Page 90 of Fumbling for Perfection

A tap on the door has us breaking away again, only this time we’re not as jumpy. “Hi, Matt.”

“Hey, Riley. Sorry I’m early but I—” his eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets when he sees Walker. “Are you Walker Bankes? Wow. I’m a huge fan. Even when you were in San Fran.” Matteo holds out his hand.

Walker looks down at it, then gives Matteo a thorough up and down scan before he shakes his hand. Matteo’s a cute hipster. His younger brother was one of our kids we worked with a few years ago. Matteo was working on his accounting degree at a local community college and helping his family pay the bills. Their family wasn’t insured and couldn’t afford the rehab Michael needed.

Matteo came with his little brother during his first few appointments, not believing we were legitimate. When he saw the work we did, he and his whole family were touched, and he vowed to give back once he was able.

He’s had his accounting degree for over a year and has been giving me free advice and helping do our taxes since he was in school.

“Now that you play for Boston, there’s no way we won’t make the playoffs.”

“We’re only one game into the regular season, but the team appreciates the support from the fans.”

“Are you here as a rep for the Revolutions?” Matteo turns to me. “Snagging publicity like this is going to bring in even more donors. Smart move, Riley.”

I don’t miss the way Walker tenses. He drapes an arm around my waist and tugs me into his side. “I’m not here on behalf of the team.”

My ovaries freaking explode at his caveman move. Matteo’s brows lift and he stares at Walker’s large hand gripping my hip.

“Oh. I didn’t know.”

“Why would you?” Walker growls. I elbow him, unused to his rude behavior.

“Anyway,” I say with an extra perk in my voice. “Let’s see what you came up with. Walker’s here to help with the planning as well.”

“That’s great.” Matteo sets his briefcase on the table and Walker pulls out a seat for me. He takes the one next to me, shuffling it so close he’s practically on top of me, and Matteo takes the seat across from us.

For the next hour, I listen to Matteo talk numbers. He mentions the fifty-thousand-dollar anonymous donor a dozen times, and when he offers three ways to best stretch and spend it on the kids, Walker offers his opinion. We agree on most of his suggestions, take notes on what changes need to be made, and by the end of the hour, the tension in the air has thinned.

Walker even signs his autograph on a piece of paper and agrees to a couple photos. Walker insisted I take the pictures. I’m sure it was his way of keeping me out of them so Matteo didn’t have any of me on his phone.

“Now that the little number cruncher is gone, can we get back to giving a mouse a cookie?” He wiggles his eyebrows.

I snort a laugh. “First, your jealousy is incredibly sexy. Matteo and I aren’t even friends. It’s all business. His brother was a patient here, and Matteo offers his services pro bono.”

“Of course he does. It gives him a reason to see you. Take you to lunch. Ask you out.”

I roll my eyes. “Business lunches and no asking out. It’s not like that. Second, that is not what the book is about. But it can be our new euphemism.”

“Hm. Euphemism for what?”

“For all of it.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

WALKER

I didn’t get to make good on my promise to Riley. After the long meeting with Matteo, I helped Riley unpack boxes and inventory T-shirts, posters, banners, and all the other marketing aspects for the 5K.

I felt bad leaving in the middle of the ramshackle mess we made of her office, but I had to get to the stadium for team film at four. I didn’t even get to give Riley the longest, deepest, wettest kiss I’d been imagining because her office was like Grand Central Station with volunteers coming and going asking questions and checking in.

I’d have loved to fuck her on the conference table again, or draped over her desk, but both were piled high with boxes and swag. We couldn’t even make a path to a wall to fuck against because of the stacks of stuff. But it was better that way because I want to do more than fuck her up against a wall.

We have some communication issues to work through. Not my specialty. In fact, I suck at it. I can’t name one person in my entire life that I’ve ever confided in. Ever connected on an emotional level with. Ever talked to about my hopes, goals, and dreams, unless it was a coach, and we were talking career goals.

Hell, I don’t even know what my hopes, goals, and dreams are.

“You going to Buck’s tonight?”

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