Chapter Eleven
Ruby
Things have certainly taken a turn.
But I’m not exactly upset by this unexpected change in what I thought was going to go down tonight. Can’t say I was prepared for it, either.
Not only did my plan to avoid Dash go completely sideways—literally—but now we’re alone with him, walking the halls of this massive arena like we own the place.
And the jersey Beck insisted on buying tonight?
Well, now we’re getting a better one that’s been worn and sweated in by an actual hot hockey player—for free.
Pretty cool if you ask me. And I’m not even really into hockey. Though after tonight, that could change.
Dash has been incredibly sweet and kind to Beck, even now while my little brother prattles endlessly about the latest video game release. The graphics are apparently supposed to be beyond what’s currently available anywhere else on the market—or so he’s telling Dash.
I can’t help but watch on in fascination as this grown man takes a genuine interest in what a star-struck twelve-year-old has to say. They’re conversing as if they’re long-lost buds, not two strangers who just met tonight.
“I just hope they keep the storyline the same,” Dash says. “I hate when they release an update, then change everything we knew about the characters.”
“Right?” Beck shakes his head. “Hate that. Keep things the same, guys.”
I laugh to myself, watching them match each other’s energy. If Beckett stresses about anything, it’s the video game maker altering his favorite character’s journey. When I play, it’s for the challenge and strategy, but for him, it’s all about the characters.
Dash stops and waves toward a door. “Here we are. The Stars’ dressing room.”
Beckett looks back at me, awe written all over his face. “We can go in, right?”
I cross my arms and tentatively meet Dash’s gaze. Every time I glance his way, he’s somehow already looking at me. It’s unnerving and shocking and thrilling all at the same time. “That’s up to Mr. DiFranco.”
“Pretty sure I said to call me Dash,” he says, teasingly. “We’re friends now, right? The three of us?”
My pulse kicks up a notch, though I’m not sure why. Being called a friend never caused my heart to race or my palms to sweat before. Yet when Dash declares it, he makes it sound like an exclusive club only a select few people get to be a part of.
“Right!” Beck grins.
Dash laughs and gives Beck another fist pump. “Come on.”
He pushes through the door, then holds it open so both Beck and I can step through. I try and ease past him, but whatever expensive cologne he wears is just as intoxicating and memorable as it was before. I can’t help but take an inconspicuous inhale when I pass by him.
“Whoa.” Beckett’s amazement echoes off the walls. “This place is awesome. And bigger than I imagined.”
“Yeah?” Dash stops directly next to me, and I don’t miss the way his arm gently brushes against mine. “It’s definitely bigger than the one back home.” While Beckett oohs and ahhs as he moves past each player’s stall, commenting on whatever gear each person has left, Dash turns toward me.
“You never called,” he murmurs in a deep, low register that has goosebumps pebbling across my skin. “Or texted.”
“I—yeah,” I say, twisting my hands together. “I know.”
“Guess I was too busy apologizing for my inappropriate comments to ask whether or not you were single,” he whispers, barely low enough for me to hear.
“You weren’t inappropriate at all.” I lock in on his face, wishing his nearness didn’t steal my inability to think straight.
“No?”
“No. Trust me. I’ve had some real doozies come into the salon before, but I can assure you, you don’t fall into that category.”
Dash’s dark eyebrows knit together. “Doozies?”
“Mmhm. Guys I’m pretty sure only stopped in because they saw my and my friend’s photos on our social media page.”
He rears back slightly. “What would make you think that?”
Beckett’s still mesmerized by the players’ stalls, but I keep my voice nice and low anyway. “Well, I don’t for sure. But when a guy comes in with hair that doesn’t need cut and says, ‘Have your way with me,’ his intention is pretty clear.”
Dash’s features twist with disgust. “Seriously? Guys have actually done that?”
I release a sigh. “I wish I could say it’s only happened once.”
Dash shakes his head. “I hate that for you two. It’s a beautiful place you’ve got there. Professional, high end. You could charge a lot more than you did for a haircut and shave.” He smiles suddenly. “I hope you made those idiots pay an arm and a leg.”
