Page 55 of The Longshot

“Now, who's the one that needs to relax?” I cock a brow, placing both of my hands on my hips.

Oh, how the tables have turned.

“Fine.” She backs away, folding her arms across her chest with a pout. “Just have fun, okay? All I want is for you to have the best night ever. Think you can do that?”

“I’ll try,” I tell her wholeheartedly, pulling her into my embrace. “I’ll try.”

We stay like this for a moment, a faint pocket of peace, until a loud knock comes through the front door and peels us both apart.

“Ah, answer it! Mr. Hottie’s here!” she cries out.

“Ruby!” I scold her, given that Gary is standing right behind the glass. “Shush. He can probably hear you!”

“Sorry.” She races towards the staircase, cheeks red with embarrassment. “I’m going… I’m going. Just remember what I said, okay?”

“Yes, fun, sexy, best night ever, now go.” I shoo her away once more as I place my hand on the doorknob. “Let me have my night. I’ll tell you about it later.”

“You better.” Ruby flashes me a final wink before she’s gone with the wind and up the staircase, though I wouldn’t put it past her to be earwigging in our conversation.

I roll my eyes playfully while clutching onto the door knob, taking a deep breath in and slow breath out to settle my erratic heartbeat until finally, I build up the courage to swing open the front door to reveal Gary, who, not only is out of breath but has his hands perched on top of his knees in an attempt to catch it.

“Gary?” I talk to the top of his messy brown hair, confusion masking my tone.

He instantly shoots his head up at the sound of my voice. “Chelsie,” he says my name breathlessly, eyes meeting my face before he scans me up and down. “Wow… you look… fuck.”

“Fuck?” I say back to him—toying with his unique choice of word.

“No, sorry!” He nervously runs his hands through his hair. “I meant to say you look… shit.”

“Shit?” My voice inflates that much more as I desperately peer back down at my outfit.

Is it the dress?

I told Ruby it was likely too much, but she insisted that it was perfect.

“God, no!” Gary revokes his words yet again, scrunching his face as he profusely shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said fuck and shit. I just…” His face transforms into a flush shade of pink as he attempts to formulate the remainder of his sentence. “What I meant to say was perfect. You look perfect, Chelsie. You do. You always do.”

The heat displaces from his face onto mine as I hold out on bursting into a smile.

It’s virtually impossible.

Gary Wilkinson: the only guy I’ve ever met who can take me from confusion and concern to love and lust in a matter of seconds.

“I'm so sorry I’m late, love,” he apologizes profusely, straightening out the collar of his shirt before I can thank him for the compliment. “Practice went later than usual, and then I got caught up with Delaney and?—”

I raise a suspicious brow. “Delaney?” I question, having never heard the name before. “Who’s Delaney?”

Gary’s eyes widen as he raises his hands in defense. “Delaney’s my Coach’s girlfriend… partner… fiancé? Are they engaged? I don’t know,” he’s quick to clarify. “Regardless, she’s not some other girl I’m seeing. I… I was just helping her out with some boxes. You see, Coach forgot his briefcase and then?—”

“My word, Gary.” My voice is enough to cut his senseless rambling short as I reach for my purse that rests along the entryway table. “I was right about you.” I step outside the front door and close it shut behind me before re-settling in place.

Gary furrows his brows, toying with his hands in front of his grasp. “Right about me?” he questions. “How so?”

“That you ramble when you're nervous,” I laugh playfully. “Tell me, is the Captain of Crawfield actually nervous right now?”

Gary rubs along his angular face ever so slightly. It’s a not-so-subtle gesture that barely hides the fact that he's blushing. He’s blushing hard, and I’ll be damned, it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

I step in that much closer to him, eliminating the gap that separates the two of us, but all it does is engross me in him that much more as I take in his height. God, he’s tall. Alarmingly tall. So tall that if I were to stand on my tallest tip toes, I still wouldn’t be able to reach his devilishly refined face.

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