The woman at the autograph table was one such woman. Her mini skirt rode up, revealing the bottom curve of her ass cheeks as she bent all the way over so Blake could hear whatever she had said over the crowd of people gathered in the large breezeway.
Whatever she’d said, Blake winked at her, handing her back her magazine before looking to the next person waiting for his autograph.
Samantha was getting excited. Only four people ahead of her and it would be her turn to be in the presence of greatness. To get a chance to shake his hand before he signed her poster. Maybe even a hug, though she doubted it.
The next woman sauntered up and once again, Samantha felt out of place. She was wearing her most flattering jeans and dark brown, mock-riding boots that came up over her jeans and stopped just below her knees. A sleeveless, bright yellow blouse that ruffled slightly in the front and made her eyes appear an even darker green than they were. Her chocolate hair fell in its normal loose ringlets around her face, framing her pert little nose and its smattering of freckles perfectly.
Or so she’d been told. She’d spent most of her teenage years trying to cover up them up, but had given up long ago. It had been a pointless waste of money and no foundation she’d found had come close to concealing them entirely. She had a glowing, even complexion, and she’d tossed most of her makeup, sticking to a swipe of mascara and a tinted lip moisturizer.
Her look was best described as minimalist, but in this sea of princesses, she felt decidedly frog-like.
There was only person between her and Blake. Samantha rubbed her hands down her pants one at a time, making sure they weren’t sweaty. She was so nervous. She’d never been this close to Blake Stemmons and she was feeling especially nervous.
The leggy blonde sauntered up to Blake, casually pulling her shirt to the side, offering her breast for his autograph. Blake smiled and Samantha saw him mouth “no thank you”. He pulled a headshot from the stack to his left and signed it, handing it to her before quickly picking his phone up and scowling at the latest message.
Samantha smiled at him when he made eye contact, and she took a step towards the table, trying to walk carefully so she didn’t trip over her own feet.
Blake looked at her, looked at his phone again and bolted. He stood so quickly that the chair behind him fell down and he shot out a side door. Another player took his spot, waving Samantha forward so he could sign memorabilia for her.
“What’s your name, Sweetheart?” he asked, pulling a headshot of his own out and signing his name with a flourish.
“Samantha.”
“Well, sweet Samantha, I hope you have a wonderful rest of the weekend and thanks for supporting our team.”
“Oh, uh, yes. Thank you for playing so well.”
She walked away quickly, mentally kicking herself. Thank you for playing so well? Why had she even said that? What a ridiculous response.
Samantha looked down at the headshot. She had to admit, the man was handsome, but he was no Blake Stemmons. She hung around for a few minutes, hoping that Blake would reappear and she could take her spot in line again. But the minutes passed and the lines dwindled.
When twenty minutes had passed, Samantha approached a man in a tight white shirt that read “Security” and jeans standing against the wall with his arms crossed.
“Do you know when Blake Stemmons might return?”
“Look lady. Whoever is here, is here. That’s how the autograph signing works. He probably went to a party or something. That’s what these guys do when they’re not playing.”
He didn’t budge and he didn’t smile. Samantha thanked him for his time and he harrumphed at her.
“What a jerk,” she mumbled under her breath. “Guess I’m not going to get his signature after all.”
Who was she even talking to?
Dejected and a little peeved that whatever was on his phone couldn’t wait, Samantha walked down the empty hall and headed for the nearly empty parking lot. So much for getting the signature of her football hero.
So much for thinking that Blake Stemmons was a standup guy who cared about his fans. She’d learned a lot about him tonight, and all without him saying a single word to her.
For weeks, she’d been looking forward to this game and the chance to get his signature, and now, she’d wasted a perfectly good Friday night waiting in a line for nothing.
She dumped the signed picture and the poster in the trash on her way out of the stadium.
“Sorry, first-year rookie,” she said as she let the picture slip out of her fingers.
She wanted to forget this night, and a picture signed by someone else wasn’t going to help anything.
*****
Samantha’s boots hit the damp pavement and she groaned. The lot was almost empty and she could see the bus stop, way out on the other side. She hoped the buses ran this late. If not, she would have to call her dad for a ride. She didn’t want to drag him out of bed at such a late hour if she could help it.
When she’d walked to the stadium from the bus stop, it hadn’t seemed that far. But now that she was walking alone, and half the lights between her and the bus stop were out, she felt uneasy. This part of Atlanta wasn’t the safest this late at night. She’d left her purse at home so she didn’t have to carry too much, shoving her phone into her back pocket and her house keys and a thin wallet in her front pocket.
Her pepper spray was in the purse, locked safely in her home.
She heard footsteps behind her, but she quickly admonished herself for being spooked.
“No one is there. You’re just imagining things,” she whispered to herself.
Except she wasn’t imagining things, and she could hear the person behind her getting closer.
She pulled her keys out of her pocket, trying to get her house key in between her fingers so she could use it to jab the man in the eyes if he got too close. It worked on television, so it should work in real life. Right?
