Page 87 of The One Night Dash
Ma’am. The way he’s looking at you? We should’ve known THEN.
Sofie
This isn’t casual. This is heart-eyes in the wild.
Claudia
Somebody tell Dash subtlety exists.
Another pic from Icehouse, after a Bears win. I’m leaning over the bar to order, hair falling forward, laughing at something the bartender said. Dash is a few stools down, beer in hand, but his gaze is all mine. Not creepy, not predatory—locked in and smiling fondly, softly.
Nalani
He’s not watching the game. He’s watching YOU.
Sofie
Beer in hand, but clearly drunk on you.
Claudia
We should’ve started the ship here, tbh.
Another from Icehouse.A group shot—players, friends, all bundled up in coats, cheeks pink from the cold. I’m a little off to the side, hugging myself. Dash is angled just enough toward me, shoulder brushing mine, though he didn’t have to. His head’s tipped down, like he’s listening for something I might say.
Nalani
Gravity, babes. He just leans your way without thinking.
Sofie
This ain’t friendship energy.
Claudia
Honestly, is he even aware of anyone else in this photo?
Again, a picture from Icehouse.I’m bent slightly over the green felt, lining up a shot I’ll probably miss. Dash is behind me—not too close, not inappropriate—but watching with a grin so soft it doesn’t look like him at all. Like I’m something fragile, he can’t stop himself from admiring.
Nalani
Not pool. Not the game. Not anything else. Just you.
Sofie
Exhibit A in “he’s been gone for you since forever.”
Claudia
The man is literally beaming. Someone save him.
Scrolling through those old shots, the truth smacks me harder than anything. He didn’t just start noticing me when I was covered in coffee. He has for a long time. Unknowingly? Quietly? Patiently?
And somehow, that makes tonight’s fracture cut deeper. Because now I see every difference, every contrast, every quiet devotion, and I don’t know how to believe I deserve it.
And just when I think the girls are done digging, Nalani drops another one. College. Hayward. The hockey house parties. Back when Lauren was still in the picture. Back when I didn’t even dare imagine Dash looking at me that way.
The picture is in the living room. Lauren’s perched on the arm of a couch, red Solo cup in hand, laughing at something Dash just said. But his head isn’t turned toward her. Not even a glance. His eyes are angled across the room, straight at me. I’m caught mid-conversation with freaking Allen, oblivious. He looks, curious.
