“And I thank you for that. But rest assured, he’s a total gentleman, and a sweetheart, and he makes me laugh, and he also has like an eight-inch—”
I cut her off. “—La la la la. I’m pretending you didn’t say that.”
She cracks up. “What? Did you think I was the Virgin Mary?”
“No, I just don’t want to hear about Drew’s best friend’s Wiener schnitzel.”
“Does that mean you and Drew are going to date for real now? Which would mean you’d be in a situation where you’re out and about with Drew and me, and Jason and his Wiener schnitzel?”
I shake my head in amusement. “No, no, and no. Because he’s still off-limits.” I head down the hall to my office.
“And that is a crying shame.”
“But maybe that can change,” I say softly, floating the idea.
Ally latches onto it. “Really? What are you going to do?”
“I honestly don’t know. But I think I should at least talk to Stuart. Try to understand what’s possible. I know how to ask things without implicating myself or Drew. Just to assess the situation.”
“You should. You totally should,” she says, her enthusiasm loud and clear.
It’s everything I need to hear.
As I enter my office I tell her good-bye, set down my phone and purse, and settle in at my desk. By ten I’ve plowed through a contract from a vendor, and by ten-thirty, I’ve responded to some emails from colleagues needing legal eyes. At eleven, I dive into some research on employee-player relationships to see what I can find out. There’s not much out there. With very little precedent, I’ll be winging this. But it’s what I need to do. I take a deep, fueling breath, push back in my chair, and stand up so I can find Stuart.
Only, there’s no need to track him down. He’s knocking on my open door. My stomach nosedives. I’m hardly ready. I don’t know what to say, or what I’m even asking for. I gulp, trying to sort out the pieces of my bizarre love life in my mind. Hey Stu, what would you think if I dated the quarterback? Stuart . . . are you one-hundred percent positive that it’s a horrid idea for the team lawyer to date a player? What if I told you I wanted to ask the quarterback on a date? A hot, sexy, dirty, wild date . . .
I gulp.
“Come in,” I say, glad he can’t read my mind.
He claps his hands together. “Hey Dani.”
“Hey Stuart.”
I wait for him to go next. I point to the chair across from my desk, and he plops down in it. “About last night . . .”
I sit up straighter, nerves tightening. “The children’s hospital event?”
He nods and points. “Bingo.”
“What about it?” I ask carefully, worry thrumming through me. Did he overhear the things Drew said to me at whack-a-mole? In that instant, a 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 embrace my wishes with open arms. Not at all. In fact, chances are I’ve miscalculated.
Badly.
All my clarity from earlier slinks out the door, and I’m left with only hard cold facts. I need this job. I take care of my sister. I take care of myself. I can’t risk this.
“You and number fourteen,” Stuart says.
A weight lodges in my chest as his meaning becomes crystal clear. So much for my plan to take the temperature on a possible out-in-the-open relationship. Best to reel in that bad little idea, and act like nothing has happened.
Stuart clears his throat. “Did I pick up on a vibe?”
I frown, doing my best to appear thoroughly confused. “What vibe do you mean?”
He holds out his phone and slides his thumb across the screen. The weight sinks down into my gut. Oh shit. Oh hell. Pictures. Someone has pictures of us. That’s how players get busted. Cell phones are the devil.
My body is a high-tension line. Every muscle tightens with the fear that I’m getting the boot. That I’m raining scandal down on the team. Even though the reasonable side of me asks, for what? But the reasonable side of me is parked in the backseat. Defensive Dani, who can dart and dodge, is driving the car now. Doesn’t matter that I was hoping to ask for permission. Now it’s time to play cover-up and save our asses.
Stuart turns the screen in my direction and shows me a photo from last night. It’s on some sports news and gossip site. The shot is Drew and me by whack-a-mole. There’s nothing inappropriate in it.
“Cute pic,” he says, then swipes the screen again and displays another. “Just like this one the reporter found.”
He shows me a picture I’ve seen before—the one taken at the first event at the hotel. It’s a shot of us by the banner for the charity.
“And that gave you a vibe?” I ask keeping my tone even, revealing nothing.
Stuart scratches his head. “A little. But then I came across this shot.” He hands me the phone once more, and I jerk my head back. The picture shows the four of us leaving Heaven Can Wait. It looks like it was taken from a distance. I have no clue where that came from. I didn’t think Drew was at the level of paparazzi stalking him.
“Where’s that from?” I ask out of sheer curiosity.
“Flipper’s Taco Truck posted it. Owner said he met Drew earlier that night. That Drew enjoyed a couple fish tacos, then movies with friends.”
The corner of my mouth dares to curve up as I remember the movie, and how we held hands in a popcorn bucket. I lower my face while the memory washes over me, bringing a rush of warmth across my skin. Looking up, I school my expression, putting the poker face on once more. “We ran into each other. I was with my sister, and he was with his friend, so we all saw the movie together,” I explain, feeling like I’ve been called into the principal’s office even though Stuart’s not my boss. But he is in charge of the team’s image, and that’s what’s at stake.