“Aggression on the field but tiptoeing off,” he noted. “It’s extremely fascinating and extremely frustrating.”
I nodded. “I grew up in a family of politicians. All dinners were a psychologist’s dream.”
He chuckled. “I bet. I’m Rory, by the way.”
“Yara.” I offered my hand.
“What’s your poison, Yara? Player, recruiter, or coach?”
I laughed. “You think I’m part of the team? How flattering… I think?”
“You could run offense for all I know,” he said. “I’ve seen plenty of women outshine guys like this.”
“So kind of you, but I’m a plus one.”
“Full time?” he joked.
“When I’m not attending lovely, entertaining dinners such as this one, I moonlight as a PoliSci major.”
“Ah, I could have guessed.”
“What?”
“You have the look of someone who knows how to take the lead,” he explained. “Which was why my money was on the offensive assistant coach.”
I smiled, happy to finally have some amusement. A hand on my knee distracted me for the briefest of seconds. David gave me a gentle squeeze without even turning away from hisconversation. His hand lingered, as if he were looking for some comfort. I offered it to him, enclosing my hand over his. It was a show of unity that couldn’t be seen underneath the tablecloth. My stomach greeted butterflies.
“What about you?” My voice was surprisingly steady as David traced circles between my thumb and index finger. “Linebacker? Kicker? I’ve never seen you around the offensive team.”
Rory gave me a one-shoulder shrug. “I was late, and this was the only spot left. The best decision I've made so far tonight. Hopefully, I’ll continue the streak.”
I couldn’t tell if he was flirting. But David sensed something because he turned his attention to me. To us.
“Sorry, I don’t think we’ve met.” Instead of reaching his hand out to shake Rory’s hand, David stretched his arm out behind my chair. It was a subtle territorial marking. Rory’s gaze flickered to it for a second. He didn’t lose his smile.
“Rory Haynes,” he said. “I was telling your assistant coach about the dance.”
David’s forehead wrinkled. “Dance?”
“Everyone’s doing it.” Rory waved toward the buzzing conversations around us. “Not as fun to watch as it is to take part.”
“Is that so?” David tilted his head to the side, a telltale sign (for me anyway) that he didn’t trust this guy as far as he could throw him.
“So,” Rory confirmed. “Know any steps?”
“Dancing isn’t my thing.”
“What about you?” Rory roped me back into the conversation with an easy smile.
“Born and raised to dance, unfortunately,” I said. “And sing too. Showgirl through and through.”
It was supposed to be a joke, but there was a bitter truth wrapped up in it.
“I’m sure you’re great at it,” Rory said.
I nodded. “Brilliant at anything I do.”
Rory was amused. David was annoyed.
