She snorts. “Understatement of the year.”
I bristle. “I’m allowed to worry about my baby sister.”
“And I appreciate it, but I swear everything is good. Now…what about you and Drew? I haven’t said anything to Patrick about you two…” But the way she trails off makes it sound like she wants to.
“Good,” I say, then take a deep breath. “But maybe soon it won’t have to be secret.”
Wow, that felt strange to say, and a little uncomfortable, but only because I’m getting used to the idea ofnothiding.
I hope.
“Really? Are you guys going to do this for real?”
“We’ve talked about it,” I say softly, floating theidea out loud since I’ll have to float it to Stephen any second now.
“What are you going to do?”
I’m flying blind here, but I’ve given it a lot of thought in the last twenty-four hours. “I want to talk to my boss. Try to understand what’s possible. I know how to ask things without implicating myself or Drew.”
“I’m rooting for you,” she says, her enthusiasm loud and clear.
I thank her, then say goodbye and head inside. Once I reach my office, I settle in with the employee handbook, digging into any guidelines on employee-player relationships. There’s not much in here—the only guideline is that dating a co-worker should be disclosed to human resources.
I’ll start with my boss.
I take a deep, fueling breath, push back in my chair, and stand up so I can find Stephen.
Only, there’s no need to track him down. The tall, shrewd man is knocking on my open door. My stomach dips. I’m hardly ready. Do I say,Hey, what would you think if I dated the quarterback?Or maybe,Stephen, I have a funny story to tell you involving a paddle board oar, a margarita, and me.
“Come in,” I say instead.
He closes the door behind him and chooses the chair across from my desk. “About last night…”
I sit up straighter, nerves tightening. “The Every Kid event?”
Did he overhear our sweet nothings at Whac-A-Mole? Cold fear seeps into my bones. Just because I was about to march into his office for a heart-to-heart doesn’t mean he’ll rubber stamp my plan.
My messy, unformed plan.
What the hell is my plan, anyway?
All my clarity slinks out the door. I need this job. I have loans to pay off. Drew needs to have a good season. The team is rehabbing its image.
What am I doing?
“You and Adams,” Stephen adds.
A weight lodges in my chest. Keeping a blank face, I wait for him to say more.
Stephen clears his throat. “Did I pick up on a vibe?”
“What vibe do you mean?” I ask evenly.
He spins his phone around, slides his thumb across the screen.
My body is a high-tension line as he shows me a photo from last night on a sports gossip site. The shot is of Drew and me talking by the Whac-A-Mole.
Flirting, really.