Charlotte in a red tutu number with bright red lips and a wild red headpiece. Charlotte in a white dance costume encircled by a sparkling white tutu. Charlotte in a blue and white dress playing the title role in a ballet production of Romeo and Juliet.
She defied gravity. She made it look easy, the way she moved—effortlessly—when he knew it absolutely was not. It was impressive, to say the least. He didn’t know anything about ballet, but he did know reaching her elite level took more than talent. It took work and dedication and focus.
And he respected the heck out of that.
Maybe he should have her come and talk to his team. They seemed to lack all of those things.
If anyone had caught him poring over dance videos, he would’ve not only felt like a stalker, but a fool.
Because he’d gotten more than carried away in his admiration. His sister probably would’ve used the word “smitten” and she wouldn’t have been wrong.
But he was intent on shutting those thoughts down. Charlotte Page might be special, but that didn’t matter. Cole wasn’t about to make another giant mistake in the romance department. His had been colossal enough to last a lifetime.
So why did he feel like she could read his mind, standing across from him, among his players, preparing to pitch what would most likely end up being a ridiculous idea.
She looked at him.
His mouth went dry. Instead of encouraging her to go ahead and make her speech, he looked at his watch.
Classy.
“Okay,” Charlotte said as if she’d made up her mind to continue on in spite of him. “I’m part of a group that’s planning a big event to help celebrate the life of Julianna Ford.”
Cole’s heart sunk.
“Coach’s sister,” one of the guys said.
“Right.” Charlotte’s eyes darted to Cole’s, and a nervous look washed over her face.
This was about the dance recital? What on earth did she want to talk to his team about a dance recital for? He almost wondered if he should jump in—save her from making an embarrassing mistake. She was, after all, a woman who seemed not to understand men.
Instead, he stayed quiet.
Charlotte looked away, as if trying to figure out how to proceed. There was something about the way she moved—a strange contradiction of sorts. An embodiment of both grace and awkwardness.
At the moment, the awkwardness had the upper hand.
Finally, Charlotte went on. “Well, I had kind of a crazy idea that you guys might want to be a part of it.”
What was she suggesting? Cole had already made it clear he wasn’t going to get on that stage, so was she here to manipulate him by using his team?
“What do you need from us, Miss Page?” Asher asked.
She smiled. “Well, I’m helping put together some of the numbers featuring people in the community, sort of tribute numbers for Julianna.”
“And you want our sick moves?” Hotchke started the hip gyrating he’d perfected earlier and the boys laughed.
“Hotchke.” Cole’s tone warned.
Hotchke held his hands up in front of him in surrender. “Only jokes.”
Charlotte’s eyes had widened, her cheeks flushed.
“Sorry,” Cole said. “They’re like this all the time.” Why did he feel like he needed to protect her? She was probably stronger than his entire team put together.
But it wasn’t her strength he wanted to protect. It was her innocence. Sure, he’d known there was something different about her, but the article he’d read confirmed it.
When asked about her personal life, Page goes quiet.
“You mean, like my love life?” She asks the question tentatively, as if she’s worried she’ll have to answer it.
When I tell her, yes, that’s exactly what I mean, she shifts in her chair, pulling a long, toned leg up underneath her. “Sometimes we have to make sacrifices for our art,” she says. “For me, a personal life is one of those sacrifices.”
It’s an art worth sacrificing for, but even so, it’s difficult not to feel sorry for the beautiful ballerina. Of all the things she has to sacrifice, love seems the unfairest.
He’d wondered what that meant. How much of a sacrifice had she made when it came to love?
Bilby’s gaze darted to Cole, a quizzical look in his eye.
Great, Matt would probably prod him even more about “the story” between him and Charlotte if his entire tone changed when he spoke to her.
“What are you suggesting?” Cole asked curtly.
“Well,” Charlotte said. “We were hoping you guys might get involved.”
A quiet, confused murmur zipped around the circle like electricity.
“You actually want us to dance?” Hotchke asked. “Dude, I was totally kidding.” Again with the hip gyration, which warranted groans around the circle. At least the other boys weren’t encouraging his borderline inappropriate behavior.
“Well,” Charlotte said. “Yes. But maybe not quite like that.”
Now the laughter turned mocking and a few of the guys shouted, “Burn!”
Hotchke played it off, and Charlotte looked confused.
She quickly recovered. “We really want to add some fun numbers to the recital—Julianna would’ve gotten a kick out of you guys strutting your stuff up there.”
“We don’t have to wear tights, do we?” a kid they called “Whitey” asked.
Charlotte laughed. “I’m thinking football jerseys.”
“I don’t know, Miss Page,” Dunbar said. “No offense, but dancing is kind of for sissies.”
Cole folded his arms over his chest. He should probably defend Charlotte’s idea, but truthfully, he saw Greg’s point.
“I promise you won’t look like a sissy,” Charlotte said. “Haven’t you seen the football players on Dancing With the Stars?”
The guys would never own up to watching that show, though one or two of them muttered something like “My mom watches that.”
“Just trust me,” Charlotte said. “I think we can keep it fun and cool. Trust me.”
“Plus, it’s for a great cause,” Asher said. “Count us in.” He nodded at Cole, who felt a twinge of guilt at the way these boys were so willing to join in this event when he’d so adamantly refused.
Charlotte’s face lit up. “Great. I think having big, strong football players dancing is going to be a blast for the audience.”
“You think we’re big and strong?” Dunbar flexed his bicep.
“Some of us are, Dumbar, but not you.” Whitey gave Greg a shove.
“Nah, you fools don’t hold a candle to what I’m packing over here.” Hotchke lifted his shirt to reveal an impressive six-pack but followed it up with an inappropriate gesture.
Cole started to correct Hotchke, but his up-and-coming quarterback jumped in before he could say a word.
“Hotch,” Asher said, eyes darting toward Charlotte, as if to say, Dude, we’re not in the locker room.
Hotchke held his hands out in front of him—an apology of sorts. And Cole took note. Somehow, almost overnight, Asher had become a leader. It was exactly what he’d been hoping would happen.
Asher’s actions confirmed Cole’s recommitment to the team. They could learn real-life skills out here on the field, and he could be the one to show them.