Page 196 of Playing With Fire

"Sure. I think Avery was talking about going, too. Maybe we could—" She’s doing that nervous thing she does when her mouth runs ahead of her thoughts, and it’s taking everything in me not to lean over and kiss her again.

I clear my throat.

"As my date, Delaney."

Her fork stops halfway to her mouth.

"Your date?"

"That's generally what it’s called when someone asks a beautiful woman to spend an evening with them."

The pink creeping into her cheeks is worth every awkward second I spent asking.

"Okay," she says softly.

"Okay?"

"Yes, I'd love to." She beams up at me.

I grin. "Good."

“Wait.” She glances down at my jersey on her body. “What am I supposed to wear?”

“It's black tie.”

“As in evening gowns?”

“I guess that’s what they’re called. Fancy shit.”

“Oh, God. I don't own anything like that.”

“I'll buy you some–”

“Absolutely not.”

“Becks, let me do this for you. Consider it part of your birthday present.”

“You've already done enough, Bishop. Besides, I can buy my own dress.”

“Let me spoil you a little. Just this once.”

She gives me a look. “How about I buy the dress, and you can pay for my hair and makeup?”

I pretend to consider it. “Deal. But I'm picking you up.”

She laughs. “We live together.”

“Still picking you up.”

She just rolls her pretty green eyes at me.

“It's a date.” I wink at her feeling a high I haven’t felt since I signed with Chicago.

Then reality sets it that it’s so much more than a date. The gala isn't exactly a casual night out. There'll be cameras, reporters, sponsors, half the organization, and enough people with opinions about my personal life to fill the lower bowl of Ignite Arena.

I've taken women to events before. That's not what has me thinking twice.

It's Delaney Beckett.