Page 11 of Catching Our Moment
“I appreciate that.” I sat forward in my chair, splaying my hands on the table. “But I don’t need him or any of you getting involved in this. It’ll only make things more complicated.” I turned my phone over, face up. “It’s under control. If you guys get involved?—”
A larger-than-life shadow fell over the table. “If we get involved, that needle-dick asshole will know not to fuck with you.” The voice behind me was deeper than I remembered, and I didn’t hear the teasing tone I was used to. Even without setting eyes on the man, I instinctively knew exactly who it was.
Dawson “Shaw” Shawfield was arguably the best professional tight end in the league, one of the most sigh-worthy players…and my former best friend.
I pushed out of my seat, stood on shaky legs, and gathered the courage to face him. Shaking my head, I said, “Wyatt really shouldn’t have called you.”
This was what happened when Wyatt Fortner was ignored: one hint of trouble, and he sends in the cavalry. My white knight. The man who captivated me long ago as a skinny, long-legged teenager whose only magic showed on the football field and in his ability to have women fall at his feet.
Now, he was one of the most eligible bachelors in the country with his sea-glass green eyes; tousled, dirty-blond hair; square jawline… And don’t get me started on that biteable bottom lip.
I glared at Grace and Aliya. They were staring at their drinks as if they were crystal balls unveiling the future.
Grace threw a gesture over her shoulder, her voice a bit higher-pitched than usual, and she said to Aliya, “How about we go see what Nick is up to?”
Both stood and ran off, practically knocking over their chairs. Shaw caught Grace’s chair, straightening it and settling his large form into it before saying, “Sit down, Kelce.” And like a pouting teen being called to the carpet, I did.
“You’re right. Wyatt shouldn’t have called me.” He leaned both forearms on the table and shifted even closer before tilting his head up, his dangerous green eyes flashing just enough emotion to communicate his displeasure. “You should have.”
And just like that, I forgot what we were even talking about.
I leaned away from him so I could breathe. Then I crossed my arms over my chest and let out an annoyed breath. “Why? So you could drop whatever multi-million-dollar photo shoot you were doing just to run back here and hold my hand?”
“If that was what you needed, yes.”
I glared at him. “Do you think so little of me that you believe I can’t handle my own crappy life?”
He sat back, tilted his head, and crossed thick arms over his equally massive chest. The effect was much more noticeable than it was when I did it. “I didn’t say you couldn’t handle it, Kelcie. But you don’t have to handle it alone.”
We narrowed our eyes at each other—as was our way—in a silent test of wills.
I hadn’t seen him in person in years, and my gaze wandered…down his chest, shoulders, and forearms back to his chin and the tilt of his cocky smile.
“You looked away first,” he whispered.
Ugh.
He ran his hands down his chest. “It was always the chest. Got you every time.”
“Shut up.” I smacked him in the arm.
It was like hitting a thick tree trunk.
He caught my arm and held it gently, “What’s going on, Kelce?”
Kelce.
Other people sometimes shortened my name to Kelce, but it didn’t sound the same as when Shaw said it. There was just something about the warmth he injected into it. As we grew older, it began to send shivers down my spine. That was how I knew things had changed between us, at least for me.
“I’m fine,” I said between gritted teeth, tired of repeating myself.
“Kelce. What happened?”
“No one has died. This isn’t a funeral or wake.” I threw my hands out. “My husband is divorcing me. Big deal. You hated him. You all hated him.” My impatience had my volume drawing attention. “You said this would happen from the day I told you I was?—”
He punched a finger at the table before me to make his point. “I said he wasn’t good enough for you.” His voice quieted, and he gained control. But it was the tightness in his jaw and his voice that hinted we were walking into territory neither of us was prepared to discuss. Not here. Maybe not ever. “And yes, I stand by that statement. The only good thing that came from that man was Aaron.”
Whether it was our body language or the volume of my voice, Aliya and Grace returned to the table. “Everything okay over here?” Ever the mediator, Grace slid in next to me.
