I can’t help dropping my hand to the small of her back as we thread through the crowd to search for colleagues from our department. Greer, for her part, leans into my touch and beams back at me. My cock twitches again.
An hour tops. We’ll stay long enough to be seen and make an impression, and then I’m taking my girl home and stripping that seductive dress off of her.
Greer’s eyes drop to my lips as if she can read my mind, and then she smiles and squeezes my arm. “Where should we start?”
The event venue sprawls with multiple rooms, different music spilling out of each space. We head toward the room on the left, where an open bar stretches in front of a long, mirrored wall.
“Locke! Greer!”
We both spin to face Eden, who hurries across the floor to us clad in a trendy blank jumpsuit. “You made it!” She squees at the sight of us, then hugs me and Greer and pushes a few slips of paper into our hands. “Don’t tell, but I got us extra drink tickets. Perks of being on the planning committee.”
Greer laughs and tucks her tickets into her purse. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to get us drunk.”
Eden shrugs. “I mean, there’s an ice luge in the Moscow mule station. Someone’s got to take advantage of it.”
“You know we’ve always got your back,” I say.
“Did you see that room yet?”
“Nope. Just got here.”
Eden waves her arms to point out the highlights. “There are three main bars. One here, one in the room across the hall, and the Moscow mule bar, which has its own little room. Plus, there’s a dance floor and a photo booth, which you guys should totally do.” She scans the room, and her face lights up. “Ooh! And a magician!”
As I follow her gesture, I spot Damien holding court in a cluster of some of my other coworkers from our third-floor open office.
He’s here after all. Great.
The sight of Damien’s pressed navy suit makes my hands clench at my sides, reminding me of all our unfinished business. I have no doubt that my new boss’s glowing recommendation tipped the scales in my favor for the San Francisco job, but I also suspect his still-obvious attraction to Greer is behind the way he’s encouraged me to take it.
Not that I plan to.
I spent all morning staring at the offer letter on my computer screen, trying to come to terms with letting it go. Everything for the past few weeks has been leading to this—each moment I’ve spent at work and with Greer. I’ve always liked my life in Seattle, but with her in my arms, I fucking love it. And I think I’m starting to understand I’d be okay making that trade for her. I’d be okay staying, passing on the San Francisco role. There’s always going to be another job or another opportunity here in Seattle, but there’s only one Greer Lively. Now that she’s mine, how can I possibly walk away?
Eden excuses herself to greet other colleagues, and I accept the gentlemanly duty of procuring drinks for myself and Greer. When I return from the bar with a beer for me and a lemon drop for her, I find Greer shaking hands with a half dozen of our other coworkers and their dates, her eyes bright.
Everyone stares at her with rapt attention, and I get it. Greer’s energy is attractive, not just to guys in a romantic way, but to women too. People want to be near her. To have a little of that magic rub off on them.
I lean close to Greer and offer her the lemon drop, and she rewards me with a smile that’s meant only for me.
She steps to the side to make room for me and accepts the glass. “Thank you. This looks delicious.” As she takes a sip, her lush lips curve wickedly, and I have to tear my gaze away before I get caught staring. Then she surprises me by leaning close to my ear. “Want to see what the other rooms look like?”
“You don’t want to stay and chat more?”
She gives a delicate shrug, and I suddenly realize why Greer would have wanted a date tonight. I’ve always come to work events solo, but all the happy couples swirling through the room remind us of what life outside of work could look like, too. She and I are almost but not quite there yet. First I need to tell her how I feel. Because it’s not just the last few weeks that have changed things between me and Greer. I’ve been falling for her for the last year.
“Excuse us for a minute,” I say, and Greer’s grateful look warms my chest. We wander past an overflowing buffet table stacked with an assortment of french fries, charcuterie trays, and a magnificent, tiered display of a dozen kinds of cake pops.
“Ooh, the photo booth!” Greer crows. “Let’s do it.”
The line’s only three couples deep, so we finish our drinks and plot the best props to use. When it’s our turn for the first picture, I don a shark hat and Greer puts on some rabbit ears. In the second photo, we hold up signs pointing at each other. Weirdo, hers reads.
I don’t know her, says mine.
“Last picture.” I wrap my arms around Greer’s waist, and whisper in her ear, “Awkward prom pose.”
Greer bursts into laughter, which makes me laugh too, and that’s how the camera catches us—our arms wrapped around each other, our faces so freaking happy it hurts.
We wait by the printer for our copies of the photos, and the machine spits out two shiny strips with our beaming faces on it.
“This one’s going to go in the San Francisco frame,” Greer says with a smile. She tucks her photo strip in her purse. “Hey, can you excuse