Her hands were trembling, and she dropped her keys on the ground. She bent to pick them up and the footfalls came more rapidly.
Samantha turned and caught a glimpse of the man moments before he was on her, trying to yank the keys out of her hands.
“Get off me!” She screamed the words as loud as she could, dismayed when they echoed pitifully off the empty buildings surrounding the parking lot.
The stranger slammed her to the ground roughly, scraping her elbow and knocking the wind out of her.
“Give me the keys lady,” he grunted. Samantha tried to pull her leg up to kick him in the groin, but he had her pinned.
She heard a click and felt a cold blade against her neck. She froze. The sound of the switch-blade was unmistakable.
“Is your shitty car worth dying over, lady?”
“No” she croaked, fear constricting her throat and making it hard to believe. She didn’t bother telling him she didn’t have a car. She didn’t think the revelation would get her anywhere with the man, anyway.
“That’s what I thought.” He snatched the keys out of her hand. “Damn you smell good. Maybe I’ll take you with me.”
Samantha’s blood ran cold. Surely this thug was just trying to frighten her. Petty thieves didn’t usually branch out into kidnapping.
A dark figure appeared from the shadows behind her attacker, and he was suddenly yanked off his feet and into the air. Samantha only saw his hands for a brief second before they gathered up her attacker’s clothing and sent him flying several feet to the right.
The attacker hit the ground with a loud crack, grunting in pain.
“You made me stab myself you asshole!” His voice was choked, as if he was fighting back tears.
“You brought this on yourself. Get out of here before I call the cops.”
The voice floated out of the shadows, but Samantha was more focused on her attacker, and the breath he’d knocked out of her.
“I’m trying, man. But I can’t. The knife is in my leg. Oh God, it’s in my leg, help me.”
Samantha heard a loud sigh, and saw the light from a cellphone as her rescuer pulled out his phone and dialed 9-1-1. When he pulled the phone to his face and the light caught it, Samantha gasped.
Was it possible, or had she hit her head on the pavement when she fell?
But she knew she hadn’t. Her hero was none other than Blake Stemmons. A man too into his cellphone to sign her poster, but apparently willing to take a moment to throw a street thug around like a rag doll.
“Hello? Yes, I’m at the Peachtree stadium, in the parking lot. There’s a man here who stabbed himself in the leg with a knife.”
“I didn’t stab myself, man. You threw me.”
The mugger’s voice was high-pitched now, just short of a childish whine. Blake stepped a little further away, ignoring the man while he continued his conversation with the 9-1-1 operator.
“No, he’s not mortally injured,” he covered the phone with his hand and looked at Samantha. “Miss, are you injured?”
“I don’t think so,” she managed, wishing she could crawl into a hole and hide from this night. Could it get any worse?
“I think you should probably send someone to look at the woman he attacked as well.”
He hung up with the operator and knelt beside Samantha. She let him help her sit up, wincing when he placed his hand on her elbow and waving him off when he offered to help her stand.
Apparently she had hit her head because it was throbbing inside her skull.
“Are you alright?”
His voice was soft, and he sounded genuinely concerned.
“I am, no thanks to you,” she spat out.
He was taken aback and Samantha instantly felt badly.
“I’m sorry. It’s not your fault the guy attacked me. Though, if I hadn’t waited so long for you to not sign my poster, I would have been home and safe in my own bed long before now.”
Blake reached out, gently cupping her chin and tilting her head so that the dim light of a distant lamp illuminated it.
“I remember you. You’re the one that was in line behind the crazy woman who wanted me to sign her chest.”
“Yes. I was the woman who foolishly waited over an hour for you so I could watch you text on your phone and then walk out when it was finally my turn. This has turned into to the worse night of my life, and I wish you’d just go away.”
*****
Blake took his jacket off, wrapping it around Samantha’s tiny frame while the mugger writhed on the ground, moaning in pain. They could hear the sirens in the distance, but it was a Friday night in Atlanta; those sirens could be for anyone.
When Blake looked away to see if the ambulances were headed for the entrance to the parking lot, Samantha took a long whiff of his jacket. It smelled exactly as she’d envisioned it. Fresh and clean, with just a hint Aqua da Gio cologne.
It was her favorite.
Blake turned back to her.
“Are you sure you’re alright?”
“The concern on your face looks almost genuine.”
Samantha’s tone was snippy, but she didn’t care. Leave it to the football star to snub his fans for a phone call but turn around and play super hero for publicity.
“Look. I’m sorry about the phone call. It couldn’t wait.”
“She must be another of the blonde bombshells falling all over themselves to get your signature.”
“What? No. It’s nothing like that. It’s not important.”
“It was important enough to walk out on your fans.”
“It really wasn’t like that, and I’m sorry you waited so long to see me. But you’re seeing me now. That’s got to count for something, right?”
“No. I’m bruised and battered, my head hurts and my favorite shirt is ruined.”
She threw her keys at her assailant to prove her point, her anger getting the best of her. The heavy set smacked him in the side of the head, making a loud clanking sound before skidding across the pavement.
