I like how focused she is. I like how smart she is. I like that she loves this team and these players as much as I do, even if she has a hard time admitting that she sees this franchise as more than just a business.
With all her attention locked on the screen, all my attention is locked on her.
Then I remember I’m not allowed to look at her the way I am now. I’m not even allowed to close her office door during these meetings in fear someone might get the wrong impression of us being alone.
Reese reads something on the screen and exhales—the sound part relief, part centering breath. “Well, it looks like this trade will be official by morning.”
Whoa. I’ve been waiting to hear her tell me that for weeks now.
I sit up straighter in my chair. “Yeah?”
She scans the email again. “Obviously nothing is official until the paperwork is signed, but it looks solid.”
I study her for a moment. “Are you nervous?”
Reese allows herself to be honest with me when she nods to tell me yes.
I bask in her vulnerability. Though Reese is always sincere and straightforward when it comes to business, she’s not always open regarding how those business decisions make her feel. She has to put on a professional and unbothered mask in front of the press, and there’s no way she’d ever tell reporters she’s scaredabout the backlash from her first major move as president of the team.
But she’s telling me.
“You’ll be okay,” I reassure her. “I’ll back you up with the media. The boys aren’t going to be upset in the slightest, so you don’t have to worry about them. And you’re doing what’s best for your team, so just remember that.”
“Yeah.” She offers me a small smile. “You’re right. Thank you for that.”
“When will you tell him?”
“As soon as the paperwork comes through. It’s going to be my first time telling someone they’re no longer on the team.” She drops her head into her hands, rubbing circles along her temples.
“You have no reason to be nervous about that conversation. However you decide to tell him, he deserves it.”
“He’s still one of your players, Emmett. Wouldn’t you prefer I be gentle?”
I sit back in my chair, arms folded over my middle. “There’s rarely a time I prefer you gentle, Reese. In fact, I prefer most things a little rough.”
She quickly picks up on the innuendo in my tone. “Don’t flirt with me, Montgomery. We’re at work and I’m your boss.”
I huff a laugh. “How could I ever forget?”
Refocusing on Reese’s desk in front of me, I add our backup catcher’s name and number onto the lineup card where I typically place Travis.
I continue to fill the lineup with the guys who are playing tonight when, on my very last name, a set of well-manicured pink nails lands on the back of my hand, contrasting the black ink they’re tracing.
I freeze with the pencil in my grip, watching the way Reese’s fingers languidly follow the outline of my tattoos.
“Your daughter’s sleeve matches these flowers.”
It feels like all the oxygen has left my lungs by her not only touching me but doing so while at work. But I somehow find enough air to say, “I had them first. Miller copied me.”
Reese chuckles, fingers still drawing soft lines over my tattooed hand. “I don’t blame her. They’re awfully pretty.”
“Thank you.”
She eyes them, head cocking to the side. “They’d make a beautiful necklace, don’t you think?”
My eyes shoot to hers, finding a mischievous little grin on her lips after delivering an inappropriate line of her own.
My boss just told me she thinks my hand would look pretty around her throat, and I couldn’t agree more.
