Page 24 of Dear #47, You're the Worst
She pivots, giving me a glare sharp enough to leave a scar. “Didn’t know you owned anything that wasn’t covered in sweat stains.”
I feel the familiar rush. Annoyance, attraction, pure adrenaline. Provoking her and hearing her whip-smart retaliations is addictive in ways I probably shouldn’t examine too closely.
She walks into a room and owns it. I walk in, and people brace for impact.
That’s why I need to stay away. When someone like her lets someone like me in, all I do is wreck the place.
I enjoy making her angry, though. She’s like a little five-foot firecracker, all contained energy and sharp edges. During one pose, I bend her backward slightly, liking how stiff her body gets. She’s fighting me tooth and nail, and I like the challenge.
I have to lean down every time I talk to her. Makes me feel like I’m handling a toy dynamite stick. She’s tiny, dangerous, and always one wrong move from exploding.
Then I catch myself. This isn’t a challenge. I don’t need to win anything here. And I definitely shouldn’t get any closer to Juliet than I already am.
Inside the ballroom, we circulate. Black and gold drape the entire room. Round tables draped in white linens and centerpieces that probably cost more than most people make in a month. It’s an event where everyone’s here to see and be seen, where the actual charity work is secondary to the networking.
Decker, Moose, and Shane spot us first and approach with open shock written all over their faces.
Moose nudges Juliet with his elbow. “How much are you paying him to behave tonight?”
“Not nearly enough,” she shoots back without missing a beat. It gets a laugh from all of them.
Earlier today, Ryan had tried to run a new drill with the defensive line and ended up barking at Shane, who couldn’t keep his spacing right. I had to grit my teeth not to intervene. It wasn’t my job to coach the rookies. Still, watching the kid fumble beside Jett made me itch all over.
“I always knew Juliet and I would get together eventually,” I say, wrapping my arm around her waist and pulling her closer. “She’s always been the most beautiful girl in every room. She kicks everybody’s ass intellectually too.”
It’s not untrue, but Juliet turns hot pink at the compliment. I decide to rub it in. “Isn’t that right, baby?”
When I nuzzle her neck, her eyes go wide and the alarm I see registered there is nothing short of hilarious.
She elbows me in the ribs, hard enough to make her point.
“Hunter’s always been such a romantic,” she murmurs sweetly. “Just last week he compared my eyes to... what was it, my love? Fresh-pulled espresso. Practically poetry from his lips.”
God, I don’t mind a feisty Juliet. The guys are eating this up.
Shane and Decker stick around for proper introductions. I watch Juliet work her magic. She grins at them, lighting up the entire space, and jokes with them easily. They’re completely charmed within minutes.
Where is that ease with me? Why am I the special case who only gets her sharp edges and careful distance?
I know the answer, unfortunately. We have history. And it’s not flattering to me. I might have told a reporter once that she was stuck up and asked why anyone would even like her. The back of my neck heats just thinking about it. Definitely not my finest moment.
My brother Silas appears like a ghost, raises one eyebrow at our performance, and says nothing. Thorne, captain of the team, watches us like we’re a live experiment he’s conducting.
Grayson deadpans, “Did I miss a press release?”
Juliet probably remembers Silas from our college days, but she hasn’t met Thorne or Grayson. Silas asks how she’s been, and she frowns.
“Uhh, fine?” She looks to me for help in navigating whatever weird dynamic this is.
I just shrug and make proper introductions. “Juliet, meet Thorne and Grayson. Center and left wing. Guys, this is my fiancée.”
The word feels strange in my mouth. Foreign. Like trying to speak a language I don’t actually know. Silas has a coughing fit because he’s so surprised. I shoot him a glare.
Juliet mentions she loves being at galas, then immediately starts picking apart this one. “Though this one isn’t really up to my standards.” She scans the room with a critical eye.
“What’s wrong with it?” I ask, genuinely curious.
She barely pauses before launching into it, all brisk and focused like she’s presenting to a boardroom.
