“You’re still all in?”
After allowing myself another few seconds to watch her, I force my gaze to my right, finding Malcolm waiting for my answer. “Am I still all in?”
“That’s what you said to me on the phone that day you called. You said you were all in and would do anything to protect her. So, I figured I’d ask, but I think I already have my answer from how you can’t take your eyes off her.”
No, I can’t take my eyes off her. She is the most beautiful person in the room to me. She may not think it about herself and not believe me when I say it, but to me, she is perfect.
She is perfect for me.
Her never-ending patience, her slow-growing smile, her creativity and resilience, her strength. Over the last month, I have thought so often about what I confessed to her the night of the holiday party. I think of how she didn’t shy away from my own display of emotion. She didn’t care that I cried, didn’t think me less of a man for what happened to me. She gave me space to tell her the truth and then held me close all night. Then the next morning, we had sex, a little rough and tumble, letting me exorcise things I didn’t even know I needed to.
She is everything I could want or need. Like she was made exactly for me. By coincidence or a heavenly hand, I’m not sure, but I am eternally grateful.
Andshe knits me things. I toy with the end of the scarf hanging around my neck as I tell Malcolm, “I’m going to marry her one day.”
If he’s surprised by this particular statement, he doesn’t show it. Merely nods. “Just make sure the proposal is better than the one you went with this time around.”
I grin and slap him on the back. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll be asking you for help to plan the extravaganza.”
He snorts, though he doesn’t refuse me.
“So, what do you know about art?” I ask, and he slices his hand through the air.
“Absolutely nothing.”
“Great.” We both turn at the same time to a photo in front of us, and I point to it. “What do you think of that one?”
“It’s a tree.”
I chuckle. “Indeed.”
Jensen and Jo return then, and Malcolm and I spend a few minutes enduring art talk, more about balance and symmetry and storytelling. I don’t understand it, but I love the way Jo lights up when she’s in her element. Jensen is in the middle of exchanging information with Jo when another familiar face pops up in the crowd, Camden Long, the Philadelphia Founders’ startight end, and he’s got his arm wrapped around a petite, dark-haired woman. They weave through the crowd to stop to chat with us. We clap hands, having run into each other at some events.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, and he juts his chin to Malcolm.
“I used to be on his list.”
I make a sound of understanding. “I’m still on the list. Waiting to be released.”
“We should start a support group,” Long suggests with a smirk in Malcolm’s direction. “I’m sure there are more of us purported bad boys floating around being tortured by him.”
“Oh yes, how terrible of me,” Malcolm deadpans. “Forcing you millionaire professional athletes to do works of charity and smile for pictures with children.”
“You followed me on a road trip,” Long says.
So I chime in, “And you Big-Brothered all of my social media.”
Malcolm shrugs. “Look at you both now. Rehabilitated reputations, stable careers, and the city loves you.”
“All in a day’s work,” Jensen says. “And I need to go do mine.” He waves to us all. “I’ll leave you to catch up. Josephine, I’ll be waiting to hear from you.”
As he sails away, she leans into my side, whispering, “He wants to see my work.”
I kiss her temple. “Of course he does. He knows talent when he sees it.”
She tips her face up, grinning widely, unselfconscious, and I don’t care that we’re in the middle of an art gallery. I kiss her until Long laughs, “Jesus, Tremblay, let the girl breathe.”
“As if you have room to talk. You’re the most inappropriate person I’ve ever met,” the woman with Long snaps before he introduces her with a big grin.
