Page 51 of The Rebound Play
I guess I love the quiet, simple things—and Dan’s world is anything but quiet and simple.
Along with the rest of the town, I went to the second game, cheering just as loudly as everyone else when each member of the team was announced to the team’s theme song of “Ice Ice Baby,” celebrating each goal they won, commiserating with the fans each time the Jacks smashed the puck into the net. I wore my Dan Roberts number 29 jersey along with the rest of the town, delighting when the final buzzer blared, the Ice Breakers victorious.
Dan celebrated by blowing me a kiss from the ice, and I blushed, knowing all eyes were on me, judging me as Dan’s girl, just the way they did back in high school.
I know I should be okay with it all. Dan loves me, something he shows me every single day.
But it’s one thing knowing something, and quite another to fully and wholeheartedly believe it.
“A penny for them?” Dan asks, and I look from the glass in my hand up into his soft and smiling eyes, the party celebrating the Ice Breakers narrow 4-3 win in full swing around us.
“It’s just work. I’ve leased a stall to a small olive oil producer, and they haven’t been paying their lease.”
It’s a bald-faced lie. In my defense, I’m not exactly going to say I don’t feel good enough for you and I can never compete with your life, am I? Not here at the party, anyway.
Maybe not ever.
“Do you want my advice?” he asks as he pulls me to my feet.
“Sure thing.”
“Forget about work, and dance with me.” He grins before he pulls me against him, swaying to the music. He’s warm, big, and firm, and as I wrap my arms around him, I tell myself not to sweat the small stuff. It’s a point five percent doubt, which is a tiny fraction of a percent.
This man loves me, and I love him back.
That’s all that matters.
“You know you really do look extra beautiful tonight, Kiki,” he murmurs into my ear. It sends a shiver down my neck.
“Is it because I’m in your jersey?” I jest.
He swirls me around and dips me, grinning down at me. “That’s exactly why.”
I chortle. “Well, in that case you must think most of the people at this party are looking extra beautiful tonight.”
“Ah, but you see, they’re not you,” is his reply.
“And what’s so good about me?” I ask before I can stop myself. I sound like I’m fishing for a compliment.
He pulls me against him, holding me close. “Didn’t some famous person say, ‘let me count the ways’?”
I blink at him in disbelief. “You’re quoting Elizabeth Barrett Browning to me?”
He shrugs. “Maybe?”
I let out a laugh. “Who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend?” As the word leaves my mouth, we both stop moving, the atmosphere around us suddenly shifting.
“What did you say?” he asks, his gaze burning into mine.
“I meant to say, who are you and what have you done with the guy … I’m … err, seeing at the moment.”
Don’t let anyone tell you I’m not super smooth.
“Not that.”
I swallow down a lump that’s forming in my throat. “Not seeing?” I ask weakly.
“The boyfriend part. I like hearing that.” Not that I thought it possible, but the intensity in his eyes ramps up a notch, and my pulse thuds like a giant’s footsteps.