The Real(57)

“So, this isn’t like a prom do-over for me?”

“No,” he said softly. “It’s for me. Because if we could go back, I would’ve been your date.”

I paused my steps and we stumbled a little. Cameron swept me back up in his hold and made us both look good.

“You just . . .” I shook my head. “Happy,” I whispered.

“Would it scare you if I told you I want to keep surprising you as long as you let me?”

I shook my head. “Not at all.”

“Good,” he said, gripping my hip tighter.

My eyes drifted over his shoulder again and I tensed.

“I think you have an admirer,” I said. “Three o’clock. She looks dejected.”

I subtly nodded toward the woman who was burning holes through us. She looked at Cameron like he hung the moon, and then looked at me like I’d lassoed it away.

“That’s Bianca,” he said without glancing her way. “I’ve been throwing away her baked goods for the past year. She’s under the impression I’m a widow. I don’t correct her because I wanted her to think I was still grieving. I guess the jig is up now.”

“Heartbreaker,” I said with a frown. Her anguish was visible in her posture. “She’s crushed. I feel terrible.”

“Look at me,” he commanded. “For once in your life, Miss Fix-It, you aren’t going to worry about anyone else but yourself. I never led her on, not for one single minute. The only woman I’ve been interested in since I started at this school is the one I’m looking at. We don’t have that many songs to dance to until I have to abandon you for my post, so keep those beautiful blues on me while I think about the ways I’m going to ruin your virtue when I get you home.”

“That’s quite an assumption,” I said, quirking a brow. “Being so reckless with my virtue.”

“I’m going to get so much shit for this from every single one of the boys I coach. Trust me, I’ll earn it.”

“You already have,” I said, caressing the back of his neck with my palm.

The urge to kiss him was overwhelming, but we just swayed along the floor instead. “I’m hoping this covers the ’90s rom-com portion of woo,” he said with a chuckle.

“I guess I was a little unreasonable in my demands,” I said sheepishly.

“If you think you don’t deserve this, you’re wrong,” he said as he rubbed his thumb along my waist. “Whoever had you before me didn’t know what the fuck they had.”

“So, this isn’t the grand finale?”

“Never,” he said as he pulled me tighter to him and led me around the dance floor. “Besides, I figure if we set a good enough example for the millennials, maybe they’ll follow suit.

“Well, they’re definitely watching,” I said, sliding my thumb along his jaw.

“Good, then they can see what it looks like when two people coffee.”

I laughed. “I wonder what they would think if they knew what you did to your date on the way here.”

“Don’t remind me. If I get hard now, I’ll never be able to coach again. Damn it, woman,” he said as he closed his eyes tightly. “Two a day football practices, Trent Marcum picks his nose, Sloppy Joes.”

“Sloppy Joes?” I laughed again as he spun me around. “Those disgust you?”

“You have no idea. There’s a story behind it.”

“There always is.”

“It would make this night less romantic if I told you.”

“Some other time,” I said as the song ended, and Cameron led me off the floor.

“My turn, Coach,” a young guy that looked to be around sixteen said as he eyed me inappropriately.

“Not a chance, Marshall,” he said as he walked us toward the refreshment table and the jaded baker—who was murdering me with her stare—to get the rundown.

Though Cameron urged me to be selfish, I couldn’t help but pray she would get a chance to dance with her own prince someday.




Later that night, after a few hours of watching Cameron chaperone a room of teenage angst, break up two fights, and give a pep talk to one of the players who had cost them last week’s game, we strode out of the high school arm in arm.

“I loved watching you in that role. You’re a great mentor. You should see the way those kids look at you.”

Cameron remained quiet as we got into the limo.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said, staring out the window as we sat in light traffic.

“Horseshit,” I said, grabbing his hand. “Sorry, that was the Bree coming out of me.”

Cameron nodded.

“Okay, you didn’t laugh, and I am funny,” I argued. “Spill it.”

Pulling away from my hand, he unfastened his tie and loosened his top button.

“Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t trade this for anything, but I hate that the older I get the closer I am to all business, less coaching. I don’t . . . I know things could be worse. I could not be coaching at all. At least my stores are doing well, right?”

“Hey,” I said as he turned to look at me. “You can coach as long as you want to. If it’s your thing, there’s nothing wrong with it, right? Just because it didn’t happen on the level you wanted it to doesn’t mean it couldn’t still happen. Just don’t give up and there will always be the possibility.”