Page 2 of Offsides

Ho. Lee. Shit.

She looks … amazing. Beyond amazing. I always think she looks great, but whatever she’s done to herself tonight is next level. She normally dresses in jeans or joggers and a hoodie during the school year, with the exception of the warmer weather times. But that’s a pretty small part of the school year, really. We work out together, so I’m not entirely unused to seeing her in formfitting clothes, but it’s workout leggings and a loose-ish racerback tank. No matter what, her hair is always in a ponytail, and she’s never wearing makeup.

Tonight, her hair is down, falling in waves around her shoulders. I had no idea her hair was wavy. And while her makeup is fairly subtle, the smoky eye and redder lips and cheeks are the giveaway—though I admit the flushed cheeks could be from drinking.

But she’s fucking glowing up there. It’s not just the clothes, it’s not just the makeup, it’s the way she’s owning the stage and performing that song, giving it everything she’s got. You’d think she really is the rockstar she’s claiming to be in the lyrics.

See? Badass.

Dani is an absolute badass no matter what she does. It’s one of the things I love most about her.

When she gets to the bridge, though, something changes. The lyrics talk about how the guy was never really there for her, and that seems to hit something deep inside Dani, because she gets choked up, her voice breaking in a way that cracks my heart right along with it.

I’m moving before I even realize it, my hands balled into fists at my side. Because I know she’s gotta be singing about that douchebag she keeps getting back together with.

What did he do this time?

She always gets mopey when they break it off, and I take her to the weight room and cheer her on as she sweats it out and then we play video games until she’s happier. But I’ve never seen her actually get choked up over him.

I move to the edge of the stage so she knows I’m there supporting her, ready to hop in and finish for her if necessary. Her eyes widen when she notices me, and I don’t know if it’s me being here or just her own inner reserves, but she pulls it together and finishes the song.

Once the final notes fade away, she sets the mic back on the stand and makes a beeline for me. I hold my arms open on instinct, and she falls into them in a way she never has before.

Sure, we’ve hugged. I’ve comforted her multiple times over the years. But it was usually her leaning on me while we sat on the couch, and our frontal hugs were quick goodbyes. Not this, where it seems like I’m supporting her more than she’s supporting herself.

But I just hold her, letting her hang onto my strength, secure in the knowledge that she’ll fill me in on whatever’s causing this show of emotion when she’s ready and able. Somehow the middle of karaoke night at Neon doesn’t seem like the best time or place.

The MC gives us a funny look as he takes the stage and calls out the next name. Once the drunken, off-key singing by a group of frat guys starts, Dani lifts her head, wiping below her eyes surreptitiously with her thumbs and glancing over her shoulder at the group enthusiastically—if badly—singing their rendition of that “I would walk five hundred miles” song.

She lets out a spluttering laugh, but she seems like she’s still overly close to tears.

Leaning in close, I put my mouth right next to her ear so I don’t have to shout. “Want me to take you home?”

When her dark eyes meet mine, they’re liquid, fathomless, and so vulnerable it makes my chest clench. My fingers tighten where they still rest on the curve of her waist. It’s an intimate hold, far more intimate than normal for us, but I can’t bring myself to regret it. I’d love it if I could hold her like this all the time. Or at least as often as she wants to be held.

Again. Badass.

But even badasses need support now and then.

Every once in a while she gets cuddly, especially if she’s been drinking, and I live for those nights when she comes over and snuggles into my side to watch a movie or catch a football game. Hell, any kind of game. We have similar tastes in movies and sports, so it makes choosing something to watch easy, but if she only wanted to watch Shakespeare or … cheesy rom-coms or … black and white flicks from the 50s, I’d watch those too if it meant having her pressed against me.

I mean, I’d probably complain eventually if that’sallshe wanted to watch. Another thing I love about her is how awesome she is. Unassuming, supportive, has great taste in movies, knows as much about football as I do, and can squat me easily.

She’s literally the perfect woman.

I’ve thought so for a long time. And seeing her all dressed up like this tonight?

God, it only makes me want her more.

The truth is that I’ll take her any way I can get her. Dressed up, dressed down, not dressed at all …

I shift to make sure my hips aren’t anywhere near hers so she doesn’t feel the growing chub in my pants at the thought of peeling her out of these uncharacteristic clothes. Giving her one of my T-shirts or something to lounge in after I’ve mapped out all her curves with my hands and tongue if she doesn’t want to lounge naked.

Clearing my throat I stop that train of thought, though not before the image of her standing in my bedroom wearing my jersey and nothing else flashes through my mind. It’s an old standby fantasy. She always wears my number when she comes to my games, and it’s one of my favorite things ever. But after the first time she did that, the fantasy of her wearingonlythat jersey entered the spank bank and still holds top billing.

“Yeah,” she says, her voice hoarse. She straightens, meeting my eyes. “Yeah, let’s get out of here. I’ll get my jacket and let Autumn know we’re taking off.”

I trail behind her to the table where Autumn and Jackson are still sitting. Autumn gives me a knowing look over Dani’s shoulder as Dani leans down and fills her in on our plan, complete with a wink and a finger wave. This chick. She’s too much sometimes. But I have to admit that she’s been good for Jackson, and even though she’s not who I would’ve picked for him by any means—and sometimes I’m still shocked that he picked her for himself—she’s actually pretty cool, even if she likes to share far too much about their sex life. And ask pointed questions about everyone else’s too.

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