Page 152 of Between the Blue
“What is it?” Rags asks.
When Rhett doesn’t answer, I speak up. “Just something I put together. They’re some of my favorite pictures of you guys from the season so far that weren’t exactly team social media appropriate.”
All three of the guys raise their brows before turning their attention back to the book. Several other players start to inch in their direction, including Ben.
I feel my face getting warmer the longer no one comments, and start to wonder if I should’ve just gotten a silly gag gift or As Seen On TV product.
But something in me just wanted to make the scrapbook. I had built up a stash of so many great pictures of the guys that didn’t make the cut for social media. Whether they were photos of them just conversing with one another or were candids that were just a little too blurry, up-close, or somehow otherwise imperfect, they still deserved to be seen. I’m proud of what I’ve captured for the Storm’s social media. Those photos are great and of professional quality, but these really show the guys in their most raw form, personalities and all.
“Addie?”
“Yeah?” I say, looking up at Rhett.
“This is, like, the most thoughtful white elephant gift ever.”
“Oh,” I mutter, a smile pulling at the corners of my mouth. “Well, I’m glad you like it.”
“That really is awesome,” John says.
“For real,” Ronan chimes in.
“Can I see it?” Luke asks, reaching for the book, but Rhett nudges him away.
“Okay, okay, let’s finish the game, people,” Rhett says. “Who’s last?”
The circle falls quiet as everyone looks around, waiting for someone to speak up.
I start to think that there’s been a mistake, but then I see movement in my peripheral vision. I turn my head to see Ben slowly raising his hand up in the air, the little piece of paper with the final number wedged between his thumb and forefinger.
A few people clap, cheering Ben on for being last since it has the greatest advantage. As the last person, you get pick of every gift that’s been opened to trade with, even after opening the final gift left in the pile if you choose to do so.
Ben doesn’t even glance in the direction of the last unopened gift in the center of the circle though.
He simply takes two steps over to Rhett, holding out his hand to him.
Rhett looks up at him, raising a brow, then nods towards the gift pile. “You can still open the last gift, you know. Then, if you want, you can trade–”
“I’m good,” Ben says. Then, when Rhett still hesitates, he flicks his fingers towards himself.
Rhett squints at him, then glances down at the scrapbook in his lap. A smirk slowly spreads across his face, and then he gives it up to Ben. “Fair enough, Jamesy.”
I feel my lips part as Ben tucks the book under his arm, then grabs the final gift bag from the middle of the center, dropping iton Rhett’s lap before returning to his original spot and taking a sip of his drink like nothing just happened.
I can’t help but glance over at Rhett, who’s already looking at me, a suspicious look on his face that I can’t read. His head turns to look at Ben once more, and then his mouth opens like he’s about to say something, but Ben beats him to it.
“Well, Merry Christmas, everybody.”
Later into the evening, people have steadily begun trickling out of the party. And I, being raised by my Southern Nana after all, have found myself in the kitchen helping to clean up.
Ben said I didn’t have to, but I insisted that I didn’t mind. And I really don’t.
He said he was going to start picking things up in the living room about fifteen minutes ago, and, as I wipe down the final dish, it suddenly occurs to me how quiet it’s gotten.
I set the dish gently in its appropriate place before hesitantly stepping out the kitchen door and into the living room.
When I round the corner, I find the room entirely put back together, and Ben standing next to his extra large Christmas tree, his back partially to me.
As I slowly approach him, I realize he’s looking through the scrapbook, and it sends a strange flood of warmth through me.