“Ow! What the hell? Can’t you see I’m injured enough, you crazy witch!”
Blake jumped up, retrieving her keys and handing them back to her.
“I won’t tell anyone if you feel like bouncing them off his head again. He deserves it.”
“Says the man who wears shoulder pads and runs after a little ball for a living. I work for my money, man.”
Blake raised an eyebrow but didn’t respond to the man. He’d landed on his own knife and the ambulances were pulling in, followed closely by the cops. His day was going badly enough.
“Look,” Blake leaned in close, locking eyes with Samantha, “I want to make it up to you. How about dinner tomorrow night?”
Samantha scoffed.
“Why would I want to go out to dinner with a guy like you? You’re nothing like I thought you were, so I’ll pass, thanks. I don’t want to get stood up for a text message.”
The ambulances were getting closer, their sirens blaring loudly across the empty space. Blake stood and waved at them, then squatted down beside Samantha.
“I’m sorry. I feel awful and you’ve really misjudged me. I’m a good guy, and I’d really like the opportunity to show you. Just friends, no strings. At the end of the night, I’ll drive you home and we’ll say our goodbyes with no expectations.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re a jerk and I just don’t want to. I’m not into pity dates.”
“It’s not a pity date. I noticed you a long time before the first text message. Trust me, I was much more disappointed when I had to step away than you were. I’d been waiting forever to talk to you.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“It’s the truth.”
“My answer is still no. I have enough to deal with right now, and I don’t need a new romance. Especially not one that’s doomed from the start.”
“It’s just dinner.”
“It’s just not going to happen.”
The ambulances pulled up, one next to the man writhing on the ground dramatically and the other next to Samantha.
Blake stood, walking over to the policeman to give him his statement after they cuffed the assailant. A paramedic crouched down beside Samantha, shining a light into her eyes and looking at her head.
“You have a pretty nasty bump there. How are you feeling?” the paramedic asked.
“I feel like some jackass assaulted me in the parking lot and tried to take my keys.”
Blake walked over, concern etched across his face. The paramedic turned to him.
“Sir, is your girlfriend always belligerent or is this a drastic change in behavior?”
“I’m not his girlfriend,” Samantha ground out through clenched teeth.
“I’m sorry. Is your wife typically hostile and have you noticed any other changes since she hit her head?”
“I don’t even know this man, he just came out of the shadows and saved my life-”
Samantha stopped, looking at Blake when it all sank in. A man had had a knife to her throat, ready to do who knows what to her and Blake had saved her life.
She looked at the man being loaded onto a stretcher, his hands cuffed and an excessive amount of gauze wrapped around his leg and the knife to hold it steady for the ride to the hospital. She looked at the ground beside her, where the blood from her head wound had made a tiny dark spot in the asphalt. Then she looked at Blake, standing there in the chilly night without his jacket.
She pulled the jacket closer, her voice barely above a whisper when she said, “You saved my life.”
“I did.”
His voice held no hint of boasting, the statement more matter-of-fact than anything.
“Wow. Thank you.”
“Now will you go out with me? For dinner. And maybe dancing?”
She looked him square in the eye, her voice calm and steady.
“No.”
*****
Samantha walked into work Monday morning, her head still a little tende
r, with three tiny pink stitches hidden by a wisp of brown hair on her forehead.
“Hey Sammy, how are you feeling?” Jen ask when she walked in and sat down at her cubicle.
“Like crap but better than yesterday and much better than Saturday. Hey thanks for picking me up Saturday morning. I didn’t want to call my parents and have to explain what happened.”
“Sure thing.”
She hung over the low wall between the desks, looking around to make sure no one else in the call center was listening.
“So, you never talked about what happened with Blake.”
She arched one red eyebrow and gave Samantha a sheepish grin.
“Nothing happened, I told you. He asked for my number and I shut him down.”
“So you don’t want to go on a date with him?”
She bit her lip, her face suddenly reddening.
“No. Why Jen. What did you do?”
“I didn’t know, I swear. I thought you were messing with me.”
“What did you do?”
“I private messaged him on Facebook, thanking him for saving my friend. One thing led to another and I may have given him-”
Jen trailed off, looking up as the main door opened and a man stopped at the reception desk for directions.
“Oops,” Jen said, and quickly changed her phone to available, picking it up and answering a call. When Samantha shot her a dirty look, she shrugged her shoulders.
The delivery man walked up to Samantha’s cubicle, one arm wrapped around a large vase of yellow orchids and a box of fancy chocolates tucked under his other arm.
“Are you Samantha Banks?”
A room full of heads whipped around, many still on the phone, but all eyes on Samantha and the magnificent floral arrangement being placed on her desk. She wanted to wanted duck and hide, but the short-walled cubicles offered little privacy.
She could always go under her desk.
“Yes.” Her voice cracked and she cleared it and tried again. “Yes, I’m Samantha Banks.”
“Good. I need you to sign here and here and I’ll leave these here.”
Samantha took his PDA and signed, her signature shaky and illegible. The man walked away, passing one of the call center employees.
Alien Affair Page 75