I turned toward the aisle and smiled brightly. “Frank! Glad you could make it.”
Sports agent Frank Rosenthal moved into the empty seat beside me, looking so different when he wasn’t in his power suit. He was still dressed nicely in a crisp shirt and slacks, but he’d rolled his sleeves back and left the top two buttons undone.
“Where’s your tie?” I joked. “You aren’t working today?”
Frank laughed lightly. “I’m here for Jay.”
“Right. So, while you’re being ‘here for Jay’ at the postgame, you won’t accidentally sign a few new clients?”
I loved teasing him. Frank wasn’t just a nice guy, he was a great agent, and it seemed like whenever he came to one of his client’s games, he always left with two new ones. But Jay got plenty of personal attention. His agent had even shelled out twenty grand of his own money to get Jay into an excellent combine training camp.
The investment paid off. Jay got drafted in the first round.
He’d spent two seasons playing in Seattle before he was traded here to Chicago, and then my husband started to get hot. He’d made the transition from college to pro easily, and he was growing under Chicago’s new offensive coordinator.
“If Crawford wants to strike up a conversation,” Frank said, pretending to act casual, “I’d oblige him.”
Like Jay, Tariq had also been drafted in the first round to another team, and then traded here to Chicago, making them teammates. It was bizarre the first game I’d seen them in the same uniform.
“And I’m not wearing a tie,” Frank added, “because it’s hot as hell out here and someone didn’t want to sit in the suite with the other wives.”
I shrugged. “Sorry. I like being down here with the diehards.”
The guy in front of us had to be listening, and glanced back. A smile froze on his face. “You’re Kayla Harris.”
I smiled. “Sure am.”
“Holy shit, can we take a selfie together?”
“Well, yeah,” I said, grinning. I’d been working with Fox Sports for the last two seasons as a sideline reporter, but still wasn’t used to being recognized. It was always a treat when it happened, especially now since I was on a travel hiatus. “But, hang on. I’m about to die of heatstroke.” I gripped the hem of my number eighty-eight Bears jersey and struggled out of it. It was cooler once I was down to my white undershirt, and I passed Frank my jersey to hold. “You mind?”
Frank smiled and shook his head.
The Bears fan stared at the writing on my shirt, and confusion played across his face. “Uh, didn’t your husband play for Michigan?”
“He did.” My focus drifted to the field where Jay was going through his pregame warmup with his teammates. My husband seemed destined to always wear blue, but at least it was a good color on him.
The Bears fan’s skeptical gaze went from my stomach up to my eyes. “I can’t imagine he likes that shirt much.”
I snorted. “Oh, he’s used to it.”
It was getting harder every day to find shirts that fit, and when I’d put this one on this morning, Jay, who’d been lying in bed, took one look and roared with laughter.
“I’m going to take a wild guess,” he’d said. “That’s from your mother.”
“She sent it last week.”
He’d crawled across our bed and put his hands on either side of the writing stretched over my enormous belly. It read, ‘Future Ohio State Buckeye.’
“Hey, baby,” he whispered to our son. “Don’t listen to any of the crazy things your grandmother says. You can go to whatever school you want to.”
I placed my hands on top of Jay’s. “Except Michigan State.”
“Except Michigan State,” he agreed, his expression serious.
It was more proof of just how perfect we were together.
THE END
Thank You
Buckle up, y’all. Usually I try to write short ‘thank you’s’ but this book was raised by a village, and I have so many incredible people to recognize.
As always, a huge thank you to my husband. Since Kayla and Jay’s story started out as a screenplay, he’s had to listen to me hash out problems and help me brainstorm twice. He took it like a champ both times. His support is beyond amazing, and when they get older, I hope our children find a love as special and wonderful as ours is for each other.
To my story editor, Karen Dale Harris, thank you for your dedication and passion for the project. We’ve come so far from my first book and you’ve taught me so much. You’ve helped shape my career and I’m beyond grateful. I love that we’ve been able to grow together as a team.
To my line editor, Lori Whitwam. Thanks for your fabulous edits and great notes. It’s always the highlight of my day when I get an email from you!
To my everything-and-the-kitchen-sink editor/beta reader/friend/running cheerleader Andrea Lefkowitz. You may have a law degree, but you were fucking born to be an editor. I am so unbelievably lucky to have found you and to call you my friend.
To my beta readers & friends: Joscelyn Fussell, Rebecca Nebel, Jennifer Santa Anna, Nikki Terrill, and Veronica Larsen. Damn, girls, what can I say? Y’all have rescued me from so many bad story decisions, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to say thank you enough. But thank you! This book was very special to me and I’m so honored you wanted to help Jay and Kayla’s story be the best it could.
To Heather Roberts, my talented publicist, who keeps me centered and focused, which is no small feat. I am a child, easily distracted by shiny things. I owe you loads and loads of thank you’s.
To John Finch, who played longsnapper at my alma mater Purdue University. (Boiler up!) Thanks for answering my questions about college football player’s lives both on and off the field. I hope I got it right more than I got it wrong, and I so appreciate both your time and candor.
To Jocqueline Protho, who helped me find the perfect voices for Jay and Kayla in audiobook form. Have I told you today I love you?
To bloggers and authors, and anyone reading this: Thank you so very much. I’ve been telling this story for almost a decade, tweaking the screenplay every time there was a change to the Big Ten or the way the BCS playoffs were handled, and now in book form, I finally feel like The Rivalry is complete. It makes my usually cold and black heart very happy.
Thank you for being a part of this novel’s journey.