Chapter 16
Shea
I hurried back from the bar as fast as I could without spilling Brynn's glass of wine.
That took forever!
In my head, I could already hear all the idiotic things my teammates were saying to Brynn. All the bawdy jokes, the questions about whether we were 'banging' or not, the crude pickup lines from the single guys.
God only knows what terrible shit those guys could say to an innocent girl like Brynn.
I found her standing with Paige, and sure enough, she looked shell-shocked. I passed her the glass of wine.
“Here you go, Brynn. Sorry it took so long. You should've seen the line to the bar.”
“T-thank you,” she said, her eyes nervously darting from side to side to avoid mine. She immediately took a long sip of the Merlot.
“Okay, tell me who said it,” I grumbled.
“What?” Brynn stammered.
“One of my teammates said something stupid to you, didn't they?”
“No—actually—I was talking with Ella.”
“Ella?” I asked with a gasp. Sweet and honest Ella said something rude to Brynn? I never would've expected that in a million years. “What did Ella say?”
“She, uh.” Brynn's gaze dropped to her feet. “She just told me about the Brawler King and Queen award. I—I had no idea that you and Chloe had such a great streak going. It's so sad that it's coming to an end.”
I laughed. “That's it? Oh, Brynn, trust me, it's not a big deal. Honestly, I'm glad someone else is going to win it this year. There's so many great couples here. Lance and Paige. Radar and Ella. Ilya and Natalya. Someone else deserves to wear the crown and do the dance for once.”
“There's a crown? And a dance?” Brynn asked, and she took another heavy gulp of her wine.
“Yeah, and I know what you're thinking: that this whole thing sounds really corny in this high-school-prom kind of way, right?”
She bobbed her head. “Yeah … sure does …”
“But it's for a good cause, because the Brawlers owner, Jim James, makes a ten thousand donation to the winner's charity of choice. Last year, Chloe wanted to pick the charity, and she—”
I stopped talking when I saw Brynn tilt her glass back and let the rest of her wine rain down her throat.
“Oh. Wow. I guess you need another,” I said, my eyes instinctively going in the direction of the mile-long bar line.
“I'll wait in line this time,” Brynn said as she and Paige rushed off together.
I watched Brynn and Paige scurry off, wondering, what the hell was that about?
Ilya, Brooksy, and Stoner materialized at my side. They clapped me on the shoulders and shook me around.
“Boo~oomer,” Brooksy said with a whistle. “You said she was attractive but you never told us that she's a beaut. Wow. So when are you going to make your move? Tonight, right?”
“Would you guys cut it out with that?” I groaned. “I'm not making any moves. It's not like that.”
No matter how much I wished it could be.
“Yeah, sure. You should see the way you look at each other,” Ilya said. The goalie clasped his hands together, batted his eyelids, and gave me these obnoxious doe-eyes. “Oh, Shea!”
I gave him a shove.
***
Frankly, I didn't even know what all the fuss with these guys and Brynn was about. The truth was, I barely even saw her through the night. It seemed like wherever I was, she was somewhere else. I was happy that she was making friends with the Brawlers wives and girlfriends, but I started to feel a little left out. A little abandoned by my date.
And when I did find her, we never talked for long. It was like she couldn't even look me in the eye. Then one of her girlfriends would grab her and they'd race off somewhere else, always with a wine glass in hand.
I started to feel like she was avoiding me or something.
And okay, whatever, she wasn't really my date. So it's not like she was obligated to spend the night with me. In fact, technically speaking, I couldn't even be mad if she hit it off with one of the single guys. Hell, they could even take her home, and I'd be way out of line if I made a scene over it.
Although the thought does make me irrationally angry …
When the time came for dinner, we took our seats. While Brynn and I sat at a table together, there wasn't much talking between any of us at the table—because this was the part of the night when the Brawlers owner and various bigwigs passed around a microphone to give their big end of the season and beginning of the playoffs rally speech.
And then our GM, Mr. Tremblay, took another turn with the mic. “The votes have been counted, and I have written here, on this very piece of paper, the names of this year's Brawler King and Queen.”
