Beckett’s mouth curved. “Shame about all those touchdowns getting in the way of personal growth.”
Everett laughed softly.
I smiled at my water glass.
Isa leaned forward slightly. “I’m sorry, I must have missed the part where being one of the best wide receivers in the conference was a character flaw.”
The table went quiet.
My heart did something stupid.
Richard turned his attention to her, amused. “You’re protective.”
“I’m observant.”
Beckett’s eyes lit. “Dangerous combination.”
I looked at him.
He looked back.
Isa’s hand pressed harder into my knee under the table.
The meal came out in courses so small they felt like threats. Some carved turkey arranged in careful slices. A spoonful of cranberry reduction. Two green beans crossed like they were trying to form a legal objection. Potatoes whipped into a decorative smear.
I stared at the plate.
Isa stared at hers.
Then she looked at me.
I saw it happen.
The shift.
Her eyes softened, then sharpened. Her mouth curved, not in the polite way. In the secret way. The one I was starting to think belonged to me.
She leaned close, her shoulder brushing mine.
“Want to get out of here?”
I turned my head.
“What?”
Her smile stayed pretty for the table. Her voice stayed low for me.
“Do you want to leave?”
For one second, I forgot how to answer.
Because no one in this world ever asked me that.
They told me where to sit. What to wear. Which version of myself reflected best. Richard summoned. Everett judged. Beckett provoked.
Isa asked.
Do you want to leave?
