“Yes, he does,” I tell her, needing all the luck I can get.
I take the elevator to the seventeenth floor with my heart pounding and find my room, immediately checking for the connecting door. It’s on the right wall, and when I press my ear against it, I hear nothing.
My phone vibrates.
Chef
Kendall
Chef
Kendall
“Later,” I whisper, checking the time, knowing we both have to be downstairs for a team dinner within the hour. It’s a good call because I don’t want to rush with him, not tonight.
I shower and take my time getting ready, blow-drying my hair and applying minimal makeup before I pull out the champagne silk shirt. The fabric slides over my skin, and I think about the last time I wore this color. I pair it with dark jeans and simple jewelry, professional enough for a team dinner but designed to remind him of exactly what he did to me.
No bra because I want him to see what he does to me.
When I glance in the mirror, I look like a woman on a mission. I press my tinted lips together, knowing I look irresistible. Only problem is, I’ll be around thirty other men.
The team dinner is in a private room off the restaurant, and I end up directly across from Patterson. He’s changed into a button-down that fits too well. The sleeves are rolled up to show off his delicious tattoos. When I sit down, his eyes shift down my body. His jaw tightens, and his grip flexes around his water glass before he looks away. The attraction is undeniable.
He doesn’t look at me while he talks to Callan, who’s sitting right beside me, about tomorrow’s game.
Then I feel his foot press against mine under the table.
I nearly choke on my water as his toe traces up my ankle, nudging my legs apart under the tablecloth. He’s still talking to Callan about defensive coverage with his expression completely neutral while his foot slides higher up my thigh.
Wyatt is sitting to my left and asks me something about photography. I’m so distracted by Patterson’s touch that I have to make him repeat it twice.
Dinner lasts forty-five minutes, and Patterson tortures me through every single one of them with his foot resting between my thighs. With one flick of his eyes, I lose concentration.
“Sorry, I’m exhausted from working so much,” I tell Wyatt. “It distracts me in real-life settings.”
By the time plates are cleared, I’m so wound up that I can barely form sentences.
“I’m heading out. Good night, everyone,” I announce.
I give my dad a side hug as he chats with his assistant coaches.
“Already leaving?”
“It’s time for me to be an introvert,” I tell him with a laugh. “Good night, Dad.”
“Night, sweetheart. Breakfast at eight.”
“Sure thing,” I tell him.
Patterson doesn’t acknowledge me as I leave, but he notices.
I take the elevator alone and swipe into my room. As soon as the door closes, I lean against it, trying to catch my breath. All it takes is a simple look from him across the table, and my body buzzes. It’s like I am addicted.
A knock on the connecting door makes me jump.
I cross the room and pause. “Is that you?” I whisper.
I take a risk and yank it open. Before I can say a word, Patterson’s hot mouth is on mine.
