Page 34 of Not My Coach

When we start moving forward, my breathing is shallow, and my stomach feels like it’s trying out for the Olympic gymnastics team.

I keep my eyes on the cart the entire walk to my table, but I feel her stare on me the whole time.

I look up and address my table, not meeting her eyes once. “Hello, everyone. How are we doing tonight?”

The customer service side of me comes out, performing like a Grammy award–winning actor. It even fools me for a second, and I question if I really am nervous at all. But the sweat dotting my forehead answers that for me.

“I’ve got some ice water here,” I say, grabbing the first glass and a straw from my cart. “Here you go.”

Setting the glass down in front of Brett and Evie’s mom, I fight the powerful magnetic pull from the chair to her left. I give water to her dad next and continue to work my way around the table, leaving Evie for last. The table breaks away into conversation, everyone’s focus leaving me.

“Here’s your water,” I utter, stepping between her mom’s chair and hers to place it toward the center of the table.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

Her fingers graze my leg, and fireworks erupt throughout my body. Maybe it was a mistake and I bumped into her.

I set the glass down and start to pull away, and her fingers brush against me again, this time higher on my thigh.

Clearing my throat, I glare down at her for the shortest second and back away.

“I’ll be back shortly with appetizers,” I tell the table, looking anywhere but at her.

The table thanks me, and I smile, grab my cart, and walk as calmly as I can back to the tunnel to escape her tempting doe eyes.

Thankfully, we are granted a five-minute reprieve from our job as the opening speeches are given and the appetizers are brought to the tunnel and placed on our lined-up carts.

When I emerge from the tunnel and make my way over to Evie, I spot an empty martini glass and another one half gone in front of her.

Once again, I serve the table in the same order that I did the water, ending with Evie.

When I set the risotto in front of her, my leg accidentally brushes her, and I hear her audibly gasp.

But no one notices as the table is discussing the most recent buzzing Nighthawks news; Laura and Alec are expecting a second child.

She squeezes her arms together as she reaches for her drink, and her tits practically spill over her dress.

My cock twitches in response, and she slowly runs her tongue along her bottom lip while staring straight ahead with the faintest smirk tilting upward.

She sets her glass back down and her hands fall into her lap, her dancing fingers finding my leg once again, faintly tracing circles.

“Can I get you guys anything else?” I ask, going off script.

As much as I want to fight it, I don’t want to leave and feel the absence of her touch.

The group collectively says no, and I’m forced to pull away from her and head back into the tunnel.

Doing my best, I mingle with the guys and staff, trying to seem like nothing is abnormal tonight.

The dinner course is brought out and placed on our trays fifteen minutes after we serve the apps.

“After this, there will be about a forty-minute delay until dessert, as games will be played by the guests following dinner. Feel free to participate and mingle. These donors want to meet you; they want to feel like they know the Nighthawks,” Meghan instructs us, and I’m just grateful that I can sneak away to my office after this for a while.

Rolling dinner out, I try to focus on serving fast and then getting out of here. I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep my hands off of her if she touches me again.

She is taunting me and trying to get me to give in. I hate that it’s working.

I set Evie’s plate of roasted chicken and veggies down, and she looks up at me as she purposefully drops her fork to the ground.

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