."

"That was last season, Vik," Irina says, suppressing her eye roll.

"Oh, right. Yeah, yeah. Now, I remember. Garrett had said something about EC, and um..." Her violet irises turn back to me, but they're not kind, effectively stealing the beauty right out of the coloring. "I'm sorry, sweetie, what did you say your name was again?"

"It's Bella," I say, matching her condescending tone, "but you can refer to me as the main WAG."

AN: Oh, snap!