Page 20 of The Romance Line
After Josie chews, she looks my way pointedly. “So, have you thought about how you’re going to handle all the sexual tension between you and Number Thirty-Three?”
Did Josie read my mind? “What?” I ask, like I don’t know what she means when I damn well do.
Maeve bursts into peals of laughter, then when she recovers, she says to me, “That was good. Did you practice that?”
“Practice what?” I ask, this time legitimately meaning the question.
Fable smirks, jumping in with, “That wholeoh so shockedlook you had right there.”
“I do not have sexual tension with Max Lambert,” I say, denying that hard. I have to deny it.
Maeve lifts a doubtful brow. “Louder for those in the back.”
I stare her down, like I did Asher earlier today. “I don’t.”
Or really, Ican’t.
Getting involved with him in any way, shape, or form would be a bad idea. It’s frowned upon at work—athletes are our stars, they are our assets, and their talent paysallour bills. So it’s best not to tango with the talent. It’s one of the unwritten rules of working for a pro sports team, and something my boss even warned me about when I first started. Zaire gave me a tour of the facility I already knew well, then introduced me to all the players. When a couple were a bit flirty, she pulled me aside after and said, “With athletes, it’s best to keep things strictly professional.”
Tonight, with my friends, I repeat those two watchwords. “It’s strictly professional with him,” I say, and it is, but I also don’t like lying to these women I’ve grown to care for. “And even though it is,” I say, relenting, “he’s maybe, possibly, admittedly handsome.”
Fable lifts her arms in victory. “Ladies and ladies, letthe record reflect that Everly finds the man of the houradmittedly handsome.”
“Oh, c’mon. I at least admitted you were right. Wasadmittedly handsomenot enough for you?” I ask.
Josie taps her chin. “I’ll allowadmittedly handsomebecause it’s so you.”
“And how is that so me?”
Josie wastes no time answering with, “Because it’s professional and a little detached.”
My face falls. My heart sinks. “You think I’m?—”
She reaches for my hand, warmth flooding her eyes. “Oh, babe. I didn’t mean you’re detached.”
I swallow past a stone of emotion—an annoying one. “Okay.”
“I meant it as a compliment,” Josie adds, squeezing my fingers. “Because it’s very you to detach from someone you work with when the rest of us are being pigs.”
Josie comes over to my side of the table, and gives me a hug, and I feel foolish all over again that I thought she might have meant something else. It’s just so hard to learn to, well, love again in this platonic way.
When we break the hug, Maeve waggles a tarot card at me—on it is an illustration of a hand curled around a wooden wand. It’s incredibly phallic. “I drew the Ace of Wands for you, Ev. You know what that means?”
With some dread, I ask, “What does it mean?”
“It means someone is going to be getting some good dick,” she says, then winks.
Playfully, I snatch her deck away. “I’ll tell my own fortune.” I straighten my shoulders, clear my throat, and say, “It means someone is going to be getting some good…newsat work in the form of a promotion, since she willnotbe entering a forbidden romance and sleeping with the player she’s helping.”
Maeve sighs. “I like my fortune of you better.”
Yeah, I did too. But I’m not going to do a thing about it. I have a boot camp battle plan to devise, and a potential date to dissect.
“Speaking of dick.” I whip out my phone. “Help a girl out.” I show them the text from Lucas, letting me know he’s back and asking me out again. “Do I want to go out with him again? He was my rehab therapist after the accident.”
“Is he hot?” Maeve asks immediately.
“Is he nice?” Fable inquires.