Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
The moment Dani’s car slowed in front of the venue, I questioned every life choice that had led me to this point—the dress, the heels, the Spanx that were currently trying to saw me in half.
“I feel like a fraud,” I worried aloud. “Like I’m impersonating someone who knows what to do with makeup.”
I might have been on television regularly, but I wasn’t a celebrity. I didn’t get recognized while out in public. I didn’t do red carpets and award shows. The only teleprompter I’d ever read from had been in a news room.
Dani, infuriatingly calm in the driver’s seat, gave my hand a squeeze.
She looked stupidly good in her tailored black suit and crisp white dress shirt.
She’d worn her hair down and loose; the natural wave of her chestnut hair framed her face in soft layers.
It was the perfect balance of masculinity and femininity.
Meanwhile, I felt like a kid playing dress-up in her mother’s closet.
“You look beautiful,” she said, leaning across the car’s center console. “And you don’t have to do anything except stand there and let people be jealous that I’m with you.”
“That doesn’t help.”
Her features turned sincere. “We don’t have to walk in together if you’re not ready. I can meet you inside. Whatever makes you comfortable.”
I swallowed with difficulty. “I want to do this with you,” I assured her. “I just might vomit.”
“I’ll hold your hair,” she promised.
The valet opened the passenger-side door, and the noise hit me like a tidal wave of sound. Photographers shouted Dani’s name, and camera flashes popped like firecrackers.
Dani stepped out first to an even louder eruption of cheers. She adjusted the suit jacket buttons at her midsection and rounded the front of the car.
I stayed frozen inside her car until she reached the passenger-side door and held out her hand to me.
I steadied myself by fixating on her smile. It wasn’t the charming, public one—it was the smile reserved for me, a little crooked on the right side.
I took a breath and then her hand.
I carefully stepped out onto the red carpet. I focused on putting one foot in front of the other to avoid stumbling. I was comfortable in high heels, but everything else about the setting made me unstable.
The flashbulbs were so bright I honestly thought I might go blind.
“Dani! Dani!” I heard someone yell. “Who’s your date?”
My stomach dropped. I forced something resembling a smile, even when it felt like my face wasn’t entirely under my control.
Dani slid her arm around my waist. “You okay?” she murmured into my hair.
“Ask me again once my corneas regenerate.”
We slowly traveled the red carpet, stopping periodically for photos—some of us together, some of her on her own.
Dani instinctively knew where to place me so both of us were in the frame while simultaneously angling her body to keep me shielded from the worst of the chaos.
Every few seconds she’d brush her fingertips across my lower back or squeeze my hip, reassuring me with her steady, confident presence.
“Dani! Introduce us to your friend!” one of the photographers shouted.
Dani hesitated long enough to catch my eye, as if still seeking approval. We’d spoken about this in the days since she’d asked me to accompany her as her girlfriend. Again and again, she’d wanted to be sure I was okay with the world knowing.
I was touched by her concern; neither of us were taking this lightly, fully aware of the fallout that might ensue. While there was no rule against a professional athlete dating a sports reporter, Dani had achieved a level of celebrity that whomever she dated would become a household name, too.
I swallowed hard to settle my nerves. I nodded, terse but noticeable.
Dani’s smile broadened. She turned to the wall of media and photographers. “This is my girlfriend, Reese.”
The flashbulbs only intensified until it felt like witnessing a forest fire. My entire body buzzed.
I looked to Dani as my anxiety elevated. But she was watching me like no one else existed, and in that moment, being the story didn’t feel as terrifying.
Once inside the venue, I exhaled so hard I felt my ribs loosen.
“You did amazing,” Dani whispered, brushing her lips over my cheek.
“For a newborn gazelle?” I barked out an uneasy laugh. “Sure.”
I took my time inspecting the venue. I wasn’t working the event, but the journalistic instinct to notice details and commit them to memory was hard to shake.
Round tables filled the room, draped in white linens and arranged around a central, elevated stage.
Attendees moved between the tables, inspecting the small placards at each place-setting in search of their assigned seats.
It reminded me of a wedding reception where you barely knew the newly married couple, but had been promised an epic party.
A familiar voice cut through my cynical thoughts. “Isn’t that Reese Marlowe, the famous journalist?”
I turned so fast I nearly gave myself whiplash. “Cat?”
