imagines

•dancing partner• {tom brady}

I don't dance, but here I am
Spinning you around and around in circles

• • •

Mr. Kraft's backyard was decorated lavishly, and quite expensively. There were chandeliers hanging from the temporary tent and diamonds scattered about the tables. Each table had four players and their guest, whose name'e were marked by delicate silver name cards. A large stage was set up at the back of the tent, with a movie theater sized screen floating behind it.

The round tables sat in perfect rows, with enough space for players to run around afterwards and celebrate with their teammates the beauty of winning the Super Bowl, that now rested on their finger.

Walking up the driveway, I felt sort of out of place. All of the players drove such fancy cars, and were dressed eloquently thanks to their multi million dollar contracts. But I was just the new hire for public relations, I didn't own a Rolls Royce and I didn't wear Alexander McQueen. The house was bigger than my entire hometown and I was lead to the backyard by butlers with shiny white gloves on.

"Miyouna, welcome to the party! Hopefully, there will be many more of these to come!" Mr. Kraft greeted me in his recognizable raspy voice.

"Thank you for inviting me Mr. Kraft!" I said graciously as the older man took my hand and shook it gently.

"I wanted to make sure you had the best experience so I seated you at the front table. I want you to enjoy tonight, because as much as we would like to, you don't get to throw these parties every year."

"I'll be sure to enjoy myself, Mr. Kraft," I smiled as I proceeded on, making sure not to hold up the growing line of players and their gorgeous significant others. I walked around the tent for a while, marveling at all of the memorabilia that adorned the borders. Pictures, scores, stats, and jerseys lined the tent.

"If everyone could please take their seats, we will begin the ceremony in a few short moments," Mr. Kraft's young girlfriend announced into the lone microphone on the stage. I removed myself from the season's memories and began walking to the front table. I saw that it was mostly full, except for the one seat left that I assumed was mine.

As I drew closer to the table, I noticed how large the men surrounding my place were. I had studied the team well after being offered my job as a public relations manager and I assumed one of them to be Dont'a Hightower. The other man was just as tall, but leaner. Everyone in Boston, and possibly America, knew him. The quarterback was seated right next to my silver nameplate.

"Tommy is this your date?" Dont'a quickly asked as I quietly took my seat at the table. Tom eyed me up and down and smiled shyly.

"I wish," Tom stuttered. My cheeks flushed bright red. He put his large quarterbacking hand out for me to shake. "I'm Tom."

"So nice to meet you, Tom. I'm Miyouna."

"That's a beautiful name. I've been studying your name plate trying to imagine the girl who owned that name, but not even in my wildest dream did I imagine it would be someone so naturally beautiful," he gushed. He was as charming as he was at throwing the football.

Mr. Kraft took the stage and announced that food was being brought around, and surprised the players with Popeyes (which I assumed was some inside joke that I desperately wanted to be a part of).