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“Let’s go home,” she said, and reached down to tease me, palming my bulge through the front of my shorts. I slapped her hand off and groaned.
“How’s this supposed to look when I’m back in the locker room?”
“Like you really love squash?”
“Like I’m some pervert.” I shoved her off, laughing, and breathed deep to calm down. “You know if Leon’s home?”
“No, he’s working late.”
“Then this isn’t over. Meet you out front in twenty.” I stole one last kiss and we both hit the showers.
Izzy was waiting when I finished in ten, and we practically raced each other out to my truck. I ran every yellow all the way home, and we chased each other inside and straight to my bedroom. Half an hour later, she lay in my arms, naked and sated, her hair in my face. A runnel of sweat ran between her breasts, down her ribcage, and I followed its path with the pad of my thumb.
“You need a strategy,” I said.
She blinked. “What, for sex?”
I chuckled. “No, stupid. For work. You’re stuck with those douchebags, working on their project, so you need a strategy to come out ahead.”
“Come out ahead? I’ve already lost.” She blew out a loud breath, harsh through her nose. I peeled her hair off my face and wound it around my fingers.
“You haven’t lost,” I said. “You just lost the first face-off. They’ve got the puck, but they haven’t scored yet. It’s still anyone’s game.”
Izzy rolled her eyes. “Architecture’s not hockey.”
“But it’s still a game. There’s still winners and losers, bad calls from the ref. And you’re a triple-A player in line for the majors. You need to make sure the scouts catch your A-game.”
She laughed, but she’d turned to study my face. “How do I do that, get the partners’ attention? Get them to see what I bring to the table?”
I twirled her hair and let it slide down my wrist. “Well, I don’t know. I’ve never worked in an office. But if I did, for my first move, I’d scout my competition. What are their weaknesses? What are their strengths? Are they the types who’d take credit for my best ideas?”
“Yes,” Izzy said. “They’re that type for sure.”
“Then your first step needs to be, save your best ideas. Save them for when the partners are listening. Don’t let the douchebros trot them out first.”
She groaned. “Then they’ll tell me I’m not a team player.”
“Then be one. Be the biggest one, but make sure they see you. Whatever they say, whatever they’re needing, make sure it’s you who’s there showing your mettle. And if they don’t see your value—” I rose on my elbow.
“What?”
“If they don’t see your value, then you keep a record. Keep records of all you do, what makes you awesome. That way, when you take your awesomeness somewhere better, you’ll have a kickass highlights reel ready to go. Or, y’know, portfolio. Whatever you call it.”
“Somewhere better…” Izzy bit her lip. “I’ve put so much time in that place, but you might be right. It might be getting about time to move on.” Her expression went distant, and I pulled her closer.
“Hey.”
“Mm?”
“Don’t get sad on me. Don’t get in your head.” I kissed her forehead, her eyelids, the tip of her nose. “You ever see my pictures, when I was a kid?”
Izzy laughed. “What?”
“My pictures from middle school, the first half of high school. It feels too good holding you to grab ’em right now, but I was a shrimpy kid. A total pipsqueak.”
“I don’t believe you,” said Izzy. “What are you, six five?”
“Six-six.” I smirked. “And it’s the truth. I was this weedy-ass kid, thin as a straw, about five foot even till I hit my growth spurt. And it came late, halfway through high school. Before that, oh man, I couldn’t catch a break. I’d sign up for hockey and go straight to the bench, entire seasons just sitting there watching the game. The worst part was, I was good, at least my technique. But I had no power, short strides, no reach with the stick. No one wanted to play me till I filled out.”
