Page 49 of Off the Post

Of course, in Tanner’s presence, no one can get in a word edgewise. If you don’t yell at the top of your lungs to talk over him, he dominates the conversation and never shuts up.

But when Soren does say something, he crafts his words intentionally and effectively, stating his objective in a way that leaves no room for misunderstanding.

He’s direct. Unapologetically blunt. And oh, so dirty.

The pulse between my legs grows and vibrates with the memory of Soren’s face between my thighs. His tongue wet with my essence. His heady kiss on my mouth.

“Good morning, Ali.” Leanne’s voice jolts me back into the present, and steaming coffee spills over the edge of my mug and onto the countertop.

“Ack!” I screech, setting the cup down on the counter and reaching for a paper towel to wipe my hand and the floor.

Leanne tears off another piece and kneels next to me to hand it to me, which I gladly accept.

“Thanks. I’m such a klutz.”

I stand and dispose of the waste, then blow out a breath.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” She places a hand on my forearm as a small touch of empathy before pulling it back. “I thought you heard me come in.”

As usual, Leanne looks beautiful and elegant in her business casual clothes. She’s the only woman I know who wears heels to the office. She says they give her the “lift” she needs to stand up to my brother, who is technically her boss as his title is Chairman of the Board. Today her hair is pulled back in a sleek ponytail.

I pick my coffee up and take a sip. The liquid is hot and strong and fortifies my existence.

Smiling with a hint of apology, I run my fingertip over my eyebrow. “I’m a little tired this morning. We had a pool party yesterday with a bunch of Tanner’s friends from the team, and it wore me out.”

Leanne turns on the electric kettle to start her morning ritual drink, then reaches for a mug and a tea bag from the cupboard. Even in her heels, she has to stretch onto her tiptoes, reaching as far as she can to grab a mug from her stash on the second shelf.

That was the only rule she gave me about the breakroom when I first started: “The mugs on the top shelf are mine and mine alone.”

She places her selected cup on the counter and, quirking a brow, leans her hip against the granite. “Oh? And was a certain goalie in attendance?”

The heat returns to my face, and I cast my eyes away from Leanne’s curious gaze. She didn’t ask any questions after I returned from my lunch date last week, but I know she’s thinking I have a crush on the Wolf.

And she’d be right.

I give a nonchalant shrug. “Yes, Soren was there, along with many of Tanner’s other teammates and friends.”

The kettle sings and her attention focuses on pouring the steaming water into her prepared teacup. Leanne dunks the bag in the cup several times, then leaves it to steep and turns back to me.

“Ah, I see,” she muses, bringing the mug to her lips to blow on the liquid. “You’re going to play it cool and keep your personal life from seeping into your work. I can respect that. It’s very admirable and professional of you, even if I do want you to spill all the tea.”

Alarm bells ring in my head, and my stomach tightens into knots. Is Leanne trying to tell me not to let my interest in Soren interfere with the foundation’s work?

Given my previous employment snafu, I quickly move to reassuring her that nothing I do outside of work will interfere with my job.

“Listen, Leanne. About Soren…” I trail off. I don’t even know what to say about him. Or us. “We… umm… I’m…” I stammer, looking for the words of explanation.

Leanne waves her manicured hand dismissively between us and leans close enough that I catch a whiff of her peppermint- and lemon-scented tea.

“You don’t have to explain anything to me, Ali. It’s really none of my business, and there’s no rule against dating a volunteer.” She winks. “Even if he did pose shirtless for our charity calendar.”

My entire body heaves a sigh of relief, and the anxiety triggered by my worry dissipates. I don’t want to make the same mistake I did in the past and allow my personal life to mess up my job and possibly ruin my reputation and career trajectory.

My fear dissolves into thin air like the steam rising from Leanne’s mug.

“Oh, good. Thank you,” I murmur. When I search her brown eyes, all I see is compassion and honesty. “It’s something new, and I wouldn’t even call it dating.”

“Talking, then?” She tilts her head. “That’s what my teen daughter calls it. Whatever the heck that means.”