Page 83 of One Night Only
“I like that.” I smile.
“Mr. Hoffman, sir?”
We’re interrupted by the waiter appearing in the doorway, his smile wavering a touch. The man steps aside and I drop my spoon, causing my soup to slosh over the sides of my bowl when I catch sight of Dallas standing there, his big frame filling the doorway, dressed down in jeans and a New York Thunder hoodie.
“Dallas?” Andy pushes up from his chair, brow furrowing. “What are you doing here?”
Dallas scans the room, moving from Andy to me, to Jenn, to Simon, back to me, that well-versed dimpled grin firmly in place. I shrink a little in my seat.
Looking back to Andy, he throws his hands in the air with a laugh. “Since when do I need an invitation to stop by?”
Andy clears his throat, glancing at me before looking to Jenn. “We’re just having dinner...” He indicates the table.
“What are we eatin’?” Dallas steps inside, assessing the dishes on the table.
“Shabbat,” Simon answers a little too abruptly for my liking.
“Enough for one more?” Dallas arches a brow.
“I mean…” Andy grits his teeth. “You’re not really dressed the part.”
“Oh…” Dallas’s gaze meets mine across the table before looking at Simon and seemingly sizing him up. “Well, you can just give me one of those little hat thingies.” He indicates the top of his head and I press my lips together, averting my gaze down to the table, mortified on his behalf.
“Why don’t you and I just go out and grab some lunch tomorrow?” Andy suggests, his smile obviously forced.
“Oh… okay…” Dallas’s shoulders fall, along with his boyish grin, and I think I feel my heart crack. “I’ll just go. Sorry…” He turns then and heads for the doorway, and I swear I’m on the verge of pushing up from my chair and following him out. But thankfully, before it comes to that, Jenn steps in.
“Andy!” she chastises, standing from her chair. “Dallas, honey. Don’t leave. There’s more than enough to go around.” She rushes over, stopping Dallas.
“I don’t want to impose,” he says.
“Don’t be silly. You’re a part of the family,” Jenn assures him.
With a hopeful smile, Dallas turns back around, allowing Jenn to guide him around the table, offering him her seat conveniently across from me. And as Andy hops up to rearrange theseating, Jenn turns to the sideboard and rifles through the basket of yarmulkes, and Simon disappears into the next room to retrieve another dining chair, all while Dallas takes his place at the table, and I don’t miss the conspiratorial wink he flashes me the moment he sits down. And I blanche. This was all some sort of plan?
Shaking my head, I bite back my smile because what a dirty, little liar. But then, as Simon reappears with a chair, and as Andy returns to his place at the table, and as Jenn carefully pins a yarmulke in place on Dallas’s head, I feel a sneakered foot touch mine under the table, ankle linking mine, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek, forcing my gaze downwards.
As everyone returns to their places, Simon smiling at me and scooting even closer while Dallas’s ankle is entwined around mine, I can’t help but finish the rest of my wine with a few big, very uncouth gulps because this night just turned a whole lot more interesting and a hell of a lot more dangerous. I think I’m going to need all the wine I can get my hands on without causing a scene.
CHAPTER 33
DALLAS
“So how did Draper take the losses?” Andy asks.
I chew my food, tearing my eyes away from Emily long enough to acknowledge him. “You know how he is. He got us straight onto the ice the second we touched down this morning and had us do bag skates for forty-five minutes straight. People yacked.”
“Hey, it’s Shabbat,” Jenn chides gently. “No work talk, you boys.”
Emily is quiet, eating her food, and I go back to my own, trying not to outwardly stare at her, but my God she looks good tonight in a blue dress the color of a West Texas summer sky that makes the honey in her eyes stand out. Red lips. Her blonde hair curled in that way that makes my fingers itch with the need to run through it. It kind of annoys me how good she looks. Did she make an effort for the loser sitting way too close to her? Like, buddy, this table is at least twelve-feet long; you really don’t need to be all pressed up against her like that.
“I don’t think we’ve properly met,” the loser says suddenly, drawing my attention from Emily to him. “I’m Simon. Jenn’s brother.” He lifts from his chair, holding a big hand out for me.As if his mother didn’t teach him it’s rude to reach across the table.
I stand, shaking his proffered hand with a nod. “Dallas Shaw.”
“Oh, you’re the goalie for the Thunder,” he says, as if he’s only now just realized, and don’t even get me started on the condescending tone.
You’re the d-bag who wore a tuxedo to an event clearly dress coded as cocktail.“That’s me.” I refrain from rolling my eyes.
