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Twyla
Chase Andrews stuck up for me.
The grumpiest man I’ve ever met put all the strong personalities around this table in their place—for me. I barely remain in my seat instead of wrapping my body around his, kissing his face with thanks.
I’m giddy that a big, burly man told everyone to leave me alone. I shouldn’t read too much into it. He was probably just annoyed at listening to everyone go on and on about my love life. I have the impression that Chase prefers a quiet room alone with his thoughts over a roomful of people talking nonstop.
The rest of dinner continues without any more conversation about my love life—something I’m thankful for. I sometimes feel as if that’s all anyone ever wants to talk about these days.
Once all the presentations finish and Brady’s parents, the owners of the team, have thanked everyone for coming, the music starts. Men around the room stand and hold their hands out to their dates, asking for a dance.
“I’m off to make the rounds,” Bryce says and slides out of her chair, dropping her napkin on the seat.
My brother mumbles something and I inwardly roll my eyes that he can’t let his issue with Bryce go. What is his problem with her? I’ve asked before and he never gives a straight explanation.
The rest of us chat for a while, though it’s a struggle now that the music is playing until a slow song comes on.
“I love this song,” Shayna says to Lee.
Without her having to say anything else, he pushes back his chair and holds out his hand to her before leading her to the dance floor.
“Do you want to dance?” Miles asks Heather, and she happily obliges. That’s two gone.
Brady and Violet get pulled away by his parents, who want to introduce them to some people. That leaves Chase and me, side by side, staring at the couples on the dance floor. It only takes about five seconds for the space around us to grow awkward.
Maybe I should excuse myself to use the bathroom, but then he’ll picture me peeing. Or I could suggest we get a drink from the bar, but my wineglass is still full. I could say I need to make a phone call but to whom?
Before any of those excuses come out of my mouth, he leans in close to my ear, his breath tickling the bare flesh under my earlobe. “Do you want to dance?”
My stomach goes crazy as though a little gymnast is tumbling inside. “Sure.”
He slides out of his chair and comes along to mine, pulling my chair out for me. He doesn’t take my hand but motions for me to lead us to the dance floor. I find us a spot on the other side of the dance floor from my brother.
Chase stands there for a moment like a wall barricading a medieval town—tall, intimidating, and immovable. Then he steps into me, and I breathe in his earthy and woodsy cologne. Is this really happening?
He takes me into his arms with care, as if he’s trying extra hard to be gentle so he doesn’t hurt me, and it sends a rush of emotions through me I can’t quite piece together. But when his bear paw of a hand engulfs mine and I wrap one arm around him to lay my hand on his back and feel his hard muscles shift, the feeling fits together—safety.
I am safe in this man’s arms.
It wasn’t that Mathew didn’t make me feel safe or anything, but compared to Chase, I never knew what I was missing with Mathew. Because the feeling right here cannot be overstated. At least not for me. And the fact that it’s coming from a huge football player who acts as if he just barely tolerates everyone else’s existence in this world makes me feel all the more special.
“Thank you for sticking up for me back there.” I crane my head back to look up at him.
He doesn’t meet my eyes or even glance down at me. “Everyone needs to worry more about themselves and less about what you want to do with your life. You’re a smart girl. You’ll figure it out.”
If someone snapped a picture of us this instant, I know my cheesy smile would give me away. “You’re right.”
We dance for another minute, neither speaking a word. I’m trying to keep a respectable distance from him, but every part of me wants to smash myself against him and see what it feels like to have his big, hard body pressed against mine.
“You let your brother push you around too much.” His deep voice reverberates in his chest as he circles us around, still not making eye contact.
“It’s sort of the dynamic we’re used to. Growing up… he looked out for me when things were tough.” I stare at his jawline, so sculpted and strong.
His eyes fall to mine for a fleeting moment. “Maybe so. But you’re all woman now. You don’t need him dictating every aspect of your life for you.”
His phrasing skips on a loop in my brain… you’re all woman… all woman.
No. Stop.It doesn’t mean anything, and even if it did, so what?I just finished telling everyone how I’m not ready for any type of relationship.
