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“You’re gorgeous.”

“You’re cocky.”

“I have reason to be.”

All eyes are on us when suddenly, a shirtless performer taps her on the arm and says, “Come up on stage with me.” He’s a good-looking guy, probably in his early twenties.

Becca draws back in surprise, but then she tilts her head toward me. “I’d love to.”

When they reach the raised platform, all the bare-chested men in short shorts surround her, clapping to the bongo drums and steel pans in the background.

Maybe I should take my shirt off. I have more abs.

Her face brightens at being the center of attention. When she cheered for the Kentucky Stallions, she was the top flyer, performing the hardest skills. She relished the competition, the responsibility the team put on her. And judging by the look on her face at this moment, she’s happy.

The audience claps as they pick her up, trading her from man to man like a celebrity video. When the last man places her back on the ground, she kicks off her shoes and gestures to the men to scoot back.

Then, suddenly, it’stheBecca—Becca from college, the one who used to launch herself skyward from a blue mat or from the hands of her coed partner. With impossible grace, she throws a standing back tuck right there on the lacquered stage. Landing perfectly, the applause swells with an energy as infectious as Becca’s grin.

“Go! Go! Go!”

With the crowd spurring her on, and feeling the energy of the audience, Becca jumps into a somersault, then whips out a back handspring, into a slow-motion cartwheel. Her limbs blur as she pushes backward into another back handspring into a full twisting layout as she launches into the air, spinning high above the warm glow of the tiki torches while in a dress.

I’m mesmerized by her absence of fear and her complete confidence. This Becca can’t be brought down by an accountant who didn’t realize what he had. He had everything. He had Becca.

Corbin shouts, “That’s my sister!” He’s clapping so hard, his palms must sting.

Pride surges through me as Becca beams like she did when she won the NCAA Co-ed Championships. I remember being jealous of her partner Kinnon. Why did he get to hold her waist?Why was he the one lucky enough to toss her into the air, then cradle her body like it was a precious jewel?

If this makes her happy, I’ll have her teach me. I’ll be the one to make sunshine bloom over her face.

She bounces on her toes back to the table with shoes in hand. Oakley is the first to sling her arms around Becca, almost knocking her down. Seconds later, joined by Corbin and the rest of the ladies. Reed, Logan, Dane, Flynn, and I stand back, waiting for an opportunity to give Becca her props.

When she’s finished hugging everyone but me, I spread my arms out wide, with a spark of mischief playing on my lips, and add, “Saving the best for last?”

“If that was the case, I would have stopped with Corbin.” Laughter splashes across her face, radiating utter joy and false contempt for me. I see right through her. And this time, I’m not giving up on her.

“Right.” I pick her up like a rag doll and kiss her cheek like a friend. “You have insane skills. How can you still do all of that?”

“Muscle memory, I guess. How can you still play hockey.”

“Because I practice every day. How often do you practice tumbling and cheer stunts?”

“I tumble in the park sometimes. And in case you’ve forgotten, I dance for the Nashville Fireflies,” she says as her bright eyes do a dance of their own.

She does, but that’s nothing compared to being thrown up in the air and hoping the guy below catches you. She has to have complete trust in that person, and I want that person to be me.

“It was a compliment.”

She nods slightly. “Sorry.”

Obviously, she’s not used to getting compliments from Dennis. What an asshole. I’ve only been around him a few times when I came into town for hockey. Corbin and I would meet for dinner and a couple of times, Becca and Dennis would join us. He had about as much personality as paint. Like you just wanthim to talk about something other than the stock market or wine.

Once I wanted to punch him for flashing his Rolex. I didn’t, but I wanted to say, I have a two-hundred-thousand-dollar watch that sits in my drawer–one I received from a sponsor.

We’re saved by a voice calling us to the buffet line. Becca sneaks in between Flynn and Presley, reaching for a cob of roasted corn. Although I’m the last in line, it doesn’t stop me from loading my plate with towering portions. So, when I sit down, Becca’s eyes widen. “Are you going to eat that much?”

“Yep. I’m going to need my energy,” I tease as I take a bite of the barbequed pork.