“BBUGirl?” a deep, masculine voice asks behind my shoulder.
I let out a large breath and internally shake off the nerves.
This is it.
As I turn, I ask, “SoloSurfer?”
I glance up, and then up some more, until my eyes collide with his familiar deep brown ones.
“Dallas Dawes?” My voice is shaky and hesitant.
How could the destined captain of the hockey team be my SoloSurfer?
“Uh, yeah.” He pauses as he rubs his hands over his dress pants. “I guess my costume gives me away.”
Dallas Dawes is sporting a long-sleeved, cream jacket with high collars and high shoulder pads with black dress pants.
He looks extremely regal asPrince Charming.
“And you are…Cinderella.”
I’m not sure why, but I feel a little silly being Cinderella to his Prince Charming, especially since I’m no princess.
“I take it you were expecting someone else?” he asks me after a beat of silence.
“Yeah, kind of,” I explain. No need to sugarcoat the truth, right? “No offense, but you don’t need to meet and message women from chat rooms. Girls throw themselves at you daily.”
“Yeah,” he admits, “but that’s surface stuff. Is it so wrong that I want a connection?”
“Well, no,” I stumble. Aren’t we all looking to connect and belong? I can’t fault a guy for that.
The noise inside the hockey house increases by a large degree. The music blares, and there is plenty of hooting and hollering to follow.
“Take a walk with me?” Dallas asks, his eyes pleading with me.
“On the balcony?” I question. “Kind of hard to do.”
“There are steps on the other side. I was thinking we could stroll along the beach.”
Did I mention that the hockey house was five houses down from the beach?
I gulp. “Yeah, that sounds nice.”
I lift the silk fabric of my gown as I near the stairwell. Dallas offers his hand, and we descend the steps together, one hand hoisting my dress and the other steady with Dallas.
His palm is warm within mine, and I try to ignore the tingling shooting through me.
“Thank you.” I nod once we arrive at the bottom of the stairs. His eyes glance down to our locked hands, gazing for a few seconds before breaking his hand free from mine.
He rubs his hands on his pants again, rubbing his palm along his thigh.
I feel the loss of heat immediately, wishing in some way we were still connected, but I tamp down that thought real quick.
He’s Dallas Dawes, and I’m just…me.
We stroll down the sidewalk, wordlessly, until we arrive at a seawall and the entrance of the beach.
“Shall we?” Dallas gestures to the sand, and I simply nod in response.
