36. Noelle #2
My golden retriever man was in his element talking with people, particularly the kids. But right now, that easygoing friendly attitude was quickly fading. The annoyance was evident in the set of his shoulders, the way his thumb rubbed rhythmic circles over his dress slacks.
The crowd was growing. Like Cal’s presence was a pheromone, luring fans in. I mean, it was working on me, but there were so many people. Guess word got out he was here.
I shivered, gripping my thin sweater around me. The sun had officially set, leaving the chill of dusk lingering around us.
Cal tried to extricate himself. “Hey, guys, I’m actually on a date right now.”
But it was the wrong thing to say. He knew it the moment the words flew out, hovering in the air. Date was all it took to strike the match, and the crowd erupted, phones flailing in the air. Everyone tried to capture . . . something. Us?
“Cal, over here,” a feminine voice called above the throng. “Jerica Anson with The Hockey HotScoop. Can you confirm this woman is your girlfriend? How long has this been going on?”
The Hockey HotScoop? My heart stopped for half a second before launching into a sprint. How had the most popular sports gossip outlet gotten a hold of this so fast? Probably a reporter who saw the opportunity to make a quick buck. But why?
Cal growled, and I grabbed his hand, sensing the anger. He lifted his free hand against the questions and unintelligible shouts. “No comment!”
Abandoning our table, Cal whisked me across the parking lot, keeping me in front of him, trying to shield me from the prying eyes. The truck tires squealed as we peeled out onto the highway.
His leg bounced in time with his fingers drumming on the steering wheel.
Reaching out, I laid a hand on his thigh, and he jumped like I’d burnt him with a curling iron. “Are you okay?” I asked in a low tone.
“Fine.” He blew out a breath. “Nothing like a little notoriety to spice things up.”
“Cal. Don’t deflect,” I whispered. “Please talk to me.”
He dropped his hand over mine, shoulders sagging. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea the paparazzi or reporters or whoever that was would be so close.”
“It’s part of being famous, right?”
Cal shook his head. “You don’t get it. They’ve been hounding me for years about my love life.
I haven’t had one since Izzy.” He cleared his throat.
“And I’ve been fighting to keep Khia out of their clutches.
I want to keep my private life private. But you .
. . I just announced you to the world, and they’re like bloodthirsty leeches ready to suck you dry.
” He pulled onto the shoulder and held my gaze, gripping my hand between both of his.
“I should have protected you. I’m sorry. ”
“I’m okay; I knew this was a part of your world.” And despite the initial feeling of horror, I meant the words. I was okay. This was a part of living in the spotlight, and I’d rather face it with him than give him up. I turned my hand, lacing our fingers.
“I don’t know what they’ll say about you. They’ll speculate. It can get ugly.” Cal scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “They think we’re public property and forget we’re real people.”
“Then we face it together,” I said simply.
Those stormy blue eyes, churning with emotion, locked on mine. “Yeah?”
“Yeah, Cap.”
He lifted our entwined hands, kissing my knuckles. “Thank you. And again I’m sorry.”
“Make it up to me with ice cream?”
“As you wish.”
When he pulled back onto the highway, I decided to broach a new conversation topic. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.” He said it so confidently the tension in my chest eased.
“I need a favour.”
“Anything you want, Holiday.”
I arched an eyebrow.
“Okay, almost anything. I reserve the right to veto anything with sequins.” Cal shot me a wink before refocusing on the road.
“What is with you and sequins?”
He shuddered. “I’ll tell you one day, but not tonight. Your mental picture of me will never be the same, and selfishly, I don’t want that. So, apart from sparkly torture devices, whatever you want, it’s yours.”
“Apparently, it’s tradition for some of the Chargers to host a community game in Serenity Springs for the Fall Festival.”
“Yup.”
“So . . . would you mind helping me coordinate that?”
He smiled at me in the twilight dimness of the cab. “Holiday, I’ll take care of it all if you want.”
“Really?”
“Leave it to me. I’ll handle it.”
“Now you’re sweet-talking me,” I tried to joke, but it came out breathless. After years of being the go-to fix-it girl, it was a luxury having someone else take control. Not my mental load. Not my worry. Leave it to me. I’ll handle it.
They might be the most beautiful words in the English language.
Cal squeezed my hand, still interlaced with his on the console. “I’ve got you.”
And I believed him.
The ice cream place we used to frequent with Greyson and Myles back in our teen years as the Fabulous Four was no longer open, so we improvised with a different creamery in Caldwell.
“Let me guess,” Cal said, standing in front of the large glass display of ice cream. “You still get a scoop of caramel pecan and mint chocolate chip in a cup because you can’t decide?”
“I hate that I’m so boringly predictable.”