“No.” Dean’s brow wrinkled. “But this is way too many. Honestly, I’d want my woman to be happy. That’s it. If she wanted this, then I’d do it, but this isn’t intimate. My life is in the spotlight, so the less people there, the better. You never know who might leak details or photos.”
We took our seats at table forty, where another couple in their sixties sat on the opposite side. I smiled in greeting as Dean pushed in my chair. “Good evening!”
“What a gorgeous couple, aren’t they, Frank?”
“Yes. You are,” the older man said.
“Thank you. It’s all her.” Dean kissed my cheek as he sat next to me. “She’s radiant.”
“Stop.” I blushed, my skin prickling. “I’m already here with you, no need to go overboard.”
“There is a need. I don’t want you thinking for one second that you’re not incredible and the most beautiful person ever.”
“Mr.Ross,” I said, shoving his side. “There is a thing as going too hard.”
“Never. I always want my woman to know how I feel.” He winked and with that motion, stole the last part of my heart I guarded.
I was foolishly in love with him now. My crush was nothing compared to how I felt now. This…whole-body, heart-fluttering feeling was overwhelming. My hands trembled as I picked up the fork, my skin heating as I took a few deep breaths.
I was rational. I made hard decisions on the field all the time and was in control of my body. This was no different. Just, feelings instead of soccer. I focused on gaining control as we ate and laughed with the older couple. They were old friends of the groom’s parents from a decade ago and had been married for forty years.
“Best marriage advice we can give? Never go to bed angry, kiss every time you say goodbye, and pick each other. There are going to be distractions and battles, that’s life for ya, butpickingeach other is a choice you’re always going to have to make a priority.”
“My wife is right. My dad told me marriage is easy, but he’d been married four times.” The man chuckled. “Marriage is hard. Relationships are. You have to work at it, and anyone who says otherwise is wrong.”
“My parents always told me the same thing.” Dean leaned back into his chair, his arm resting on the back of mine with his fingers dangling on my shoulder. He swiped them over my skin. “You should marry your best friend, someone to laugh and cry with. Intimacy is rooted in trust. My parents laugh more than anything, and that’s something.”
“You’re right, young man. Being with your best friend is the best gift in the world.” The woman leaned into her husband’s embrace, and my throat tightened.
For a casual dinner, this felt… heavy.
We finished eating and chatting about nonsense things, but the weight of that conversation stayed with me. Marriage always seemed so far away for me, like the next part of my life, but there was something magical about this. The music, the flowers, the laughter, the older couple laughing and acting like they were on a first date despite being married for decades.
“Care to dance, beautiful?” Dean asked, standing and holding out a hand for me. He wore his signature cocky grin, where half his mouth turned up and the other playfully remained unmoved. I’d dreamed of him looking at me like that, and here I was, living my fantasy.
“Oh, wow, how formal.” I swallowed down the butterflies and placed my hand in his. His palms were cool and his fingers calloused. Where my shins and feet wore the bulk of my dedication to soccer, his hands showed his.
“You are stunning. I’ll never forget this summer, Mack.” He led us to the dance floor, pulled me close so our chests were pressed together, and lowered his lips to my ear. “When you’re famous playing in the World Cup one day, I can say I danced with you here, when you looked like this.”
“And when you’re on ESPN doing interviews for winning the Superbowl, I’ll get to say I completed my list with you,” I whispered back, hoping the hushed tone hid my shaky voice. It annoyed me that my emotions were getting the best of me. Why couldn’t I live in the damn moment,instead of thinking about how much this would hurt later?
“Yes, you will.”
He hummed the popular slow song and spun us around with more rhythm than I would’ve expected. People smiled at us, and for a moment, I forgot we were at someone else’s wedding. The bride and groom were chatting with all the couples, and I tugged Dean’s jacket. “Let’s go toward the back.”
“Already on it.”
He guided us further from the couple, but the bride studied us, brows furrowed.
“Dean…she might be onto us.”
“You know, I had another idea up my sleeve anyway.” He kissed my temple before guiding us off the dance floor and to the open bar. “We’re each getting two shots, then I have a plan.”
“One that doesn’t have that bride figuring us out?” I nervously glanced over my shoulder, but they weren’t in sight. Too many people filled the gap. Definitely a perk of crashing a three-hundred-person reception.
“Oh yeah.” Dean had his phone out, his hand never leaving my back as we waited for the bartender to get to us. I kept looking at the dance floor, but the bride and groom were swarmed with other guests. Maybe I was paranoid, but I swore I could feel her staring at us.
“Four shots of vodka, please, with limes.” Dean pocketed his phone and tipped the guy twenty bucks. Nudging me forward, he handed me the glasses. “To the best summer playbook of all time.”
