Willow makes a face that looks like she’s a chicken about to lay an egg when my thigh brushes the unnamed lady’s. “Fine! I’ll say it.” Her ribs expand and contract three times before she murmurs, “You were right.” Her words are so soft, I barely heard them.
I tuck my feet under my seat before leaning closer to her. “What was that?”
“You were right.” This attempt isn’t any louder than her first.
Tilting my head to the side, I tug on my ear. “Still didn’t get it.”
“You were right!”
Jesus, and now I’m deaf as well.
With a smile on her face, she watches me wiggle her words from my ear before adding a few more. “Now can we go? Please.”
The strain crinkling her forehead eases when I wave my hand across my body, indicating for her to lead the way. Once she’s out of earshot, I twist my torso to face the lady sitting mute next to me. “Can you forward me that photo?” It’s not a good shot of me, but the look on Willow’s face when I was being bombarded with the unnamed female’s attention makes it a real keepsake. “Here are my details.”
I hand her my business card before tracing the steps Willow just took. I barely make it onto the sidewalk before the bus doors slam shut, almost drowning out the lady’s high-pitched screech, “O. M. G! Presley Carlton’s thigh touched my thigh!”
Shoving my hands into my pockets, I rock back and forth on my heels. My mood is at an all-time high, my smirk just as large. Willow and I argued for twenty minutes straight this afternoon that I’d be recognized within a minute of getting on the bus. Don’t quote me, but I’m reasonably sure she said something along the lines of, “You’re notthatfamous, E.”
I don’t want to say it, but I must: “I was right.”
Willow’s bouncy hair flings in her face when she glances at me over her shoulder. She’s standing on the curb, holding open a taxi door. “Shut up and get in the cab, old man.”
Her taunt doesn’t have the same effect on me tonight. “Don’t get mooooody, Willow. I was just playin’. I’ve got no beef with you.”
With a waggle of my brows, I slip past the door she’s holding open for me.
“WHAT DOyou get when you cross a Smurf with a cow?” Dalton moseys up to my side, his smirk as big as the one he was wearing when he noticed I came dressed as myself. “Blue cheese. Or in your case, blue cheese balls.” He ribs me with his elbow, his Aladdin outfit not emasculating enough to lessen his scorn. “Get it? Blue balls, as in your balls since Coach James put a stop to all your fun.”
“I get it. Very funny.” It’s not, but I’ll give him a B for trying.
Taking a sip on my bottle of Coca-Cola to hide my smile, I return my eyes to Willow. She’s in the middle of a makeshift dance floor, surrounded by all the players’ children. They honed in on her the instant we entered the room. They loved her outfit, but more than that, they were smitten with her personality.
I can understand why. Within ten minutes, she took a usually dull affair and made it the place to be. We’ve been here for over three hours, and I’ve yet to see one person leave. That’s unheard of. Don’t get me wrong; my team is a rowdy bunch of fuckers, but with the majority of them being single, the last thing they want to do is hang out at the Coach’s house with their shacked-up counterparts. Willow changed that. She’s bridged the divide between the players like Coach James has been trying to do for years, and all she did was be herself.
I’m a lucky fuckin’ man.
Dalton must feel the sentiment in the air as much as me. “All jokes aside, how are things? I feel like I hardly see you now you’ve mooooved on to greener pastures.”
The neck of my bottle can’t hide my smile, so I don’t bother trying. “Things are good.”
“Yeah?” Dalton only says one word, but his eyes ask a lot more.
I wait for Willow to finish twirling Ben’s four-year-old around the dance floor before answering, “Yeah. She’s good. Different.”
“Different is good. Different works.”
Dalton sounds like he’s trying to convince me there’s nothing wrong with different. I don’t need convincing. I’m well aware how good a change can be. I’m playing the best football of my life while also enjoying my life. I’ve never had this type of balance before. Five weeks ago, I wanted to strangle Coach James for his non-fraternization policy, but now I’m not so opposed to it. Willow and I have had chemistry from the get-go, so to have to set that aside for six weeks has allowed us to discover we have a lot more in common than mutual sexual attraction. We’re both striving to return to the glory we once held, me with football and Willow with dance. We love carbs like they’re going out of fashion, and she’s as dorky as I am moody. It’s a nice balance, one I’m very much looking forward to exploring for several months, if not years to come.
I crank my neck to Dalton when he mutters, “I’m glad things are going well for you, Elvis. She’s worked quite the number on Becca as well. She wants to ask her to be a godparent to Jayla.”
“Really?” I don’t know why I’m shocked. Willow’s numerous daily chats with Becca have revealed the extent of their immediate bond. I guess I’m more frustrated than anything. Like why is Willow a prime candidate to be Jayla’s godparent, but I’m not? I’ve only threatened to take Jayla for a cruise down main street in my car with the top down. Doesn’t mean I’d actually do it.
Dalton laughs at my grumbly expression. “You’re already set to be Jayla’s godfather. I just have no plans to ask you since I have no intention of taking no for an answer. But that’s why I wanted to clear Willow’s involvement with you. I don’t want it to get awkward if things don’t work out between you two. We know it’s still early, and I don’t want a lifetime commitment forcing you into something you’re not ready for.”
“Like when I attempted to take Becca home for some magic between the sheets?”
Any happiness on his face fades. “Yes, like that.” He straightens his spine as his eyes seek his wife and daughter across the room. “She wouldn’t have gone with you.”
