Page 37 of On the Ropes
I touched his arm and couldn’t ignore the shock of sparks. “We won’t, I promise.” I cleared my throat and took a step back. “The reason why I ran into you is because I think I snagged a new contract. In Austin. You could be looking at Texas’s newest resident.”
“Congratulations. They’ll be lucky to have you, Tabitha.”
There was an uncomfortable flicker in my chest that felt an awful lot like disappointment.
“Thank you, Mr. Machine,” I said. I peeked at my phone and balked at the time. “And, holy shit, I’m super late now, so I’m gonna take this photo album of embarrassing pictures and get on my way.”
“If I’d known they were embarrassing, I would have peeked while you were inside,” he said.
Knowing who he was, that was so not true. “You don’t have to spy. As one of our adventures, I can take you on a trip down memory lane. Surely you recall all of my fashion disasters as a teenager.”
“I wouldn’t say no to that,” he said. “Will we even have time for that stuff if you’re heading to Texas?”
I shook my head, walking backward down the sidewalk. “You’re already lookin’ to get rid of me, huh? Because of course we’ll have time. We made a deal.”
“Dancing, et cetera,” he said in a dry tone, but humor shone in his eyes.
“And I’ll come by to help when the dumpster arrives,” I said, waving as I turned the corner. “Unless I see you for some spontaneous fun first.”
I had to resist taking a picture of Dean surrounded with golden hour light, his strong jaw and smattering of scars, the strength in his stance, and the slow return of confidence when he looked at me now. The image gave me that top-of-the-rollercoaster feeling in the pit of my stomach, but that was purely artistic inspiration.
The deal I made with Dean yesterday was sincere—he was a friend I’d always liked, and I had some extra time on my hands for the first time in years. But the hard truth had more to do with a fierce protectiveness that surprised me. This man had sacrificed his body for a brutal sport only to have fans deny him pleasure or relaxation. He couldn’t seem to move through this city without someone sharing their very public opinion about his very private decisions.
I remembered feeling this way after we started attending those groups together. His parents and his experiences looked the most like mine and that made me want to stick together.
So I couldn’t give him those Saturday nights back, when he clearly felt pride and kinship with those around him. But I was an expert in impromptu joy of all shapes and sizes. That was the beating heart of storytelling, no matter the medium.
Crush or not, it sure was nice to see Dean Knox-Morelli with a smile on his face again.
