Sebastian grabs a cup out of his drink holder and hands it to me.
“Thank you.”
“Anytime. We’ll bring these to everyone else.” The goalie takes Logan’s tray as well, then he and the other three guys file out of my office.
“That was really sweet of you,” I say quietly. “You didn’t have to do that.”
The blond winger smiles down at me and shrugs. “You said you were dying. I couldn’t have that.”
I want to ask him why he suddenly cares. Where this change of heart came from. I want to ask him if this is some game to him, or if he’s just trying to get me into bed again. But then I think about the way the girls reacted to Logan going to Reed’s game with me, and I keep my mouth shut. Because if this is real, even if it’s friendship and nothing more, do I really want to ruin it with my insecurities?
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, angel.”
The nickname has warmth pooling in my belly and my pulse quickening. I’m not sure what’s happening between us, but I don’t want to sabotage whatever it is. Still, as my coworkers crowd around Logan’s teammates and Bryson looks my way, I also know I need to be careful. I can’t jeopardize my job.
I’ll have to be smart about all of this.
“When’s Reed’s next game?” Logan asks, surprising me.
“Oh, um, he has one tomorrow.”
Logan frowns. “We have games tonight and tomorrow. Does he have any games next week?”
“Monday and Thursday,” I tell him. It’s sweet that he’s asking, and cute that he seems disappointed he can’t make it to the Saturday game, but does he really want to go to another eighth-grade football game and shiver through it in the stands?
“Do you think I could go with you on Monday? I could pick you up. We could drive together.”
“You really don’t have to go to his games.” Reed was thrilled that Logan showed up the other week, but he doesn’t expect a repeat. And neither do I.
“I had fun. I’d like to go. Unless you don’t want me to?” The vulnerability in Logan’s face when he says that makes me regret my words. He looks like I kicked his puppy.
“Of course I want you to go. I just don’t want you to feel obligated.”
He reaches out, and I almost think he’s going to brush his fingers through my hair again, but then he snatches my coffee cup off the desk and takes a sip. When I make a little sound of outrage, he smirks. “Trust me, I don’t feel obligated. I want to go. So, what time should I pick you up from your place? I assume you’re going to need to head home and change first.”
“Yeah, I’d freeze my ass off if I wore work clothes to a game.”
“We don’t want that,” he says. Then, quieter, to himself, he mutters, “Especially not an ass that perfect.”
I nearly choke on my own saliva, which makes the blond asshole smile like the Cheshire cat. He knows exactly what he did.
“You good?”
“Great,” I wheeze.
“Good. Now, tell me what time on Monday.”
Fuck. Why is it hot when he’s being bossy? “You can pick me up at a quarter to six. The game starts at six thirty.”
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
Everything that comes out of this man’s mouth sounds like an innuendo, and my lower belly hollows out. “Whatever.”
His laughter vibrates through me in the best way. “Enjoy your coffee, Blair. I’ll see you later.”
“Good luck tonight.”