The crowd cheered and jeered. I caught eyes with the couple I voted for—Lance and Paige—to let them know that I thought they had this thing in the bag. I mean, it's not every day that a couple has a story like theirs and still ends up happy and together.
But then I noticed Brynn staring at me. She had something she wanted to say to me.
Over the sound of the drumroll on the PA, I mouthed the word, What?
She mouthed back, It's us.
I waved my hand at her. That's ridiculous.
But her gaze never strayed, and her knowing smile never wavered as Mr. Tremblay unfolded the piece of paper and finally read the names.
“For the seventh year in a row, it's your Captain! Congratulations to Shea Ellis and his date, Brynn Conley! Come on up here, you two!”
The audience roared.
And I laughed. I laughed, because what else could you really do?
As I stood, I clapped my howling teammates on the back and whispered in their ears, “Very funny, Ilya.” “Hilarious, Brooksy.” “You had something to do with this too, Radar?” “You know I voted for you, right Lance? You only robbed your lady of the crown.”
Brynn took my arm and walked with me to receive our crowns.
She tugged on my arm and whispered in my ear, “I told you so.”
“How'd you know?” I whispered back.
“I had a funny feeling.”
“I'm sorry. I think this is my teammates' idea of a joke. I hope you're not embarrassed.”
“Just a bit.”
The owner and Mr. Tremblay placed the weighty crown on my head and a glimmering tiara on Brynn's. “And now, music please, as the King and Queen lead us with the ceremonial first dance.”
With several feet separating us, Brynn and I looked at each other for what felt like an eternity. Making the moment seem like it lasted even longer was the fact that the music hadn't started.
The two of us did the only thing we could do—we laughed. The audience could sense our hesitation, and they all laughed, too.
And then, finally, the slow song started to play.
I stepped forward and asked for her hand. “Dance?”
She took my hand. “Yes.”
I held her waist with my other hand. The two of us began to glide to the music while the crowd watched.
“So, Brynn, on a scale of one to ten Mortified Chloes, where do you rank right now?” I asked her quietly.
She gave a gentle laugh. “Hm … I'd say I'm at a solid two.”
“Two. Hey. I'll take that.”
We moved as one. I have to say, I liked it. I liked it all—the warmth of her delicate hand clasped in mine; her eyes locked on mine, and twinkling in the low light; her round breasts pressing against my body. It was nice enough that I could almost forget about my jackass teammates' smiling mugs out in the audience. (Although I shot them a dirty stare anytime I happened to catch their eyes.)
“So are you having flashbacks to your high school prom right about now?” I asked her.
“No. I wouldn't have any prom to flashback to.”
“Huh?”
“I never went to the prom. Or any of my high school dances, actually.”
My eyes widened. “None of them? No one ever asked you to a dance?”
“Believe it or not. I was sort of a mess back then.”
“I don't believe it. The boys were probably completely in love with you, but too shy to ask you out.”
“Well, I won't stop you from believing that.” Her smile strained. “But if someone had asked me to go, I probably would've said no, because at that age, I thought all this pomp and circumstance bullshit was super contrived and lame.”
“Ah-ha.” I grinned. “See—that right there—explains why the boys were too afraid to ask you to the dance. Plus, it makes me understand why Chloe likes you so much.”
She winced. “Yeah …”
“Something wrong?”
“No,” she said, but I could tell she wasn't being honest.
I didn't want to call her out on it. So we danced, and didn't speak, until the pressure grew too strong inside me. I had to say something.
“Brynn, are you upset with me?”
“No,” she said, pressing her head against my chest—and I wondered if it was so I couldn't read her face. “Not at all.”
“Really? Are you sure? I feel like I've done or said something to bother you. All night you've been acting strange, and I can't figure out what it is.”
“Oh, Shea.” She lifted her head from my chest to give me a puppy dog pout. “You haven't done anything wrong. But yes, there is something serious on my mind.”
I swallowed. “And what's that?”