I can’t help but giggle a little. “No, but we did almost maim one of them. He got a little too handsy when it came time to wash his hair.”
Once again, the humor leaves Dash’s body as if my words performed an exorcism on his happiness. “I feel the need to apologize for all men when I hear crap like that.”
“Yeah.” I nod. “I hear things about women sometimes that make me want to do the same.” The rare outlandishly inappropriate comment on Dash’s livestreams comes to mind.
“What are you guys talking about?” Beckett appears at my side, seemingly out of nowhere. Who knows how long he’s been standing there while I’ve been zeroed in on Dash?
“Just chatting about the differences between men and women, that’s all.” Dash moves toward a stall that dons his name in big, bold letters.
“That’s easy.” Beck moves too, ambling beside him. “Men like sports and women like hair and makeup. That’s the biggest difference, if you ask me.”
I bite back a laugh as Dash lifts an eyebrow, eyeing me with amusement. “You’re exactly right, Beck,” he says, stopping in front of his stall. “The biggest one indeed.”
Beck and his simplified opinions…
Again, I’m grateful for Dash and his expert level kid management. I wish I had the same confidence, the natural ability to take my brother’s awkward and borderline inappropriate commentary and mold it into smooth conversation. I only seem to have the ability to do that with my clientele.
“Well,” Dash says, holding up a white jersey with his name on the back. “What do you think?”
“So cool.” Beck accepts the gift and holds it up to his body. The jersey easily falls past his knees. “Are you sure I can keep it, though? Won’t you need it?”
“Of course I’m sure. I can get more of these any time I want.”
I’m almost positive that isn’t true, but this moment is too sweet to ruin it by asking. “Can I get a picture of you two?” I ask instead, hoping Dash won’t mind.
“Sure.” Dash sidles up next to Beckett. “Hold up your new jersey, man. You’ll want to look back at how big you’ve grown someday when it fits.” Beck does as Dash says, holding the gift out on the other side of him with a big, cheesy grin.
I snap the picture with my phone’s camera, smiling at the image of the two of them together. “All right. Got it.”
“What about you?” Dash motions for me to join them. “Let’s get one with you in the picture.”
“Oh, uh…”
“Yeah, come on, Ruby!” Beck waves me forward.
“We can snap a selfie of the three of us, and then maybe Beck could take one of just the two of us?” Dash eyes me with eyebrows raised, hands casually resting on his hips.
Some deep, star-struck part of me wants to say yes but being that close to him again may actually give me a heart attack.
“If you get a picture with him to keep on your phone, you won’t have to take so many screenshots of his lives to look at later,” Beckett very unhelpfully points out.
“Beck!” I hiss.
“What? He already knows you think he’s hot.”
Heat slams into my cheeks, creating an inferno I’m sure will melt my face off by the time I walk out of here.
“Hey, bud, I think you’re embarrassing your sister.” Dash angles toward Beckett. “Maybe cool it with giving away her secrets.”
Beckett rolls his eyes. “Yeah, all right. It’s all true, though.”
“I have no doubt.” Dash smiles. “But let’s go easy on her since she brought you out tonight, yeah?”
Beck sighs. “Yeah, you’re right. So no picture, Ruby?”
I glare at the pest known as Beckett and stalk forward, determined to prove that I’m not bothered by his incessant jabs.
“Oh, we are getting a picture.” I hold up my phone and give my back to Dash and Beck, who squeeze in behind me.
Our smiling faces stare back at us as I snap a few pictures and pray at least one of them turns out decent.
Beck extends a hand toward me. “Okay, give me your phone, and I’ll take a couple of you two now.”
I reluctantly hand my phone to my rude little brother and clasp my hands together in front of me. “Fine. Just make it quick.”
Dash inches closer, his body heat invading my personal space, along with the signature scent of expensive cologne. “So eager to get rid of me, huh?” He speaks so low and near my ear, it’s as if his words lightly caress my skin. “Such a shame.”
“Is it?” I force a lighthearted smile for the camera while my body goes rigid.
“Well, considering I’d like to see a whole lot more of you, yeah. It is.”
“Get closer,” Beck says, pushing his hands toward each other. “It looks weird with you two so far apart.”
