Page 91 of Elf-ish

“Never?”

“Definitely a first.”

Leading her toward the box seats, I wonder how many other firsts I can give her.

Once we reach the private box, someone calls out, “Scrooge,” and I’m suddenly the center of attention along with Angelica.

I introduce her to the president of a prominent local bank and the part-owner of a professional sports team before Fitz circles over to us.

“How does Fitz fit with Carlucci?” she teases.

“Fitzgerald. I’m part Irish, part Italian.”

Angelica whistles. “Quite the combination.”

Fitz laughs. “My dad always says it was my mother’s fault. No woman fought with him half as much as her. And he loved it.” He waves a hand in the air, like can you believe it?

I can believe it. Not that Angelica and I fight, but we’re opposites in so many ways. I think that’s another thing I like about her.

As she spins to chat with someone’s wife, Fitz leans into me. “Stunner, man, like I said.”

“Off limits,” I warn him, feeling a flare of the evil green eye.

“Got that memo the second you introduced her. You never bring women with you.”

“Never had someone to bring before.”

Fitz hums, knowing I just said more than I actually said.

“Nice uniform she’s wearing,” he jokes, arching a dark bushy brow.

“Fuck off,” I snap, but my irritation only goes throat deep because deeper inside me is the pride that she’s wearing my old jersey and everything about that says she belongs with me.

The Clara-Nutcracker thing.

“So the real question is, how did a beauty like you end up with a beast like this guy?” someone nearby asks.

I turn toward Angelica.

She glances at me, slipping her hand into mine. I’m distracted by the possessive touch and stare down at our hands, linking our fingers together.

“I saved his life,” she begins.

A few gasps lift my head, and I meet Angelica’s bright, playful eyes. “He had a broken heart.”

Additional sounds of surprise have me facing the closest group and clarify, “I had a heart attack.”

Our little gathering goes quiet, before erupting into a barrage of animated questions.

“What the fuck, man?” Fitz practically shouts.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” someone else asks.

“What’s this about a broken heart?” another interjects.

“He had a stress cardiomyopathy incident,” Angelica explains, to which more questions explode like popcorn in a concession stand machine.

The bank president seems to know what Angelica is talking about and goes into a detailed explanation about how he suffered the same thing once.