Cat’s face had been overtaken by an oversized grin. She wove through the crowd like she was leaving the crease to give her team an extra skater, urgent and a little chaotic. She looked good in her fitted blazer and dark pants. It was the kind of outfit that said I tried, but not too hard.
A few steps behind her was a woman I recognized from the locker room on Cat’s tribute night. Her wife, Alexa, was elegant in a deep blue dress with a plunging neckline. Her blonde hair was pulled up in a classic chignon.
Cat gave me an appreciative once over when they reached us. “You clean up nice.”
I snorted at the compliment. “I’m being held together by boob tape and industrial-grade shapewear.”
“Hot,” she said immediately.
Alexa laughed, warm and amused. She slipped her arm lightly through Cat’s. “She means you look beautiful.”
“I do mean that,” Cat agreed. “But also the other thing.”
The knot in my stomach loosened another notch.
“I didn’t know you guys would be here,” I said.
“Neither did I,” Cat admitted. She jerked her thumb in Dani’s direction. “But Girlfriend of the Year over here thought you might appreciate a buffer from …” She gestured vaguely around the room. “All of this.”
I turned to Dani. “You did?”
She shrugged as though the thoughtful gesture was no big deal.
“It’s about time she got me into one of these events,” Cat said, her tone teasing. “You’d think being best friends with Dani Callahan would come with more perks.”
Dani waggled a censuring finger at Cat. “And if you freak out in front of a celebrity tonight, this will also be your last event,” she warned.
We drifted together toward the tables, the four of us moving as a unit. It was easier like this—less like I was clinging to Dani as her plus-one, less like holding fast to a lifeboat lost at sea.
We found our table, and Dani automatically pulled out my chair. Her hand briefly grazed my shoulder as I sat.
Alexa stared expectantly at her partner before Cat realized her mistake.
“Jesus, Callahan,” she muttered, pulling out Alexa’s chair, “you’re making me look bad.”
Alexa laughed pleasantly. “Oh, I think we’ll be double-dating from now on.”
Dani stood behind me, her hands rounding the tops of my bare shoulders. “I’ll be right back.”
I craned my neck and looked up. The room buzzed around us—glasses clinking, the sounds of quiet conversation—but it all faded away with her standing there.
She squeezed my shoulder once before stepping away.
Cat dropped into a seat across from me and immediately reached for the complimentary bread basket.
“That didn’t take long,” she observed.
I took my time unrolling my silverware from the cloth napkin. “What didn’t?”
“For the two of you to look like you never stopped dating,” she replied.
I dropped my gaze to my lap. “She makes it easy.”
“For the record,” Cat clarified, “I’m fucking psyched.”
Alexa delicately coughed beside her.
Dani returned with drinks not long after, handing me a glass before settling beside me. Her knee brushed mine under the table.
“Still doing good?” she quietly asked.
I glanced across the table at Cat, who was now whisper-arguing with Alexa about whether it was acceptable to eat a second roll before dinner was served, and then back at Dani.
“Yeah,” I said, with a nod. “I am.”
The lights in the ballroom dimmed like the moments before a play or performance was about to start. The room filled with the sound of soft applause as a man in a tuxedo—that evening’s host—stepped onto the stage.
He delivered a humorous monologue that had the room chuckling between bites of dinner.
After that, the awards moved quickly—categories announced, winners called to the stage, applause rising and falling.
Clips played on a large screen overhead, highlights of hard-fought sports seasons condensed into seconds.
Dani sat beside me, composed and attentive, but I could sense the small shift in her posture as her category approached—a straightening of her shoulders, a subtle tightening in her jaw.
When her name appeared on the screen, there was a ripple through the room.
“And now,” the tuxedoed host said, “to present the Women’s Athlete of the Year award, please welcome Dani Callahan and Jenny Baker to the stage.”
Applause swelled as Dani stood. I watched her cross the room, her movements easy and assured. The spotlight caught up to her as she joined her co-presenter on stage—a pretty woman with a bright smile whom I recognized as an up-and-coming actress from popular rom-coms.
“Dani,” the woman said into the mic, turning toward her with a grin. “I have to say, I’m a little intimidated standing up here with you.”
Dani huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “That makes one of us.”
“Oh, come on,” the woman teased. “I did my research. You’ve had a pretty decent career.”
“Decent?” Dani repeated, arching an eyebrow. “Okay. I’ll take it.”