Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 98324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
“Children,” I say firmly. “Every one of them is a stack of hormones in a trench coat.”
He smiles again, and a little more of my brain leaks out of my ears. “Exams?” He points at my textbook.
I look down at the chapter on inventory systems, and it might as well be written in Swahili. “Just a test. Exams are at the end of the month. Is there, um, something I can help you with?” Or are you just here to unsettle me?
“There is something,” he says, crossing his arms over that chest. It’s hard not to stare at it, now that I know how it feels against my naked body. “I need help finding my desk.”
“Your desk?” I’ve been asked to help find all kinds of things today, including a hotel room for somebody’s translator, a pharmacy, and a bus map. But this is a new one. “Did you try looking for it in your apartment?”
The corners of his mouth twitch, and even that destroys me by another degree. “I meant here. When I first became captain, I was assigned a desk. In that row, maybe.” He points to the bullpen opposite my desk. “But I don’t remember which one it was, and I can’t impose on someone else’s workspace. Do you have a seating chart? If it’s not too much trouble.”
“Um, sure.” I hop up out of my seat and find the right binder on the bookshelf. I don’t usually open this thing, but now that I have, I find that Eric is correct. One of the desks in the first row is marked Captain.
I raise my eyes to the spot and realize his desk is catty-corner to mine. If he actually sits there, only a few yards of industrial carpeting will separate us.
“Did you find it?” he asks.
“Yes.” Although it’s tempting to lie. “I think somebody stored some boxes on that one. We’ll have to move them. Come with me.”
“I’ll take care of it,” he says, following me over to the desk, which also contains a decommissioned fax machine. “You seem busy.”
“True, but I’m the one here who knows where to put all this stuff.”
That’s how I find myself spending half an hour sorting through boxes of old team programs with Eric. Just me, and Eric, and the scent of his cologne, and the quiet glances he gives me every few seconds.
“How was Colorado?” I ask, just to break the tension.
“The usual.” He shrugs. “Preseason training is a lot of muscle soreness and exhaustion. But working out at altitude gives me an edge over the youngsters.”
Most of them can’t hold a candle to him. But possibly I’m biased. “How is your mother doing?”
“Better, actually,” he says. “She finally went back to therapy.”
I look up at him and find his gray-eyed gaze waiting for me. “That’s great, Eric,” I whisper.
“Isn’t it?” He gives me a quick smile. “They’re both coming to our next game in Boston. That’s the plan, anyway. And how’s your family?”
“Fine, I guess,” I say grumpily. “Theo texted me for no reason at all the other day. Although Tessa has a brand-new reason to hate me. It slipped out that I knew about Dad’s health condition.”
Eric frowns. “And that’s bad because…?”
“Because he told me before her.” It sounds even stupider out loud than it does in my head. “So I won’t be hearing from her for a while. My father took it well, though. He actually apologized for putting me in that position.”
“As he should,” Eric says sternly.
“Yeah, well. He also told me he’d hired Tessa to work in his office.”
Eric snickers. “Wonder how long that will last.”
“Not my problem. Oh—and Maribel wrote me a really nice thank-you note.” It opened Dear sister-in-law, and I must have been in a fragile mood, because I almost cried. “You probably got one, too.”
“Probably. Haven’t read my mail in a while. Maybe I’ll do that at my new desk.” He throws the last of the old files into the recycling bin and dusts off his hands.
“What are you using this thing for?” I ask, plucking a spray bottle of cleaning fluid and a rag off the maintenance cart.
“I haven’t decided.” Eric takes the cleaning supplies from me before I can use them and does it himself. “I thought I could hold office hours. It’s an act of professionalism, you know? To make yourself available to your teammates at a set time.”
“Because you’re such a slacker now?” I step back and watch him work. “Office hours could work well for you, but only if you force them to stop calling you at midnight with their relationship drama.”
He stops to look at me. “Stop making so much sense, Kendrick. Maybe I’ll actually try that.”
“You should.” And now I have nothing better to do than watch the fascinating way the muscles of his upper arm flex as he squeezes the bottle and then wipes the surface.