Page 60 of Set Play

“You remembered I like tulips? But, your favorite flowers are red chrysanthemums, so why orange roses? Is there some significance behind them?” She buries her nose in the flowers before meeting my eyes again.

I shift awkwardly where I stand, feeling suddenly unsure of how to approach her recent silence. Niamh elbows me in the ribs, hard. Right. In the middle of something here.

“Of course I did,” I say, leaning in to kiss her cheek.

A soft blush graces her cheeks and despite my frustration with her, it thrills me to see that I do have an effect on her. We stand in the foyer in uneasy silence until Niamh snatches the bouquet says, “While you two do…whatever this is, I’ll go put these in water.”

Shit.

We watch Niamh retreat and when our eyes meet, albeit hesitantly, I realize I didn’t answer Élise’s question about the roses. I offer a sheepish smile and explain, “I just thought the roses looked nice.”

Okay, so that’s a lie.

Lukas told me their symbolism, but she’s not ready for that knowledge yet. Soon hopefully, but not yet. Before she can ask anything else, I grab her hand and twirl her in place. “Damn, Chispita. There isn’t a word good enough to describe how exquisite you look tonight.”

Her answering smile is so radiant, it’s like winning the MLS Cup.

1. ¿Qué carajos fue eso? ¡Jugaste como una mierda! ¿Acaso lo estabas intentando, o simplemente decidiste que perder sonaba divertido? ¡Sácate la cabeza del culo! Habla con Élise, averigua qué está pasando y arreglalo. No podemos permitirnos que estés tan distraído, mano. = What the hell was that? You played like shit! Were you even trying, or did you just decide that losing sounded like fun? Get your head out of your ass! Talk to Élise, find out what’s going on, and fix it. We can’t afford to have you this distracted, man.

2. Gracias por enseñarle a mi mano todo sobre las flores, Mamá = Thank you for teaching my brother all about flowers, mama

Chapter 32

Mateo

“You’ve been such a big help so far this season, Cadet. The boys are bouncing back from injuries much faster with you helping personalize treatments.”

My frustration continues to rise as I listen to Élise and Sarge discuss someone’s injury. Despite all of my planning, she’s still managing to somehow ignore me. Sarge isn’t at our table, or he isn’t supposed to be, but as soon as he saw her here, he intimidated one of the poor marketing interns into switching with him. So, I’ve been sitting here for two and a half hours, listening to them discuss work.

“Mateo! Élise!” Garrett calls out as he makes his way through the throng toward us.

Sarge turns toward the newcomer, but recognizing that it’s my agent, he excuses himself and saunters off to find someone else to pester. Fucking finally!

“Why in the name of everything holy and true are the two of you not on the dance floor? You two haven’t even engaged in physical contact since you sat down!” Garrett admonishes in a whispered shout.

Before I can stop it, my gaze darts over to Élise accusingly. Luckily she's too focused on my raging agent to notice. “I don’t know what the hell is going on between you two right now, but go act like a fucking couple! It’s bad enough that the adoption event pictures looked scripted!”

Throwing back the last of whatever he was drinking, Garrett slams his glass down next to me and points a shaky finger at the two of us. “Go dance. Go mingle. I. Don’t. Care. Just remember the goal. There are more reporters here than you might think and plenty of sponsors, too. I’m not the only one watching.”

On that ominous note, Garrett storms off toward the bar and we find ourselves once again, surrounded by uncomfortable silence. I push myself back in the chair and stand, holding out a hand to her. “May I have this dance?” I ask in my best chivalrous tone.

A genuine smile breaks out across her face and she nods before setting her napkin down on the table in front of her. “Only if you lead, Big Shot.”

“Always,” I murmur into her ear as I lead her onto the dance floor.

Soon we are lost among the sea of swaying bodies. Cameras flash all around us. I don’t know if they are aimed at us or not, but with the feeling of her in my arms, I don’t even care. My hands are locked firmly around her hips and hers around my neck. Mere inches separate us physically, yet I can’t help but worry that miles exist between us mentally and emotionally.

We lose ourselves in the sway of the crowd for a few songs before I face the inevitable and break my silence. “Élise,” I start with obvious trepidation. “I don’t know what’s been going through your head over the last week or so since Phoenix, but—”

“Not now,” she interrupts with a shake of her head. “Please.”

My jaw clenches. “Then when? After the event? Or are you just going to jump into an Uber without so much as a goodbye? Or maybe we can talk about it over text messages. Oh wait, that requires you to actually respond.”

She gapes at me as if she can’t believe I just said that to her, pissing me off even more. “I’m tired. Let’s go back to the table.”

Without waiting for a response, I tug her off the dance floor with as much gentleness as I can manage given my raging emotions. My eyes scan the room, as I pull out her chair. When they clash with my brother's, I drum my fingers on the table and grumble, “I’m getting a drink.”

Rather than sticking around so she can object, I quickly turn to sulk off to meet Lukas at the bar. Without turning to my brother, I order a whiskey on the rocks and release a flustered groan. “¿Qué estoy haciendo mal? Haga lo que haga, ella se niega a hablar conmigo. Mierda, quizás solo quería una noche y ya no le interesa.1”