Penalty Kill

Harper

Being able to walk into the delicate glow of chandelier light and simply enjoy the fruits of my labor was beyond satisfying. A rush of air comes through my lips as relief washes over me. Weeks of painstaking coordination and arranging are finally over. And, as much as it pains me to admit it, it's even more satisfying walking up the velvety red carpet of the stairs with my bare arm linked through Jake's as he leads me up into the ballroom.

I'd timed it out so we'd arrive precisely half an hour after the event had formally started. I'd been here earlier in the day to make sure every detail had been accounted for and taken care of accordingly. This was, after all, a benefit to continue to enhance and support the children's programs across the public libraries of the city—a program I'd both founded and spearheaded shortly after I'd started working in the library system years ago.

While I made sure the guts and nitty gritty parts of the program functioned and were viable, I let my boss, Mariella, be the face of it. I had no interest in public speaking or shaking hands. I was more than content to keep it afloat and make kids happy rather than schmooze and smile to make good impressions. I'd be the one behind the scenes picking up all the sticky, haphazardly strewn books and vying for any grant I got word of—and that was beyond okay with me.

Mariella had tried on more than one occasion to get me to step up and take the lead on the front end while she did the admin work. She thought I was trying to be modest by insisting on doing the grunt work. After I'd insisted probably upwards of a hundred times over the years that I was truly happy with not having "director" in my title, she'd finally admitted defeat and dropped the topic entirely.

Now, in its seventh year, the event was a well-oiled machine. We kept the venue the same year after year for consistency, swapping out the cuisine and entertainment to keep things interesting. There was always a silent auction that brought in the most money for donations. We'd done a pretty good job getting items or experiences people were excited about—excited enough to open up their very full wallets and drop several thousands of dollars on a whim.

Out of respect for me and my hard work getting this event up and going every year, Mariella always ensured I had my own invitation and plus one. I'd taken Felicia a few times, and even tried to convince my mom to fly out and indulge herself in ridiculously fancy finger foods and expensive drinks a few times with no success, much to my chagrin.

This was the first time I'd ever brought a date—a real, non-best friend, non-mom date. It wasn't lost on me that this very fact in and of itself would be enough to drum up far more attention than I was comfortable with. It was something I'd weighed in my mind and waffled on before extending the invite to Jake. But the thought of going through another year alone, with Felicia buried in work and it still being impossible to get mom on a plane out here, was unbearable.

Sure the entire evening consisted of just a lot of harmless small talk, watching while others mingled and danced, answering questions about the auction or donations—all of which weren't anything outside of my comfort zone. But at the core of it, it was lonely. Lonely as hell. I never drank more than a flute of champagne for fear of being drunk and unpolished at a work event, and I was always here well past the end to make sure everything was cleaned up and organized before going home.

So as we crest the top of the stairs, I'm not surprised to find several people recognize Jake immediately. As he shakes hands and exchanges pleasantries with a winning smile and effortlessly easy countenance, I try to slip my arm out from his so I won't impede his socializing only to be met with the firm squeeze of his bicep around my elbow. As soon as he's done shaking hands, he rests his hand back on my elbow, making it clear that he wanted me to stay by his side.

The gesture was entirely foreign to me. There was no stopping the initial blush that ripped through my cheeks the first time I tried to covertly extricate myself from his touch and was met with the unyielding pressure of his arm squeezing mine. My blush only deepens when he proceeds to promptly introduce me to every person after they're done fawning over meeting a well-known professional hockey player.