Cruz lifted his teacup and pointed it at the television. “I’ve got a terrible cup of hotel tea and six static-y channels to surf. Of course I don’t mind.”
Grant chuckled and stepped aside as I started to walk through the door. “If you get bored, you can play with my makeup.”
Cruz stabbed his index finger in the air. “Don’t tempt a diva, honey.”
Even after my laugh had come to an end, I hovered by the doorjamb, biting my lip.
“I’ve got it, Ryan.” Cruz sighed, waving at us. “Take as long as you need. I’m not going anywhere.”
Thanking him with a smile, Grant and Cruz exchanged a good night before I closed the door and locked it. I waited outside the door until I heard Cruz get up and lock the chain locks too.
Now that it was just Grant and me, I had no idea what to say. What to do. Or where to go. This get-together had been all my idea, and I hadn’t planned a single part of it. Not to mention that after what had happened this morning, I’d been under the impression our meeting wouldn’t happen.
“Do you mind if we stop by Mickey’s?” Grant stayed beside me as we made our way to his truck parked in the lot. “It’s a tradition of mine to stop there every time I’m in town and pack as much grease as I can into my arteries, and I haven’t had a chance this trip yet.”
My relief was palpable. At least now we had a destination. “I feel like by saying yes, I’m signing off on your request to give yourself a heart attack.”
“But . . .” Grant nudged me gently as he came around the truck to open my door.
“But I haven’t had a Mickey Burger in seven years. I don’t care what health experts say, that just isn’t healthy.”
A soft laugh rumbled in his chest. “We’re all going to die someday. Might as well live it up in the meantime.”
My smile felt more forced than real. Hopefully it didn’t look that way. “Might as well.”
After pulling out of the motel, the drive to Mickey’s only took a few minutes. Growing up, Grant and I had made a handful of trips to the greasy burger-and-fry icon that had been around since the 20s. Aunt May had been the first to introduce us to Mickey’s, bringing us on our birthdays to celebrate. It had felt like such a special thing back then—getting to order food from a menu and tell the person behind the counter what you did or didn’t want on your burger. It was the first time I’d ever had a milkshake, and I blamed Mickey’s for my adult addiction to all things of a blended-ice-cream-and-milk variety.
“I saw the interview you gave earlier,” I said as Grant tucked his truck into a parking spot.
He jacked his brows a few times. “How did I look?”
“Like you were trying to save the day without looking like you were trying to.” I rolled to a stop as we headed toward the restaurant. I knew why he’d given that “surprise” interview to the local media, and I wanted him to know I knew. “Thank you for doing that.”
His arm jutted out in front of me as a car started to back out of a spot. “Since it was my fault they were there harassing you, I figured it was my job to take care of it.”
Grant didn’t drop his arm until the car was rolling forward. “How do you think they saw us? It was late. You were only there a minute. And The Starlight Hotel doesn’t strike me as the kind of place the media makes a habit of canvasing for pro football players hanging out at while they’re in town.”
Grant led us onto the sidewalk, a smile starting to form when the first whiff of grease and heart disease hit us. “Who knows? The press is everywhere—that’s the motto I’ve adopted. When you least expect them. Where you don’t expect them. They’re everywhere.”
Hearing him talk about it made me think about what it would be like to be followed everywhere you went. I was living about as far from New York City as a person could get, and even I could barely turn on the evening news and not hear something about the Invincible Man, the name he’d earned growing up on the tough streets of The Clink and the name he’d carried into pro football. No one could take him down. Nothing could take the knees out from under the invincible Grant Turner.
“If you knew the media would chase you the way they do, would you have still gone into the pros?”
He nodded. “Absolutely. I love football. It’s a part of me. The media part of that world sucks ass, but you have to take the bad with the good. Nothing comes for free, and playing the media game is the price I have to pay to play the game I love.”
I considered that as we roamed around the front of the building. Mickey’s was busy any day, night, or time, and this no exception. The parking lot was packed, and so were most of the booths and stools inside. Already, heads were starting to turn inside the diner, recognition lighting up faces. It wasn’t exactly like Grant Turner blended in with the general population.
“Seems like a steep price to pay,” I said, remembering how overwhelming the media storm I’d woken to today had been. I couldn’t imagine dealing with that every single day, every single place I went.
“It is,” he said matter-of-factly.
My eyebrows pulled together. “Then why do you do it?”
“Because I love football.”
“Yeah, but you hate the media chasing you.”
Grant tipped his head at me like I wasn’t getting it. Maybe I wasn’t, but I couldn’t imagine putting up with something so awful because I loved doing something. “But I love football even more.”