My breathing quickens as Dash scoots even closer. “This better?”
“Eh…maybe you should put your arm around her.”
“Beck,” I hiss yet again. This kid is unbelievable. He’s getting grounded later, even if it takes me hours to plead my case with Mom.
“That okay with you, Tinsel?” Dash whispers. “Do you want me to put my arm around you or no?”
Do I want him to? Heck yeah.
All I can manage is a nod, because of course the picture would look better if I wasn’t as stiff as a flippin’ board.
In a move that’s neither awkward nor uncomfortable, Dash lifts his arm and rests it over my shoulder like we’re old, familiar friends. His warmth wraps around me, creating an aura of cozy and comfort that will live in my memory for quite some time.
Maybe forever.
“This good?” he asks politely.
“Yep.” I release a shaky exhale. “Good.”
Beckett takes his good ol’ time snapping an infinite number of pictures before walking toward us and offering me the phone. “You guys look good together.”
I snatch the phone out of his hands with a scowl. “And you need to keep your mouth shut for the good of your health.”
“My health?” Beck pushes his glasses up further onto his nose.
“Yep. Keep opening it and saying random, untrue things and you might catch a knuckle sandwich.”
He laughs, knowing I’m all talk, then declares, “I need to go to the restroom. Can I use the one across the hall?”
“Of course.” Dash waves him on. “Go right ahead.”
“I’ll wait for you in the hall.” I hightail it behind him before I’m left alone with Dash in a private space where he changes. Not even I can handle that mental picture after feeling how good it was to have only his arm slung around my shoulders.
Dash follows behind, giving me plenty of space. Once we make it out to where the bathrooms are, I lean against the wall across from them.
“Thanks for doing this,” I say. “You went above and beyond what you promised in your giveaway, and despite my brother’s intentional barbs thrown my way”—Dash chuckles—“you really couldn’t have chosen a more grateful winner.”
“I was happy to do it.” Dash tucks his hands casually into his pockets. “He’s a great kid.”
I roll my eyes. “I hate to admit it since he did me so dirty tonight, but you’re right.”
Dash laughs and comes to stand beside me, which I find I like way better than him looming in front of me, all tall and impossibly handsome. It’s much easier to talk to him without having to meet his eyes.
He eases back against the wall beside me. “Are you taken? Is that why you didn’t text or call?”
My heart begins its frantic pace again, hitching and skipping on all the wrong beats. “No.” I clear my throat. “I’m not taken.”
He nods, seeming to absorb my answer. “Is it because I’m kind of, sort of…famous?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Was it because of tonight?” he asks with a touch of something in his voice that I can’t put a name to. “Because you knew you’d be bringing your brother to the game and didn’t want to make it weird?”
I take a moment to consider my answer. The latter is partly true.
I knew there was no way I could do anything with Dash’s number because I’d likely be seeing him at the meet and greet.
But that’s not the only reason I didn’t contact him.
How does one kindly and smoothly tell a professional athlete that they are way out of their league and probably also way out of their depth when it comes to romantic flings?
“I—”
Beckett strolls out of the restroom, swiping his wet hands on his jeans. “A huge place like this can’t afford paper towels or what?”
I don’t even bother to hiss his name this time; I simply pinch the bridge of my nose and pray for patience. “I’d better get him home,” I tell Dash, pushing away from the wall.
“Oh, um. Do you mind if I give you my number? So you can send me the pictures you took?” His gaze holds mine, asking a host of questions at once.
Things like, please don’t hate me for asking you this again, can I call you?
Is it weird that I’m asking for your picture? And do you think he’s catching on?
I’m not sure how an awkward introvert like me is able to interpret so many things in one look, but I’d bet a lot of money that I got at least two of them right.
“No pressure, though,” he amends with a nod.
The long, awkward pause I leave between us must convince him of something because he adds, “You know what? Don’t worry about it.
I’m just glad to have met you guys.” Before I’m able to utter an objection, he directs us where to exit, effectively dismissing us.
“You two have a great night! Beck, enjoy your jersey.” He gives Beckett another fist bump, then turns and legs it down the hall without so much as a glance back at us.