“Oh, no. That is so nice of you, Reese, but to be honest, I just really want to hold this over his head for a while. Thank you, though.”
She turns back to walk forward with the line, and Cody looks at me, pumping his brows a couple of times like a fucking idiot.
Shut up, I silently mouth.
“I just love that you can read my mind, Coach. We’re so connected.”
I step forward in line, keeping myself only a few inches behind Reese, my chest real close to her back. But we’re simply in line for food, so this is an innocent enough position if anyone were watching.
“So, what did you bring?” I ask quietly.
The corners of Reese’s mouth turn up, keeping her focus ahead of her.
“I brought a loaded focaccia with prosciutto and arugula. But then I got worried that people might be vegetarian, so I also made a caprese salad. But then that has dairy, and some people are dairy-free, so I also made this cucumber and avocado dish, just in case.”
“You brought three separate dishes?”
“I was nervous no one would like the one I brought. At least now I have better odds.”
I do my best not to tease her, but my cheeks hurt from the splitting grin I’m trying to bite back. Business Barbie is fucking endearing, and she has no idea.
My fingers are itching to touch her, to place my hand on her hip and give her a squeeze. To wrap my arm around the front of her shoulders and reassure her that she’s doing great.
But I can’t. Because I work for this woman along with everyone else at this potluck.
Instead, I keep my voice low and my mouth close to her ear when I say, “I’m glad you’re here.”
She looks up at me over her shoulder, brows pinched. “Are you sure it’s okay?”
“Without a question. You’re a part of this team too.”
The crease between her eyes softens, andGod, she looks so fucking kissable glancing up at me like this. It’d only take me craning my neck to meet her lips with my own.
And I’m hit with the harsh reminder that I don’t get to do that again.
We’re nearing the start of the food tables, but the coolers of drinks are lined up right before, so that’s the task I choose to distract myself with.
“What can I get you to drink?” I ask.
“What are you having?”
“I’ll probably stick with a beer.”
“Is there a seltzer?”
“Any specific flavor?”
“Whatever looks good.”
I grab one that looks to be the most popular flavor since it’s the last one left, then grab a Corona for myself. And that only makes me think of Miller, so I grab her one too. It’s the least I could do for her being welcoming to my boss.
I hand Reese the cold can, lacing the necks of the two beer bottles between my fingers, and by the time I’ve got the cooler closed, we’ve made it to the front of the table.
Reese grabs a paper plate from the stack, but when she also tries to snag all the different disposable utensils, she fumbles a bit with her seltzer.
“I got you.” I grab all the needed utensils for both of us, including a stack of napkins. Then I take her plate, exchanging it for the beers in my hand. “You just tell me what looks good when we pass it.”
She gives me this look, as if silently telling me that my making her a plate for dinner looks a bit odd. A bit questionable. Possibly inappropriate. But I ignore it.
