Chapter 20
Freddie
Falkenberg’s suit fits him perfectly, slim in the leg but not too slim, the jacket accentuating his broad shoulders, chest and the trim cut of his waist. He looks expensive in a way I don’t normally like, with the statement watch on his wrist and his waxed hair slightly out of place like he’s been pulling at it.
I force myself to reach for his hand. His skin is warm, and for some reason my heart falters, my eyes snapping up to his. The shadow in his eyes makes me blush.
It doesn’t mean anything. A guy like him doesn’t need my father’s money and he’d never consider a slob like me.
I just need Sam to fuck off. The guy has been following me around like the personified STI in It Follows all night.
He took things beyond the workplace when he started reacting to all of my Fotogram stories last week.
I should never have let him follow me in the first place, but I was just trying to be kind. Give men an inch and they take a mile.
I should stick to being a bitch.
Attendees shuffle out of our way as I drag Falkenberg to the dance floor. I’m not too tipsy to notice the handful of raised eyebrows we receive, but I can’t be bothered so long as it gets Sam off my back. Besides, Falkenberg owes me, considering how difficult he’s made my life lately.
We reach the dance floor, and I force myself to face him. Where I’d expected to see abject disdain, even anger in his expression, I see only uncertainty. Maybe even fear. For once, he’s out of his element. Just like that, my embarrassment evaporates.
The DJ is playing something slow, but nothing painfully romantic.
I briefly catch Sam’s eye over Falkenberg’s shoulder, which makes me step closer to the team captain, placing my free hand on his lapel and interlocking the fingers of my other hand with his.
He’s a head or more taller than me and this close, I have to tilt my chin up to look at him.
Our eyes meet, and I watch as his features twist into a familiar glower, which I now suspect is a defense mechanism.
Standing this close, I can feel the warmth of his body just a few inches from mine.
“Don’t tell me our team captain is afraid of a little dance,” I say feebly.
“I hate dancing,” comes his flat reply.
“You’re dancing right now.”
“Hardly,” he says. I laugh. His lack of rhythm is apparent as he tries to follow my lead, but I don’t care. It’s kind of endearing. We’re always on his turf, and this time we’re on mine.
“You’re right. I thought athletes were supposed to be coordinated,” I say.
“How easily you forget our first practice,” he remarks.
That snatches the grin off my face. How could I forget? Especially when his same fresh, piney scent is once again flooding my senses, this time without the underlying sweat, but bringing back memories of how he carried me all the same. The memory sends a rush of heat to my core.
“That’s what I thought.” He peers down at me, an inkling of that familiar arrogance returning to his expression, and I think I detect a hint of licorice on his breath.
There’s something else in his gaze though, too.
Curiosity, or maybe apprehension. The lights shift, and an array of blue, red and green light catches in his pale eyes.
I blink away before I stare too long.
“Did you see Sam’s face?” I whisper, letting my gaze trail over the crowded room instead.
“Yes, as well as everyone else’s.”
I look back at him. “It’s just one dance, Falkenberg. I’m sure it’s not gonna ruin your carefully curated hard-to-get, hostile persona.”
His mouth twists downward as he follows in step with me. “I’m not hard-to-get.”
“Oh, please.” I roll my eyes. “You’re a human chastity belt.”
I can tell by his expression that I’ve struck a nerve, maybe emboldened by the alcohol, but it delights me all the same.
“Where’s your date, then? Are all of the usual cheating husbands home with their children this evening?” he asks.
“Actually, I’m working tonight.” I tip my nose in the air. “Otherwise, they’d be out in full force. I’m basically catnip for men who regret their life choices.”
“You’re starting to make me regret mine,” he says, glancing disdainfully around the dance floor. I miss a step, caught off guard by the unintended implication of what he’s just said. His gaze snaps back to mine, and I swear his eyes darken ever so slightly as he realizes it, too.
For a prolonged heartbeat, it feels like we’re the only two people in the room.
Then I get ahold of myself again.
Clearing my throat, I say, “Ryan’s manning the tripod over there, see? And Parker is taking room tone. Which, bless them, because nobody in this room has any self-awareness. Most of this is just b-roll anyway. At least until the speeches.”
I notice Sam standing at the edge of the dance floor, then, and my expression must show it, because Falkenberg’s focus lands on him, too.
“Which one is he?” he says.
“What do you mean?”
“He doesn’t look like the cheating husband type. Too young and naive.”
Falkenberg almost sounds jealous.
Biting back a grin, I say, “I’m starting to think he just wants my father’s money, with the way he refuses to take a hint.”
Falkenberg’s expression darkens as he looks down at me. “They really try to use you like that?”
I laugh at the absurdity of his question. “Of course they do. I can’t tell you how many men I’ve had chase me with the intention of soliciting my dad as an investor, or attaching their name to the family fortune. Luckily, I’ve gotten pretty good at spotting that shit a mile away.”
“I’m sorry,” he says after a moment, brows still furrowed. He pauses, then adds, “You don’t deserve to be treated like that.”
Logically, I know this. I’ve said it to myself before, but something about hearing that aloud makes a lump form in my throat.
I’m suddenly all too aware of the heat of his body, radiating out from beneath my palm. The proximity of him. The way I could trace the faint beginnings of crows’ feet at the corners of his eyes if I wanted to. The way his large hand envelopes mine. My heart is a warning drum against my ribs.
“It’s nothing. Besides,” I say, dropping my voice lower. “They don’t know the money’s gone. For me, at least.”
His eyes widen, and I laugh again. I don’t know why I’ve told him.
Maybe because I’ve just been dying to tell someone on the team, given how frustrating it is that they all still treat me like an heiress.
I know my father would be furious if this became public knowledge within the Monarchs—if only because he would somehow see it as a reflection of himself, but I’m tired of keeping it to myself.
I’ve had a few drinks, and here he is, a sullen listening ear—and for some reason, I feel like my secret’s safe with him.
Maybe he’ll keep it, or maybe he’ll tell them all. Maybe I don’t care either way.
Falkenberg looks like he’s about to say something else, but the tempo starts melting into something more intimate.
We blink at each other, our bodies frozen, like each of us is waiting for the other to make a move—until he finally steps back.
My hand falls from his lapel just as his drops from my hip.
Some traitorous part of me wants to ask if he’d like to keep dancing, because I don’t exactly loathe his company and I dread being cornered again, but I know it would be selfish of me to ask.
He’s the centerpiece of this banquet. This is his world, not mine, and I shouldn’t keep him.
“There you are, Mattias.” Coach Marshall appears as if summoned by my thoughts.
“Come with me, the shareholders want to say hi.” Then, noticing me, Coach Marshall gives me an apologetic look.
“Hi there, Freddie. I hope you don’t mind me stealing my Captain, but let me come find you later. I want you to meet my wife.”
“Not at all,” I say quickly. My gaze shifts to Falkenberg’s. His expression is shuttered again. For a moment there, it’d felt like he was letting me in. For a moment, I’d wanted him to.
“Enjoy the party,” Coach Marshall adds. I watch as he claps a hand on Falkenberg’s shoulder and steers him away. Falkenberg doesn’t look back as they disappear into the crowd.
It shouldn’t sting, but it does.