My lips quirk.
That results in a huff before she lightly shoves at my arm. “Of course, there is. Have I got a big sign slapped on my back that means everyone is going to laugh at me when I walk in wearing this?”
Henri chuckles darkly. Knowing that couldn’t be further from the truth.
I stop dead and catch her wrist, tugging her gently into me. “No.” With my other hand, I nudge her chin up to hold my gaze. “But they’ll all look at you and know that you’re ours.”
“Oh—” She wets her lips before swallowing. “I guess then it’s good we’re keeping up the whole fake boyfriend thing. This’ll make it look really solid. Really sells it. Good idea.”
At my side, Henri folds his arms while joining me in giving her a long look up and down.
Yeah. No words are needed between us. I couldn’t agree more.
Mia needs to know exactly how we’re both feeling.
“You wanna know why I gave this to you to wear tonight? It’s not for a game or for somethingfake. You’re wearing this, so that when we walk through those doors,everyonewill know. Every asshole in this bar tonight will know exactly who you belong to. There’s no pretending involved. You’reour girl,and we’re here to take care of you.”
Should I be pumping the brakes? Maybe.
For tonight, I don’t really care.
“Thank you,” she murmurs, eyes glinting with the reflection of the strings of lightbulbs overhead.
“Okay, let’s get out of the cold… but I apologize in advance,ma petite chérie.” Henri scrubs a hand over his ‘stache and mouth, before pulling the door to the bar open to usher us both inside.
Mia’s hand slips easily into mine, seeking me out as the heat rushing at us from inside swirls with loud music and laughter of the crowd. I love being able to help settle her, keeping our fingers intertwined as we set foot inside.
“H-E-N-R-I.” A chant goes up immediately.
“You sexy fucking mustache… what took you so long?” One of the team leaps up on the wooden bench seat and raises his beer.
Another of the older team members cups his mouth from where he stands, propping up the bar. “Get your fine asses over here.”
“Oh my god,” Mia whisper-shouts, clinging to my arm. “They’re all… enormous?”
I chuckle. “Couldn’t miss a team of rugby players if you tried.”
“Unless you’re carrying a rugby ball and wearing opposition colors, these boys are nothing but big puppies.” Henri bumps her shoulder with his. “Let me introduce you, while Reid can order us something to drink.”
Lifting her hand to my mouth, I give her palm a little kiss, holding her eyes for a moment. Simply unable to get enough of the sight of my hat on her head. The prettiest smile tips up the corners of her plump lips, and I give her a little wink. “Behave.”
She scoffs at me. “When would I?—”
Henri laughs. “Not you, sweet girl.Moi, j't'un ange.”
“Tu es un mal de tête.” I shake my head, doing my best to keep a stern expression in place.
Mia’s eyes flare upon hearing me speak French for the first time. I understand much more than I can confidently hold a conversation in, and Henri has never cared either way about my learning to be fluent. But now that I know it sparks her interest? Maybe I’ll be a much more diligent student on that front.
As he leads Mia over to the long trestle table, they’re swallowed up by a sea of players. All two-hundred-pound-plus behemoths. Henri played a few seasons for the rugby club after retiring from his professional career, then joined their coaching staff, so the team is as close as family where he’s concerned. I know it fills his cup, still having a hand in the game, having the opportunity to pass on advice to another generation of players. I suppose I get to do a little of the same by still ranching alongside Boone. Even though our rodeo days are behind us, we spend hours in the saddle side by side, still talking shit and being competitive bastards with each other.
Giving a little nod to the bartender, I’m happy to stand back and wait. It gives me the opportunity to take in the sight of Henri with a chance to show Mia off. It’s clear even from here that the guys all adore her immediately. I mean, they have hearts in their eyes for Henri at all times, and all support our relationship—including the less conventional parts—so the opportunity to meet someone he’s brought here with us tonight, it’s clear they’re on their best behavior.
Over the honky tonk tunes, I catch a few snatches of excited chatter. They’re talking him up, telling her all about his stats from his playing career, full on stars in their eyes at the chance to wax poetic about the man, the myth, the legendary number 10,Henri Marcotte.
“What do they say about small towns…” A voice interrupts my thoughts about Mia and Henri as I start to imagine future Christmases spent just like this. “The bullshit sticks no matter where you go, and italwaysstinks to high heaven.”
Folding my arms, I turn to face Douchecanoe Dale. He holds two glasses of white wine, matching the piss-color of his turtleneck.
