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“Hi, Kelsey. There’s a Mr. Moore here to see you.” Robin is incredibly formal and takes her job seriously. According to her, she wants people who visit (which isn’t often) to respect Willamette Publishing, and by asking their last name, it shows they’re respecting each other.
“Oh . . . um,” I stammer, trying to come up with the right words. “I’ll be out there in a minute.” After hanging up, I take a couple of deep breaths and run through any scenario that might bring him here. I know for a fact we don’t have a lunch date or meeting, and I was only just thinking about reaching out to discuss some questions—and apologize for not attending the game.
On my way to the front, I brush any lint off my clothes and try not to fidget. Alex makes me nervous, and it’s because I like him.
Alex’s presence catches me off guard. He’s a looming feature in our small foyer. His back is facing me, which gives me a long moment to take him in. He’s not dressed as I would expect for a usual Monday afternoon and is wearing slacks and a peacoat. In my mind, I see him in joggers or those tight pants he wears for the game. Although, the thought of him walking around town in those pants is utterly ridiculous. Still, the images make me chuckle.
He hears me approach and turns. The smile he gives me lights up his entire face and makes my heart beat faster. “Kelsey.” Alex steps toward me, but before I can say anything, my entire team of coworkers flock the entryway.
The chorus of “Oh my Gods,” and “Dude, you’re Alex Moore,” (as if he didn’t know who he was) fills the room. Before I can even register what’s happening, Alex is posing for selfies, signing autographs, and talking football with Jonathan. Honestly, I’m surprised at how fangirlish the owner is being right now.
“Wow, he’s handsome,” Basha says next to me. She holds her phone up for me to see the picture she took with Alex. “You never see them dressed up like this, at least in person.”
“No, how do you see ‘them’ dressed?” I emphasize “them” even though I know she’s talking about football players or maybe even all our local athletes.
“In tight pants, usually bent over.”
“Basha!”
She shrugs. “It’s the truth. Didn’t you watch any of the games yesterday?”
I shake my head. “No, I forgot.” It’s a lame excuse, but the truth.
“We should go to a game,” she says, and I agree. “They’re a lot of fun, and last year the team won the Super Bowl.”
“The what?”
Basha’s eyes widen. “Honey, you need to spend some serious sports time with that man right there. By the looks of it, he brought you lunch.” She motions toward the small sofa near Alex where a bag sits. “Ask him about the Super Bowl. If anything, for research purposes.”
When the last of our small staff finishes with Alex, he makes his way toward me with the brown paper bag in his hand. I want to give him a hug, but not in front of everyone. “Hi,” I say, instead.
“Hey. I’m not bothering you, am I?” he asks in the softest voice. “I brought you lunch, unless you’ve already eaten, in which case I’ve brought you dinner.” For being this big football player, he’s a teddy bear on the inside. It’s like there are two versions of Alex Moore. The person I see and have spent time with, and the person the public sees playing football on the pitch. They’re not one and the same.
“You’re not. I am surprised though.”
Alex grins. “Sometimes it’s better to see people than talk on the phone. Or text.”
He’s right. I’d much rather see him.
“Well, your timing is impeccable. It’s lunchtime and I’m starving.” He doesn’t need to know I brought my lunch with me this morning. But that’s fine, it will keep until tomorrow. “After we eat, I’ll give you a tour,” I tell him as we make our way into one of the conference rooms. Once he enters, I shut and lock the door, giving us as much privacy as possible. The last thing I want is one of my sports-crazed coworkers peeking their heads in with some mundane office stuff, which can clearly wait until Alex leaves.
Alex unpacks the containers and sets everything out. “Are you good with water?”
“I am.”
I sit down next to him and lift the lid. The smell of bacon, cheese, and burgers takes over the room. It’s not my go-to meal but I haven’t had a good greasy burger in a long time. It’s like Alex knew because now I’m craving one.
“I hope this is okay.”
“It’s very okay,” I tell him as I cut the sandwich in half. “I can’t remember the last time I had a burger like this.”
“Yeah,” he says with a sigh. “I don’t do the frou-frou shit. Sorry.” He shrugs.
I take a bite. As soon as the flavors touch my tongue, my eyes close. “Damn, this is so good.” Forcing myself to put the burger down, I say, “I don’t do the frou-frou stuff either. It’s too expensive. I mostly watch my portions.”
“Is that why you cut it in half?” he nods toward my meal.
“Yeah. Plus, I don’t need to be in a food coma for the rest of the day.”
