Just Beginning: A Prequel to Just Destiny (Destiny #1) by Theresa Rizzo
Steve Grant’s heart pounded as if it might hammer its way right out of his chest. He took a measured breath, stretched an arm across the back of Annie’s chair and settled into his stadium seat. What’s the problem, man? You’ve faced down Billy Ray Butler and Crush Davis, stared them down across home plate, in front of a sold-out crowd without breaking a sweat; you can do this. It’s the right thing to do.
The band’s drums, trumpets and trombones belted out the Michigan fight song. “Let’s! Go! Blue!” The Ann Arbor crowd cheered as one.
“Why’d you give up your fifty-yard-line seats for these nosebleeds?” Annie raised her eyebrows.
“Lemme go,” the three-year-old behind her shrieked as he strained and bucked in his mother’s arms.
Annie winced, covered her ear and gave Steve a knowing look. When they went out without her children, he knew she wanted a break from all kids. These seats cost a small fortune; who in the hell brings their kid along? Steve scanned the packed seats around them—not a damn kid in sight. What were the chances they’d be sitting right in front of the only holy terror?
“One of our paralegals, Pete McGaffy, has his dad in town this weekend to celebrate his first year cancer free. Pete helped me a couple of times so when I found out his dad’s a huge Michigan fan, I gave them my tickets and got these instead.” He glared at the kid beating an annoying tattoo on the back of Annie’s chair, tempted to grab the little ankle to still him. “We have a great view of the whole field from here. Besides, I thought you’d enjoy sitting with Notre Dame fans instead of the enemy for a change.”
Annie had gone to Notre Dame and was a die-hard Irish fan, where as a Michigan alum, Steve’s season tickets bordered the Michigan sideline. She held out her hand for the binoculars and jerked forward as the kid pounded her chair with both of his feet. Stiff backed, Annie scooted forward in her chair.
“Switch seats with me.” Steve stood and pulled Annie out of her seat. She should be safe in front of the dad.
Annie stood and threw the little brat that warning look mothers seem to perfect, before slowly lowering herself into the other seat. Not exactly the mood he wanted to set. He hoped it wasn’t an omen. Chill, man. She’s gonna love it.
He looked at the giant scoreboard—five minutes to halftime. Steve settled back in the seat, rubbed tight neck muscles, and rolled his shoulders.
He’d chosen these seats carefully. The first row in club level seating had lots of legroom, a bird’s eye view of the whole field, and the cameramen should have no trouble zooming in on them. It was perfe—the boy put a sticky hand on Steve’s head and lunged over his shoulder, nearly falling into his lap. Steve caught him and shoved him back at his parents.
“Henry. I’m sooo sorry. Really. Sorry. I... ” His mortified mother tried to lift him onto her lap, but the little boy arched his back and bellowed.
“That’s enough!” the father said. He handed his wife his beer and reached for the boy at the same time the kid jumped up, knocking her arm.
The halftime buzzer sounded loudly as Steve lunged forward, but he couldn’t right the cup before a wave of beer cascaded over the lip, splashing all over Annie’s shoulder, arm, and chest.
Annie gasped, jumped up and whirled on the threesome. Fury burned in her eyes as she shook her arm, spraying beer. “Are you freaking kidding me? What’s wrong with you people? Haven’t you ever heard of a babysitter?”
Steve stepped back and stared in horror. The pink of Annie’s shirt grew increasingly dark as it soaked up the beer.
“I’m so sorry.” The woman rummaged in her bag, yanked out some baby wipes and held them out to Annie. “I... please. We’ll pay for dry-cleaning.”
Annie snatched the wipes, made a few futile dabs at her arm before throwing them on her seat and pushing past Steve.
“Laaadies and geeen-tlemen,” The announcer drew out.
Steve grabbed her arm. “Where’re you going?”
“Preee-sent-ing the two-hundred thirty-five member Michigan marching Band. Baaa-nd... take the field.”
Annie frowned as if he was crazy. “To the bathroom.”
“Now? You can’t go now.”
Eyes widening, she plucked the wet shirt from her chest. “I’m covered in beer.”
Shit. Shit. Shit. “Uh... there’ll be a long line. Just wait a little bit.” He turned her toward the field. “Watch the show.” He glanced at the forty-seven by eighty-five-foot screen to see the camera zooming in on them. He pointed toward the field. “Look, they’re spelling out something.”
“I don’t care.” She tried to pull free.
Steve tightened his grip on her shoulders. “Listen. It’s that Bruno Mars song you love.”
“What is wrong with you?” She glared. “I’m soaked and smell like a frat party.”
Steve pivoted her toward the field and locked his arms around her. “Look.”
The band had spelled out “M-A-R-R-Y M-E” and dissolved to reform one last word. “A-N-N-I-E.”
The announcer boomed, “Weeeell, Annie?”
Annie looked toward the huge board where the camera had zoomed in on them and they stood larger than life. Her glare melted as awareness set in. She brushed her hair back and a tentative smile flickered across her face.
Steve released her. He wiped damp palms on his thighs, then dropped to one knee and took her hand. “Will you marry me, Annie?”
Hand covering her mouth, Annie dragged her gaze from the huge screen long enough to nod at him. Her glance darted back and forth from the screen to him. She thrust out her left hand. He took the ring box from his pocket, then slid the ring onto her finger.
Annie yanked her hand back and after a quick inspection of the 3-carat marquise, held it up for everybody to see as if she were a winner lofting her trophy. Steve pulled her into his arms for a hug while the crowd cheered and clapped.
