"PR briefed us last week. I'm one of the guys headed your way." He hands me some more napkins, our fingers brushing. A jolt of electricity races up my arm at the contact.
"You're coming to my classroom?" My voice comes out embarrassingly high-pitched.
He grins again, and damn if it isn't even more devastating up close than on TV. "Looks like it. Though maybe I should bring a raincoat."
The teasing breaks through my panic, and I laugh despite myself. "You’ll be safe there. I promise not to throw hot beverages at you."
"Appreciate that." He stands and offers me his hand. His palm is warm and calloused when I take it, his grip strong but kind as he pulls me to my feet. "Logan McCoy."
"I know." The words slip out before I can stop them. "I mean—I'm Reese. Reese Thompson."
"Nice to meet you, Reese Thompson." He doesn't let go of my hand immediately, and I don't pull away. "Even under the circumstances."
We're standing closer than strangers should, coffee dripping from both our clothes onto the floor. I should step back. I should apologize again, grab some more napkins, do literally anything other than stare at him like an idiot.
Instead, I say, "Elena Barnes is my best friend. Her dad is?—"
"Coach Martinez. Small world." His expression shifts with interest. "You and Elena go way back?"
"Since grade school." I finally manage to step back and grab a handful of napkins from the dispenser. "She's going to howl when I tell her about this."
"About how you assaulted me with a caffeinated weapon?" His eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles.
I hand him some napkins. "About how I made the most mortifying first impression possible on one of her dad's players."
"Trust me, I've seen worse." He dabs at his sweater with the futility of someone trying to mop up the ocean with a cocktail napkin."Last season, a rookie threw up on my white shoes after his rookie party."
"That does make me feel marginally better." I'm dabbing at my own blouse, though it's a lost cause. The coffee has already stained the fabric, and the dampness is not helping with the transparency issue.
Logan shrugs out of his jacket—a sleek charcoal gray one that is straight off the pages of GQ’s fall fashion guide—and holds it out to me. "Here."
I blink at him. "What?"
"For your..." He gestures vaguely at my chest, a faint flush creeping up his neck. "You know."
"Oh." Heat floods my face again. "No, I couldn't?—"
"Please. My mom would kill me if she knew I let a woman walk around like..." He trails off, still holding out the jacket. "It's clean, I promise."
The gesture is so unexpectedly thoughtful that I find myself taking the jacket before I can overthink it. "Thank you." I slip it on, and it envelops me like a warm hug, smelling faintly of cologne. "I'll get it dry-cleaned and return it when you come to Parkside."
"No rush." His eyes linger on me, and something about his gaze makes my pulse quicken. "It looks better on you anyway."
I laugh, ducking my head. "Now you're just being nice."
"I'm being honest." He steps a little closer. "And maybe I'm thinking this wasn't such a bad way to meet after all."
There's an intensity to his gaze that catches me off guard. This isn't just friendly banter anymore. This is... something else. I tingle and it’s hard to breathe.
"I should probably..." I gesture vaguely toward the door, suddenly unsure what to do with my hands. "Teacher workday. Lots of work. Not much teaching."
"Right." He nods, but doesn't move away. "So, Reese Thompson, kindergarten teacher and coffee ninja. Can I see you before the reading thing?"
The question hangs between us, loaded with possibility. Is he asking what I think he's asking?
"I—maybe?" I manage, feeling completely out of my depth. "I mean, if you want to..."
"I do want to." The directness of his response sends a shiver down my spine. "How about I give you my number? In case you need to coordinate anything for the visit. Or want to return the jacket. Or..."
