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“No. I can’t,” I admit.
“I’m happy for you. She’s amazing.”
“She is.” I smile at Jaxon and then I say, “Excuse me. She feels too far away right now.”
He laughs and tips his head in her direction. “Go on. Get your girl.”
My girl. The words are simultaneously sweet and sour.
The weather is chillier tonight. A breeze lifts Cass’s hair and I stop in my tracks for a beat, watching her while she’s unaware—her smile, the softness in her eyes, the way she bends in to listen. She’s dynamic, bright, beautiful.
I make my way to her, standing closer than I need to. The wind picks up again, and Cass shivers. I wrap my arm around her waist.
She startles for a second and then smiles up at me.
I don’t know if she likes me or still thinks I’m a bossy, arrogant, insufferable man.
I can’t tell if she’s honed her acting skills or she’s starting to enjoy my company.
Either way, she settles into my side and continues talking to the volunteers. I soak up the feeling of her in my arms like a thirsty man finally getting a long pull off a water bottle.
“You can choose a shift. It will be flexible, so you can change it if needed anytime,” Cass says. “We want some predictability—as much as possible—but we also want to make this as low-stress as possible for all our amazing volunteers.”
The two women have shifted from looking at Cass to studying me.
“Any questions?” I ask, hoping to move their attention back to Cass and the process of signing up.
“Not really,” one of the women says.
The other says, “Are there other single Thunder players who want to date women in town?”
I laugh and say, “Right now I’m hoping the guys keep their minds on the game.”
“You can fill out the application to volunteer over at that table where Daisy is sitting,” Cass says, moving our two volunteers along.
I don’t drop my arm. Cass doesn’t wiggle to get out of my embrace.
She does turn to me and says, “Delaney, I can’t decide if you’re an asset or a liability.”
“Oh, babe,” I say, knowing the nickname gets under her skin. “I’m an asset. One hundred percent.”
She shakes her head. But she doesn’t reprimand me or contradict me. Then she steps away to approach a couple who just drove up.
I watch her leave, wondering how I’m going to convince her to give me a chance when our time is up. I’ve decided I have to shoot my shot. I can’t just let her go.
Cass is busy greeting volunteers and answering questions all the way through the serving of the buffet dinner. My eyes are always on her, seeking her out—at times bringing her a glass of water and saying, “Drink,” or asking her what I can do. People approach me occasionally for an autograph or selfie, but for the most part, they are giving me and the other players a respectful distance.
The band starts playing after dinner.
Cass is standing near the barn. She looks tired, but still gorgeous.
I approach the group she’s talking to and say, “Excuse me. I’m going to steal my girlfriend away for a dance.”
When I look at Cass, her mouth pops open for a second, but she walks with me to the dance floor inside the barn. Twinkle lights are strung overhead and hay bales line the walls in small stacks, a larger stack in the back of the barn behind the band.
They’re playing a Luke Combs song, but just as we’re approaching the dance floor, they switch and start playing Shania Twain’s Any Man of Mine.
Cass raises her brows in a challenge as if she thinks I can’t line dance or don’t know the dance to this particular song. She mouths the first spoken line of the song about what a woman wants while pointing at me and wagging her brows as if she’s about to tell me what a woman wants.
