Getaway Car

Let the Games Begin

Travis grabbed her hand and pulled her through the cement block hallways of the stadium to a private parking garage for the team.

"I present, your getaway car," Travis indicated to a purple convertible, smiling from ear to ear, so proud of his reference.

"What is this??" Taylor clapped her hands in excitement.

"A ​​1970 Chevrolet Chevelle convertible. I can't have you showing up to the afterparty in anything less."

"With the top down? But then everyone will see us. And what about security?"

"I cleared it with your security guy; he's a fan, so that helped. And hell yes! I somehow convinced THE Taylor Swift to come to my game. I want as many people to see you with me as possible. I'm already thinking about what I'm going to write in my diary tonight. Best day ever."

"Best day ever? What about the Superbowl?"

"It's up there, but how many guys have won the Superbowl? And how many guys have gotten to take Taylor Swift on a date? I rest my case," Travis walked around to open Taylor's door.

Taylor looked down and exasperatedly said, "I think a lot of people would say I've dated a whole leagues-worth of guys."

Travis lifted up Taylor's chin to his gaze. "And fuck those people. If anyone tries to pull that shit in front of me, God help me." Taylor had never seen Travis look this intense. She imagined this was the Travis the opposing team saw on the field.

Travis blinked and shook his head, his smile returning, "Gotta defend my 'girlfriend!'" He said in an exaggerated voice to accompany his air quotes. "Now let's get you to this party."

Travis wasn't what she expected. Well, in some ways he was. He was big and goofy and impossibly confident. She was surprised (but grateful) that Travis also had a mellower side. Most of the time they'd spent together had been more logistics than anything else, but in moments with just the two of them, he had an easy smile. He also did not seem to care what others thought, which was a skill Taylor was actively working on. He could probably teach her a thing or two about not giving a fuck. She'd felt paralyzed by the opinions of everyone else for most of her life, but no more, she decided.

Taylor smiled sincerely and stepped gracefully into the passenger seat. "Alright then, let's go, Mr. Getaway Car."

Travis beamed and jumped into the driver's seat. 

-

The afterparty was electric. Travis had rented out the restaurant so the guest list was limited to the team and well-vetted friends. The drinks were delicious, if deceptively strong, and Taylor was dancing and singing along to every song. Travis smiled from a table as he watched her screaming, "It's gonna be me!" with Patrick Mahomes' wife.

"Damn, man, Taylor Swift, huh?" Travis' friend Dan approached. Dan had been in the suite with Taylor during the game.

"I know. Did she seem to be having fun? How was she with Mom?" Travis asked.

"She was great. Super sweet, taking a ton of photos. I think Mike had her facetime his little cousin! She seemed to hit it off with your mom too."

"Great, that's great." Travis once again couldn't believe the unbelievable circumstances that had ended with Taylor Swift jumping around to *NSYNC in a Kansas City bar, and then he remembered the arrangement. Her fun seemed genuine, but he knew her feelings for him weren't. If nothing else, he was glad he could show her a good time. Let no one try to say Travis Kelce doesn't know how to have a good time.

Travis was taking a moment in a quiet booth when Taylor pulled herself away from the dancefloor to grab another drink. She plopped down next to him.

"Well, hello. Are you having fun?" Travis asked, delighted to be talking to her. This kept happening to him. When would he get used to it?

"I'm having a lot of fun. Did you tell the DJ I was a big *NSYNC fan?"

"I may have," he smiled.

"Youuuuu!" Taylor laughed as she pointed her finger in his face. "Do you know what you are?" she asked, leaning closer. Her eyes were getting heavy and her words were starting to run together. Travis had been keeping an eye on her, but these KC drinks did not hold back.

"What am I?" he asked.

"You're lizard brain hot."

"Excuse me?" Travis feigned offense, putting his hand on his chest.

"You're tall. You're muscley. I know I shouldn't be attracted to you, but my instinctual lizard brain is like, 'damn. Climb him like a tree and make tall babies,' you know?" Taylor was now putting her chin on his shoulder, looking up at him.

Travis laughed. "Thank you? I guess?" he said dubiously. She was sitting so close now and she was beautiful. She was glowing, a bit from dancing as hard as she was, but more so from the air of relaxation around her. This wasn't the same super-controlled Taylor he'd met in New York.

"It's a compliment," she said. "I'm in my No Fucks Era. I was so scared for so long, that now I'm just like 'fuck it.' I'll do what I want to do, have fun, and not worry so much about what everyone's going to say about it, you know?"

"Then what do you need a fake boyfriend for?" he asked.

"Okay yeah, that," Taylor leaned back in the booth, her head heavy. "I need a fake boyfriend so I can give no fucks about everything else. And for my friends. It sucks when you're trying to get a coffee with an old friend and it's front page news. 'New man for Taylor?? Everything we know about the mystery man!'" she said cartoonishly.

"That sucks," Travis said.

"Is what it is," she threw her hands up. "But you seem like someone that's very good at not giving a fuck."

"Hah! Yes. 100% yes. Something I'm very proud of," Travis laughed.

"How??" Taylor asked.

"How? Hm. Well. I don't give a fuck," Travis smirked. Taylor rolled her eyes. He continued, "Okay, okay. How? I don't think I could worry about what people think; I wouldn't be able to do my job. I know what I'm about and I know what I gotta do on that field. Everything after that doesn't matter. And I have an older brother that made fun of me enough that I'm numb to it. You just gotta laugh it off, because what else is there to do? People are gonna say what they're gonna say."

Taylor was drunk enough to think that was an extremely profound answer, and tomorrow's sober Taylor wouldn't remember it at all. She slurred, "Wooooooow. That's amazing. So amazing. Now back to you, Lizard Brain. What're you up to? Being all hot and nice and fun."

"You think I'm fun! Am I the best fake boyfriend you've ever had?" he was giving her a hard time, emphasizing the 'fake.' The fake part was her doing, and he wanted to remind her of that.

"Ugh, don't make me regret giving you a compliment. You have too much confidence as it is; I need to be careful to not give you any more ammo," she teased.

"Not too much if you can back it up, baby! Woo!" Travis hollered.

Taylor drew her hand down her face, mocking annoyance. "Now there's the Travis I thought I was getting to be my fake boyfriend. The getaway car was a nice touch though. I didn't expect that. But it's getting late. Does my fake boyfriend want to drive me back to his place in his purple convertible?" She turned toward him in the booth, draped her legs over his lap and placed her hand on his chest. God, those legs went on for days. Hadn't he had this exact dream at least a dozen times?

"Love to, but you said nothing physical, remember?"

"I'm rethinking that," Taylor looked up at him, defiantly.

Travis could see she was too drunk to feel good about this in the morning, and he wasn't interested in being a regret. Those legs would have to wait. "Alright my Miss Americana, let's get you safe and sound to your hotel room."

"Boo, that's no fun," she pouted as he scooped her up and set her down out of the booth.

"Maybe another time. Let's get you back," Travis said as he draped his arm over her and led her to the door.