The cold air slapping me in the face is a welcome relief from the overly-heated banquet hall packed with loud, drunk people. I had my bicep squeezed more times than I can count tonight, and the looks I was given—so many women gave me their numbers I could have started a female hockey team. I would have tossed the numbers out since I have no intention of using them, but some of them came on business cards, and Savannah insisted we hold onto them. She wants me to give them to Coach Craig, so I said I would. Maybe he’ll have some grand plan to increase ticket sales. Although winning will do that more than anything.
I keep my arm firmly around Savannah as we wait for the attendant to bring the truck around.
“I’ll turn on the heat,” I say as I help her into the passenger seat and shut the door.
As soon as I’m in the driver’s seat, I get the heat going full-blast, and then I lean over to make sure Savannah’s seat belt is on. Her eyes are closed and her face has gone pale. I run my thumbs across her cheeks.
“This will be a quick ride,” I promise as I turn on the truck and pull out of the parking lot.
We’ve only gone a block and a half before I have to pull over to the side of the road so Savannah can puke out the open door. I hold onto her waist so she doesn’t slide out and hand her a tissue from the glove compartment.
“I’m so sorry.” She puts her head in her hands.
I gently rub her shoulder. “I’m the one who’s sorry. The party sucked. This was a terrible date.”
Her head snaps up and her green eyes flicker with gold. She leans toward me and…I don’t know what she was planning to do because she puts her hand over her mouth and turns to throw up again out the door.
When she’s done, she rests her head back against the seat and groans. “Oh, God. I hate drinking.”
I reach past her to pull the door shut. Savannah tips her head so she can put her cheek against the icy window, and then she closes her eyes.
“I know the motion of the vehicle moving feels like shit when you’re drunk,” I say to her closed eyes. “Are you still nauseous?”
She shakes her head. “I’m okay.”
But before I can start driving, she keeps talking.
“I have a dance class tomorrow at noon. I hope I’ll be able to make it.”
I listen, the keys frozen in my hand because I can tell she’s letting me in on a piece of her life she keeps hidden at the rink.
“You dance?”
She opens her eyes. “Belly dance.”
“Wow. That sounds really cool.”
“It is. Usually.”
“Not always?” I’m not sure where she’s going with this train of thought, but I don’t expect her to say—
“Not tonight. A man grabbed my ass while I was performing.”
“He did what?” Rage shoots through my body like an inferno. “Savannah, when? Before the fundraiser?”
She makes a face. “Yeah. But I dumped his drink on his head, and he backed off. So it’s all good.”
It doesn’t seem all good. Her eyes have gone cold like she’s deflated.
“I’m sorry,” I say, knowing that no matter what I say, I can’t take away the pain. “I wish I could make him suffer on your behalf.”
“Just you wanting to do that makes me feel better.” She giggles. “Maybe you can come to my class tomorrow. Not to dance…”
I smile.
“But we could go to coffee afterward. Like a date.”
“A second date,” I say lightheartedly.
