Free Can't Let Go - A Contemporary BWWM Romance by Shayla Harris Page B

drinks,” he said as he reached over and patted my knee
with his hand.

 
    “Oh!”
he yelled out as he stood up. He muttered a few profanities at the screen
before sitting back down. “Damn it.”

 
    I
looked up at the score to see that it was a very close game. They were going
into overtime. His head clearly wasn’t into our “game,” but I was just happy
he’d agreed to go with me to that banquet. Things were headed in a promising
direction.

 

CHAPTER 9

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    My
stupid awards banquet was a week after our Saturday afternoon
hang out session. I’d forgotten to mention to Kevin that it was a black
tie affair until the day before, but luckily he just so happened to have a
tuxedo hanging in his closet. That Kevin was a classy guy.

 
    He
picked me up in his squad car, he in his tux and I in my black, floor length,
strapless gown, and we headed downtown to the Crystal Ballroom. The Harrisville
Tribune was the biggest newspaper in the area, and when things went digital
several years ago, they were one of the first to jump on board when all the
other newspapers were stuck trying to hold onto traditional paper publications.

 
    Because
of that, Harrisville was able to buy out a few other local papers and made some
good investments with some online news and advertising companies. They could
afford fancy banquets and competitive wages for their employees. I was lucky to
be a part of the group, even if my job could’ve been easily outsourced to a
computer.

 
    “You
look amazing,” he said with a grin as he opened the car door for me. He
couldn’t peel his eyes off of me the entire time.

 
    I
climbed in, pulling the rest of my dress behind me, and noticed he’d cleaned up
his car. It no longer smelled like day-old donuts and all the other things it
had smelled like before. The dash was oiled up and the chrome knobs were
sparkling.

 
    “Car
looks good,” I said to him.

 
    “Thanks,”
he replied. “It was due for a good cleaning.”

 
    “Are
you on call again this weekend?” I asked as it had just dawned on me that he
was driving his take-home car.

 
    “No,”
he said as he reached over and squeezed my hand. “I’m just driving this because
I can.”

 
    “Oh,”
I said. “Didn’t realize it worked that way.”

 
    “A
lot of guys do it,” he said. “Not a big deal.”

 
    We
pulled into the parking ramp by the Crystal Ballroom a little while later and
found the nearest elevator. It was a long walk, but parking was at a premium in
that part of town. My shoes were starting to dig into my heels already. I just
hoped they weren’t a bloody, torn up mess by the end of the night.

 
    Arriving
a tad bit late, we checked our coats and found a table with a couple of empty
chairs towards the back. The president of the Harrisville Tribune, Mr. Vilotti,
was making his opening speech up at the microphone and the crowd was hushed
besides the occasionally clinking of wine goblets and silverware on china.

 
    The
ambience was romantic. The lights were dimmed and candles were everywhere. I’d
heard that the president’s wife got to plan the banquet each year, so it was no
shock that it was always this over-the-top, romantic evening. It didn’t have
professional or work vibes at all, and that was a good thing.

 
    “So
I’d just like to start out by acknowledging our guest of honor tonight,” Mr.
Vilotti said into the mic as feedback dinged our ears. “This person has been
with the paper for over fifteen years. She’s my right hand gal, and I don’t
know what I’d do without her. She’s the one who insisted we get a jump start on digital news, and she’s the reason you are all
still here. The Shining Star Award goes to Julianne Renner!”

 
    It
was no wonder I never knew she was Ayla’s stepmom. She’d kept her maiden name.
It didn’t surprise me at all. Julianne was a ball-busting feminist who took
shit from no one and blazed