Smile, Steve. Even if he couldn’t give her his heart, he’d embarrassed himself in front of millions of people and given her her dream proposal. The love would come.
Chapter 1
The band’s drums, trumpets and trombones belted out the Michigan fight song. “Let’s! Go! Blue!” The Ann Arbor crowd cheered as one.
“Why’d you give up your fifty-yard-line seats for these nosebleeds?” Annie raised her eyebrows.
“Lemme go,” the three-year-old behind her shrieked as he strained and bucked in his mother’s arms.
Annie winced, covered her ear and gave Steve a knowing look. When they went out without her children, he knew she wanted a break from all kids. These seats cost a small fortune; who in the hell brings their kid along? Steve scanned the packed seats around them—not a damn kid in sight. What were the chances they’d be sitting right in front of the only holy terror?
“One of our paralegals, Pete McGaffy, has his dad in town this weekend to celebrate his first year cancer free. Pete helped me a couple of times so when I found out his dad’s a huge Michigan fan, I gave them my tickets and got these instead.” He glared at the kid beating an annoying tattoo on the back of Annie’s chair, tempted to grab the little ankle to still him. “We have a great view of the whole field from here. Besides, I thought you’d enjoy sitting with Notre Dame fans instead of the enemy for a change.”
Annie had gone to Notre Dame and was a die-hard Irish fan, where as a Michigan alum, Steve’s season tickets bordered the Michigan sideline. She held out her hand for the binoculars and jerked forward as the kid pounded her chair with both of his feet. Stiff backed, Annie scooted forward in her chair.
“Switch seats with me.” Steve stood and pulled Annie out of her seat. She should be safe in front of the dad.
Annie stood and threw the little brat that warning look mothers seem to perfect, before slowly lowering herself into the other seat. Not exactly the mood he wanted to set. He hoped it wasn’t an omen. Chill, man. She’s gonna love it.
He looked at the giant scoreboard—five minutes to halftime. Steve settled back in the seat, rubbed tight neck muscles, and rolled his shoulders.
He’d chosen these seats carefully. The first row in club level seating had lots of legroom, a bird’s eye view of the whole field, and the cameramen should have no trouble zooming in on them. It was perfe—the boy put a sticky hand on Steve’s head and lunged over his shoulder, nearly falling into his lap. Steve caught him and shoved him back at his parents.
“Henry. I’m sooo sorry. Really. Sorry. I... ” His mortified mother tried to lift him onto her lap, but the little boy arched his back and bellowed.
“That’s enough!” the father said. He handed his wife his beer and reached for the boy at the same time the kid jumped up, knocking her arm.
The halftime buzzer sounded loudly as Steve lunged forward, but he couldn’t right the cup before a wave of beer cascaded over the lip, splashing all over Annie’s shoulder, arm, and chest.
Annie gasped, jumped up and whirled on the threesome. Fury burned in her eyes as she shook her arm, spraying beer. “Are you freaking kidding me? What’s wrong with you people? Haven’t you ever heard of a babysitter?”
Steve stepped back and stared in horror. The pink of Annie’s shirt grew increasingly dark as it soaked up the beer.
“I’m so sorry.” The woman rummaged in her bag, yanked out some baby wipes and held them out to Annie. “I... please. We’ll pay for dry-cleaning.”
Annie snatched the wipes, made a few futile dabs at her arm before throwing them on her seat and pushing past Steve.
“Laaadies and geeen-tlemen,” The announcer drew out.
Steve grabbed her arm. “Where’re you going?”
“Preee-sent-ing the two-hundred thirty-five member Michigan marching Band. Baaa-nd... take the field.”
Annie frowned as if he was crazy. “To the bathroom.”
“Now? You can’t go now.”
Eyes widening, she plucked the wet shirt from her chest. “I’m covered in beer.”
Shit. Shit. Shit. “Uh... there’ll be a long line. Just wait a little bit.” He turned her toward the field. “Watch the show.” He glanced at the forty-seven by eighty-five-foot screen to see the camera zooming in on them. He pointed toward the field. “Look, they’re spelling out something.”
“I don’t care.” She tried to pull free.
Steve tightened his grip on her shoulders. “Listen. It’s that Bruno Mars song you love.”
“What is wrong with you?” She glared. “I’m soaked and smell like a frat party.”
Steve pivoted her toward the field and locked his arms around her. “Look.”
The band had spelled out “M-A-R-R-Y M-E” and dissolved to reform one last word. “A-N-N-I-E.”
The announcer boomed, “Weeeell, Annie?”
Annie looked toward the huge board where the camera had zoomed in on them and they stood larger than life. Her glare melted as awareness set in. She brushed her hair back and a tentative smile flickered across her face.
Steve released her. He wiped damp palms on his thighs, then dropped to one knee and took her hand. “Will you marry me, Annie?”
Hand covering her mouth, Annie dragged her gaze from the huge screen long enough to nod at him. Her glance darted back and forth from the screen to him. She thrust out her left hand. He took the ring box from his pocket, then slid the ring onto her finger.
Annie yanked her hand back and after a quick inspection of the 3-carat marquise, held it up for everybody to see as if she were a winner lofting her trophy. Steve pulled her into his arms for a hug while the crowd cheered and clapped.
Smile, Steve. Even if he couldn’t give her his heart, he’d embarrassed himself in front of millions of people and given her her dream proposal. The love would come.
Chapter 1