Page 43 of The Game She Hates

“If I was blind, I probably wouldn’t be your coach.” He chuckles softly. “But seriously, get your behind out there and ask her to dance. She’s clearly suffering with that young man.”

“What makes you think she won’t suffer through dancing with me?” I ask, attempting to mask my growing nerves. I haven’t yet confided my interest in Pearl to anyone except Tyler and Carson, and they wouldn’t have spilled the beans to Coach.

“I think she’s behind the new Ortiz we’ve been seeing for the past two weeks,” Coach remarks, his hand rubbing his freshly trimmed chin.

“Of course. She sent me to a counselor, and it’s been really helpful,” I dully respond, bringing the glass of lemonade to my lips. I’ve met with Dr. Lawson a few times, and we’ve also had some sessions over the phone. While we haven’t made significant strides yet, he’s been instrumental in guiding me through the stress of the season’s end. I’ve talked to him a bit about my journey, and during one session, I shared that I had accepted Jesus Christ. He seemed genuinely pleased to hear about it.

“I think she did more than that. You know it too.” He gives me a knowing look, indicating he’s not joking. It’s a side of Coach I’ve never seen before. Why would he suddenly be interested in my dating life?

Then it hits me—Pearl is like his daughter. By sending me out there, he’s giving me his blessing to pursue her.

I smooth down my pants and rise up, feeling a bit self-conscious since I usually try to keep a low profile in large gatherings. This isn’t something I’d usually do, but then again, Pearl has a way of making me do things I’d never do in another context. And it’s not like I haven’t been photographed since I arrived—every flash seems to catch me—but I’ve been avoiding direct eye contact with any camera, pretending not to notice. Even the wedding photographer seems to favor our side of the guests.

But now, all eyes will be on me as I approach Pearl. Whether she accepts my invitation to dance or sends me back to my seat is bound to make some headlines. But for Sweet P, I’m willing to take the risk.

As Pearl and her dance partner look like they’re about to step away, I seize the moment, stepping up from behind her and gently reaching out my hand. “I think I’ll take it from here,” I say softly, catching Pearl off guard. She turns, a hint of surprise flickering in her eyes. But the guy easily lets go, he doesn’t even flinch; instead, he simply nods and seems content to return to his seat.

I slip my hand onto Pearl’s waist, gently turning her to face me. “What do you think you’re doing?” she asks, trying hard to sound annoyed.

“What does it look like? I’m dancing with you.”

“But...”

“But what? You said you came here to mingle. Let’s do that.” Despite my invitation, her feet remain rooted to the spot.

“Is everything a competition to you?” she asks, lifting her brow.

“Sweet P, don’t pretend you were having a blast with what’s-his-name over there.” A huff escapes my lips as I nod toward the guy she was dancing with.

“Edwin,” she blurts out, pretending to be upset with the most adorable pout.

“With Edwin,” I repeat, “I’ve been watching you two since he asked you to dance. He was boring you to death.”

“I think Kate asked him to keep me company, so he has duty written all over his face and moves.” She winces.

“Well, Coach only asked me to ask you for a dance because I couldn’t take my eyes off you,” I say, with a little bow and extending my hand to her once more. Perhaps she didn’t appreciate the surprise of me grabbing her hand without consent. While some women may swoon at the command to dance with me, Pearl might be different. She deserves to be treated like royalty if she so wishes. So, with all the flair I can muster, I add, “Would you do me the great honor of gracing me with this dance, my sweet Pearl?”

When she blushes and offers a shy smile, I pull her closer to me, and we sway slowly to the rhythm of the song. Every point of contact between us sends a jolt of electricity through me, and I can feel my heart racing with each gentle movement.

Our pace synchronizes, each movement tentative yet perfectly coordinated. With each sway, we draw closer, the space between us diminishing until I feel Pearl’s shoulder relaxing against me. Our dance evolves into a wordless conversation.

She finally allows her head to rest on my chest.

There’s something here.

There’s a connection between us, an electric current that crackles in the air, and I need to know if Pearl feels it too.

Throughout the second song, we share fleeting glances. Pearl’s rainforest eyes are practically sparkling with this new intensity.

She’s never allowed our eyes to search each other’s depths for this long. I catch a glimpse of a vulnerability she’s fully concealed beneath layers of distance and avoidance.

I never dared to hope for this—despite the unanswered calls, the ignored texts, the distance—but Pearl has been hiding her feelings for me.

Why? All I’ve done is show her that I’m interested in her.

Did she doubt it? Does she not know I would literally move mountains for her?

Pearl lifts her head, tucking her chin into the hollow of my chest, I instinctively lower mine to meet hers, aiming to gently tip our foreheads together.

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