The Crush (10)

It was easy—despite that ominous rumble that something big was about to happen—to take the hand he offered me and follow him to the dance floor.

As his warm, strong fingers curled around mine, I felt the butterflies again. And this time, they were everywhere.





Emmett



The day of my first game in the NFL was the most nervous I’d been in my entire life. Any unspoken fear that had lain dormant came scratching and clawing into the forefront of my mind, mulling over the enormity of what I was about to do.

I was raised in the shadow of my dad’s football legacy.

He was the first person who taught me how to throw. How to block. How to read a defense. Because those were all the things he knew best.

He won a trophy as a defensive captain for the Washington Wolves, retired a legend, and spent the next twenty years solidifying himself as one of the best defensive coaches in the league. Logan Ward was a name that needed no introduction, and before I took a single snap on a professional field, I knew that I’d have to prove myself outside of that shadow if I had any hope of achieving what I wanted.

Those nerves sent all sorts of messages through me. Questions I hadn’t wanted to ask myself.

Can I do this?

Am I with the right team?

Will I find what I’m looking for?

But the fears faded as soon as I got out of bed, and by the time I strapped on the pads, slipped the jersey over my head, took the field to screaming fans and blaring music and deafening fireworks, I was as ready as I’d ever been.

After that first morning of my first game, I never felt the nerves again.

Until I was leading Adaline Wilder to the dance floor, and she had no fucking idea who I was.

This was exactly the kind of offensive adjustment that separated a good quarterback from a great one.

Had I planned on finding her off in a quiet hallway where I could ask her to dance, explain why I was there? Yes.

Had I planned on walking in on her being assaulted? Definitely no.

Had I planned on her not recognizing me? Absolutely not.

But something happened when there wasn’t a single flicker of recognition in her eyes. A shift in the game plan and a whole new strategy.

The music was quiet and romantic, and I led Adaline to the farthest corner of the dance floor that fell just outside of the soft, pastel-colored lights. Turning toward her, I slid my hand along her waist and tucked our joined hands against my chest. Her eyes briefly locked onto mine, and I saw clear confusion in her features. Her mask was delicate, more of her face showed, and I liked that I could tell what she was thinking.

We didn’t speak, and that was how I knew she was feeling the same vibrating tension strung tight between us. She let out an unsteady breath as her chest brushed mine.

“I haven’t slow danced in a long time,” she said.

“Me neither.” I inhaled when her hand slid from my shoulder up toward my neck.

“I’ll apologize in advance if I step on your toes.”

“Apology accepted.” When I turned us in a slow circle, tightening our hands on my chest, she breathed out a laugh. “As long as you don’t break any bones.”

“I wish I could promise that, but I’m really not good in these heels.” She went quiet. “The last person who took me to events like this … he didn’t like to dance.”

What a dick. My jaw clenched. “Why not?”

The couple next to us pushed into our space, the wife giving Adaline an apologetic smile when they bumped shoulders. Once we settled back into our gentle swaying rhythm, Adaline didn’t answer, and I didn’t press. Because the truth was that I didn’t want him intruding on this moment.

I’d never danced with her before. Never had the chance. And for all the ways I’d been unable to stop thinking about her in the past six weeks, it was all the things I knew about Adaline that kept turning over and over in my head.

Tonight, I got to learn something new.

I wanted to make a million discoveries about Adaline—a list of everything I hadn’t known before—and that’s how I knew she was different than any of the women I’d come across. No one caused the slightest flicker of interest until now.

I knew what she felt like in my arms. I didn’t before. I could file it away with all the other things I was learning too, like the fact that she had no problem being pressed against me as we swayed to the music. Adding that to my list had my hands sliding her closer, my arms tightening as I inhaled a light citrusy scent from the top of her head.

“Do you make a habit of sniffing strangers’ hair?” she asked, a teasing note in her voice.

I let out a quiet laugh. “No.”

She cleared her throat delicately. “Then I guess I should feel honored.”

I smiled but didn’t say anything else. The fact that she hadn’t recognized me—my voice—was already stretched past the point of believability, at least in my head. But then again, if I thought she was across the country, if I hadn’t known to be looking for her, would I have recognized Adaline behind her fancy clothes and dark mask? Probably not.

“My hair does smell good,” she continued. “So I can’t blame you. I just … never thought I’d be dancing with a man who’d find such appreciation in it when I don’t even know his name.”

It was a leading statement, and she let out a small huff when I didn’t take the bait and give her any information.