Page 64 of I Got You

I stay put in the corner, watching her move to the end of the table that looks like it was glitter-bombed. Birthday parties like this aren’t something I’ve ever experienced. It’s a bit overwhelming, but the smile on Liv’s face, illuminated by the light of the five candles and surrounded by the people who love her most, tells me how important it is. At five, I was being shuffled from one foster home to another, hoping I didn’t end up with someone who’d hurt me.

The group sings and then tells Liv to make a wish as she takes an exaggerated inhale and blows the candles out with the biggest smile on her innocent little face. Carmen cuts the cake, and Simone serves slices as the room fills with chatter.

“Next, we’ll be eating cake at your wedding,” Maggie says to Carmen.

“I know. Shane, get your suit dusted off and your shoes shined. Don’t think Maggie won’t pull you onto the dance floor.”

Maggie’s only mentioned the wedding in passing. I didn’t know I was expected to go. “I don’t dance,” I say, as my agitation simmers underneath my skin.

Simone laughs. “Well, with Danny trying to get her back to New York, you’d better be ready to cut a rug.”

Maggie’s eyes hit mine from across the room. DannyZ, Mr. Hippity-Hop, her ex?

“What does Danny want?” Cole jumps right on that, his irritation evident. I listen as the space between my ears fills with just a bit more pressure.

“Nothing,” Maggie says quickly. “He’s got a show coming up. He wants me to dance with him. I said no.”

Cole sets his water bottle down on the table with a little too much force, and tiny droplets jump out of the top. “Of course he does. His timing is uncanny.”

“Cole,” Maggie warns like she’s asking him to drop it, but I want to know exactly what’s going on.

Simone cringes. “Sorry.”

John asks Cole about the team, and everyone moves on, but I still want to know what is up with Danny, this show, and why Maggie hasn’t said anything. This is why I stay distant and detached. Relationships with people are always complicated and highly disappointing, but when you don’t have expectations or get emotionally involved, they’re a breeze. I want to kick my own ass for letting this information about Danny sting.

Thirty minutes later, Maggie shuts the door behind Simone and the prick, and I glance at her from my spot on the couch. I'm tired, agitated, and ready to watch football. She flops down on the couch next to me, her attention on the screen where Mark is warming up. I search for soreness or weakness, but I don’t see any beyond the possible stiffness that Maggie pointed out weeks ago.

She yawns. “Do you know what the boys are doing?”

“They challenged Cole to some racing game. Liv is playing with her new toys in her room.”

I’ve been waiting to ask about the wedding and Danny. Danny isn’t any of my business, and I’m not even sure why I care, except I remembered what Cole said about there not being anyone here I needed to worry about. Then, there was his reaction tonight. Neither sit well with me. If anyone is messing with Maggie, I want to know about it. I shouldn’t. I know it. I should keep my nose out of it and mind my own freaking business, but damn it, I can’t.

“So when’s the wedding?” I dive on in, not even trying to make this smooth.

Maggie sits up a little straighter, likely sensing the bite in my tone. “Two weeks. You have a game that day, but I was hoping you’d go with me. I’m in the wedding, so I have to be there early, but maybe you’d meet me there.” There’s a shyness in her voice that’s abnormal, which dissolves some of the protective layers I’m piling back on. Damn her.

“I’m not dancing.” I draw a line.

She bites her lip. “We’ll see about that. I have a feeling you can move, Grizz.”

I groan, and she smiles as I push right into the next topic without giving myself time to second-guess it. “What’s the deal with Mr. Dancing Machine messaging you?”

She shifts slightly, and I see her smirk out of the corner of my eye, which is not what I was expecting. “You know who Danny is?”

I don’t respond. No way am I admitting I spent an hour looking at pictures and videos of them dancing. I’m not sure the dude ever buttons his shirt, if he’s even wearing one.

She tugs on the hem of her shirt, which I’m learning is one of her tells that she’s uncomfortable, confirming my instincts that something about this guy stinks. My grip on the remote tightens, waiting for her to tell me something.

“He messaged me about a show he’s putting on and wants me to dance with him.”

I hold in a grunt. “What’d you tell him?”

“I told him no.”

“Why?”

One side of her face scrunches up. “Uh, because I have responsibilities.”

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