Rookie Move(4)

By: Sarina Bowen

She stood up straight again. “Coach, a favor? Don’t call me Princess at work.”

Her father tucked the strap of her briefcase over her shoulder, the way you would for someone who was about five years old. “Sorry, Miss Worthington.” He grinned. Then he pecked her on the cheek.

Yeah, they were going to have to work on his style of office interaction. But at least he wasn’t yelling anymore.

She made her way back to the outer office of the C-suite. Sure enough, a couple of the people sitting on Nate’s exquisite leather sofas tried hard to look bored as she passed through.

Not a good sign.

Georgia hiked her bag a little higher on her shoulder as she turned into the hallway. She gave a wave through the open doorway to the bullpen area, where most of the assistants and interns sat. “Morning,” she called to Roger, the publicity assistant.

“Morning!” He waved. “I’m going for donuts in a few minutes. You want jam-filled or chocolate?”

Georgia dug into her pocket for some money, noticing that Roger had not asked if she wanted a donut. That was just assumed. Georgia’s metabolism was well known around these parts. “Jam,” she said, darting in to put a five on his desk. “Thanks. You’re the best.”

He gave her a salute as she stepped back into the hallway to open her office door. Her keys eluded her, though. She had to dig all the way into the bottom of her bag to find them. When she finally fit her office key into the lock and turned, it was heartening to hear the squeak of old wood giving way. At least for today, this office was still all hers. She stepped inside, but then dropped the keys to the floor, where they made a small metallic crashing sound. She bent over to pick them up, and had to smile because the ground was farther away than usual. So this is what it’s like to be tall.

If she’d been just a little less clumsy, she might have missed the conversation at the other end of the hallway.

“Come right this way,” she heard her coworker and roommate Becca say, the clomp of her Dr. Martens echoing through the grand old passageway. “The general manager is still sitting in traffic, but Nate is excited to meet you.” Becca was Nate’s assistant, and Georgia lingered half a second to wave her down and ask if she wanted a donut, too. But Becca didn’t happen to look in Georgia’s direction as she led a tall man down the corridor. Something about his gait snagged Georgia’s subconscious. So she took a second look.

And that’s when her heart took off like a manic bunny rabbit. Because she knew that man. She knew the chiseled shape of his masculine jaw, and the length of his coal-black eyelashes.

Oh my God.

Omigod, omigod, omigod.

“How was your flight?” Becca asked him, oblivious to the fact that Georgia was spying.

“Not too bad. I got in late last night.”

The sound of his voice fluttered right inside Georgia’s chest. It was the same smoky sweet timbre that used to whisper into her ear while they made love. She hadn’t let herself remember that sound in a long time.

Now it was giving her goose bumps. The good kind.

“Welcome to Brooklyn,” Becca said while Georgia trembled. “Are you familiar with the area?”

“Grew up about thirty miles from here,” he answered while chills broke out across her back.

Holding her breath, Georgia eased her office door further closed, until only a couple of inches remained. She could not be caught like this—freaked out and speechless, hiding behind a door.

The movement caught Becca’s eye, though. Georgia saw her turn her head in her direction and then pick her out in the crack where the door was still open. Becca raised one eyebrow—the one with the barbell piercing in it.

All Georgia could do was close her eyes and pray that Becca wouldn’t call out a greeting.

There was a pause before Georgia heard Becca say, “Right this way, please.”

Quietly, Georgia stepped farther into her office and shut the door. After flipping on the light, she let her briefcase and pocketbook slide right to the floor. Only the folder that Nate had given her was still in her shaking hands. She flipped it open, her eyes searching for the new player’s name on the page.

But she didn’t even need the paperwork to confirm what her racing heart had already figured out. The newest player for the Brooklyn Bruisers was none other than Leonardo “Leo” Trevi, a six-foot-two, left-handed forward. Also known as her high school boyfriend, the boy she’d loved with all her heart until the day that she’d dumped him. And now he was here?

“Thanks, universe,” she whispered into the stillness of her office.

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