But none of it compares to seeing Weston Ford in a tailored suit and tie. He’s not my coach anymore, looking like that.
When he spots me from across the ballroom, his powerful legs eat up the distance between us. He stops short of touching me. We’re maybe close enough for a handshake.
“What are you doing here?” I ask. “I thought you were leaving to train for the world championships this summer?”
“The AD was supposed to chaperone, but he had an out-of-town emergency and asked me to fill in.”
I study his face. He looks slightly more drawn than normal. Like he hasn’t been sleeping well. This care-worn face does nothing to diminish my feelings.
He’s wearing a tailored medium gray suit with the hint of a pinstripe, a periwinkle pocket square and matching necktie.
“You look—”
“You look,” he interrupts, “radiant.”
I smile, turn red as a tomato, and drop my eyes to my gown. The fitted pastel chiffon flares out at the bottom, where it’s dotted with a random pattern of wildflowers and accented with sequins. The dress has none of the cut-out patterns like most of the other girls on the team chose. I just can’t do strapless and tight with cut-out designs. Mine is a bit more modest with a gathered criss-cross bodice and short sleeves that flutter when I walk. The plunging neckline is the only thing sexy about this dress.
“You look very handsome,” I spit out.
His eyes drift down to my chest, and I feel my nipples react. “You look like a goddess.”
It’s then that I notice his pocket square and necktie are the same color as my dress.
I point to his necktie and back at my dress. “Hey, how did that happen?”
A smirk crawls across his face. “I have no idea.”
My tomato-colored face is now the color of an eggplant.
“I hope you have a wonderful evening, Shermer.”
“I’ve given up on wonderful, but I’m enjoying my time with Hunter, and that’s all that matters.”
30
Weston
I want to ask her to dance, but if I dare touch her, I won’t be able to stop.
The material of her dress almost floats around her dreamily; she could be living proof that magic is real.
“Save a dance for me,” I say, but she’s already walking away, back to her friends.
31
Addie
I head back to my table where Roland and Ridley are lounging close together and speaking conspiratorially. She’s got something in her handbag and I see her sneak it to Roland. It’s a flask, of course.
I truly do not understand that relationship, and I don’t think I want to.
The entire group takes a swig on the down low and I shock everyone by asking for a sip.
“There’s my girl! Where’ve you been all my life?” Roland asks while everyone laughs.
“Shut up. We don’t want the newbie drawing attention to what we’re doing,” Ridley remarks.
It’s not the first sip of alcohol in my life. My dad occasionally lets me drink from his beer at backyard barbecues. But this stuff in this flask doesn’t even taste good. However, it does sort of feel good after I force myself to swallow it.