Page 81 of Wallflower
I frown and cup my fist with the opposite palm. This is a pep talk, and I can do that. I’m good at that. I’m five championship Cups good at that. I’m sixteen million dollars a year good at that.
Jesus. I’m pep-talkingmyselfnow. Get a grip, Davenport.
“Tonight’s the San Francisco Fury Foundation Gala,” I say.
Violet’s body relaxes with a relieved sigh. “You had me worried for a moment. I RSVP’dnoto that ages ago. You want to stay out of the spotlight this summer, and I’d have told you if the team had any issue with you not going, but nobody said a word.”
“That’s not entirely true.”
From the corner of my vision, I see a car approaching the driveway, and I wish I’d started this conversation half an hour ago.
Violet frowns. “What do you mean?”
“Coach talked to me. They want everyone on the roster to make an effort to be there. No exceptions.”
“Okay?”
“He also said I could bring a date.”
Understanding passes across her features, and Violet shakes her head. “Oh, no. Not me.”
The sound of tires rolling over gravel announces the arrival of the car, and she gives it a quick, puzzled glance. “Who is that?”
“That’s your dress.”
“Mydress?”
“Yes. Your dress.”
Another car pulls up behind the first, and Violet audibly swallows. “And that is…?”
“Your hair and makeup artist.”
She groans and drops her face into her hands. “Oh, no.”
I knew this would be a challenge, but I’m so certain that tonight will be a success that I push aside any guilt I feel about dragging her so firmly out of her comfort zone, pull her hands from her face, and draw her to her feet.
“I have to go tonight. I have to wear a tux and smile for the cameras and pretend like I’m having a good time, but I can’t have a good time if I’m not with you. I need you next to me.”
Violet drops her forehead on my chest and latches onto the sides of my t-shirt. I rest my chin on the top of her head and brush my fingers over her bare arms until she shivers and presses herself against me.
“Please?”
Behind me, the car doors open and close, and I sense people waiting for the right time to introduce themselves, but I won’t rush this moment. If Violet needs time to think, she’ll have it. If she really can’t do this, I won’t make her. I’ll cancel the whole thing. Tell Coach I’m sick. But I know in my gut that if Violet puts on this dress and steps onto that red carpet tonight, it’ll change everything.
Violet mumbles something against my shirt, and my heart stops.
“What was that?” I ask.
She turns her head so I can hear her. “I said, okay.”
“Yes!” I grin and bend my knees, wrapping my arms around her thighs and hoisting her up so I can kiss her. She squeals and leans down until her mouth meets mine, and I spend a good few long moments enjoying the taste of her, not caring what it looks like or how long it takes.
I’m so proud of her.
Finally, I set her on her bare feet and lead her to the top of the porch steps. Below, a sophisticated woman in head-to-toe black and streaks of gray through her dark hair stands with twoblack garment bags held aloft in one hand and the handle of a wheeling suitcase in the other. She shares a friendly look with the hair and makeup artist, a younger blonde woman in jeans and sneakers who has a larger suitcase propped up next to her.
“Thanks for coming,” I greet them. “Violet, this is—”
