I Sat on My Stepfather's Lap All Match, and Mom Was Filming novel · Chapter 1 of 24
Chapter 1: The Last Row
The middle seat is cut open, Rosalyn and her son go to find staff, and Lainey sits on her stepfather's lap for the whole round of 16, until he warns her he's losing control.
The middle seat in the last row of the stadium had been cut open, and the foam was hanging out of it.
"We can't swap you now, ma'am," the usher said. "Kickoff is in two minutes."
My mother held up the four tickets she had bought herself and shook them at him.
"Row forty, seats one through four," she said. "I paid for these in March."
My brother stood behind her with his scarf pulled up to his nose. My stepfather, Gabriel, stood beside me with his hands in his pockets.
The seat beside him was a metal frame with the cushion peeled back.
"Lainey, stay by Gabe," my mother said. "It's too crowded. If you feel hot, you tell me."
She put her palm on my forehead, the way she had since I was six.
I was twenty-two. I said, "I'm fine, Mom."
I was more than fine.
Gabriel had played twelve seasons as a striker before he retired, and he still had the shoulders and the thighs for it.
Three days earlier I had walked past the bathroom door while it was open, and I had not walked fast enough.
I had thought about that every night since.
Now my mother was leaving me alone with him for a whole match, and I was trying not to smile.
"Go find someone with a manager's badge," Gabriel told her. "We'll hold the row."
She took my brother by the sleeve and went down the stairs.
The crowd stood up for the anthem, and I stood with them.
When they came back, my mother was out of breath.
"They found two seats in the row right in front of you," she said. "Me and your brother. Nothing for the third."
"I'll stand," Gabriel said.
"For ninety minutes? Gabe, you're not twenty-five." She looked at me. "You're okay sitting on his lap? It's a good lap, honestly."
She had said it before either of us had.
"If he doesn't mind," I said.
"Of course not," Gabriel said, and his voice was rough.
My brother laughed and offered his own lap to my mother, and she swatted him.
"I'd crush you, sweetheart."
So it was settled.
My mother and brother sat down in the row in front of us, close enough that I could smell her hairspray.
She took out her phone, held it up over her shoulder and said, "I want the crowd for the family chat."
The screen was pointed back at us.
I did not think about it. I was looking at Gabriel.
He sat down in the one good seat and put his hands on his knees, and I turned around and lowered myself onto him.
The referee blew the whistle, and the whole stadium roared.
His thighs were hot and solid under me, and I could feel every muscle through his jeans.
His chest was against my back. His breath was in my ear.
His hands came up and settled on my hips to hold me steady, and they did not move.
I stared at the pitch and saw nothing.
I could feel him breathing, slowly and on purpose.
Two minutes in, the people behind us jumped up for a near miss, and the whole row shook.
Somebody's knee hit my spine and pushed me back against him.
Something hard shifted under me, and I knew exactly what it was.
Gabriel went absolutely still.
"Sorry," I whispered, and my voice shook.
"Don't be," he said quietly. "It's the crowd."
He leaned in to point at the field.
"They're playing three at the back," he said into my ear. "Watch the left side. He drifts in when they attack."
I nodded. I did not see a thing.
My mother was ten inches away, turned halfway around to film the fans.
"Lainey, honey, you okay? Not too hot?"
"I'm good, Mom."
She smiled and turned back.
I should have been ashamed.
Instead I felt Gabriel getting harder under me, and my whole body went warm and loose.
A man to my right had been watching us since the anthem. He was dark and sharp-faced, in a tailored jacket, and when I looked at him he looked at the field.
I decided I did not care.
The crowd came up again for a corner kick, and in the noise I let myself lean forward.
Then I slid back down, slowly, until I was pressed against the whole length of him.
His fingers tightened on my hips.
I did it again.
"Lainey," Gabriel said. It was barely a sound.
I did it a third time.
His mouth came right against my ear, and his voice was low and ragged.
"Stop moving, or I lose control in front of your mother."
My mother's blonde head was bobbing six inches in front of me.
My stepfather was shaking with how hard he was trying to hold still.
I could have stopped.
So I turned my face until my lips touched his jaw, and I said, "Then don't."
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