Page 69 of Sliding into Love
"The concession sales were up forty-three percent from last season's opener," Royce says, scrolling through their tablet. They're wearing one of their perfectly tailored suits—charcoal gray today with a burgundy tie—with a skirt instead of pants and a pair of sheer stockings.
I want to lean over and kiss them. I want to rip those stockings off with my teeth.
I don't. We're at work. We have boundaries.
Even though those boundaries feel a lot fuzzier than they did three days ago, I won’t indulge.
"That's incredible," I say, forcing myself to focus on the numbers instead of the way the curve of their jaw looks in thislighting. "The new vendors we brought in must be making a difference."
"Mm-hmm." They make a note on their tablet. "Although I think we need to adjust the staffing for the third-base side. The lines were too long during the seventh-inning stretch. People were missing the game. I noticed the complaints in some of the group chats on our app."
I pull up the staffing schedule on my laptop. The fact that Royce thought to look on the Blue Jays fan app for reviews of the game is impressive. "Good catch. We can shift two people from the first-base side. That area moves faster anyway."
We fall into an easy rhythm, going through all the data from opening night. It's strange how natural this feels—working together, bouncing ideas off each other, making decisions as a team. Lately it’s been good between us professionally, but now there's this added layer of… emotion.
Trust.
Understanding.
Or maybe I'm just riding high on the fact that I woke up this morning with Royce in my kitchen, making coffee and humming to themselves while I showered.
"What about the luxury suites?" I ask. "Any feedback from the high rollers?"
Royce's lips quirk into a small smile. "Mostly positive. Although apparently the Johansens didn't appreciate being seated next to the Hendrix bunch. They mentioned a business dispute."
"Noted. We'll keep them separated for the rest of the season. Anything else?" I make changes in our system to keep the families apart.
"One of the suite holders mentioned the sound system was too loud." They glance up at me, eyes filled with amusement."But honestly, I think that's just Mr. Patson being his usual grumpy self. Everyone else loved it."
"Patson complains about everything," I agree. "He once stopped me to say the hot dogs were too hot."
Royce laughs, and the sound does something warm and pleasant to my chest. "How dare we serve hot food at the appropriate temperature."
"The audacity."
We grin at each other for a moment, and I can see them fighting the urge to say more personal things, things that has nothing to do with work. But they hold back, professional as always, and return their attention to their tablet.
"The field conditions were perfect," they continue. "Groundskeeper really outdid himself. I want to make sure we give him a bonus for that."
"Absolutely. Add it to the list." I lean back in my chair, stretching my arms over my head. My shoulder pops, and I wince slightly.
Royce's eyes sharpen. "You okay?"
"Yeah, just stiff. Old injury acting up."
"Old injury?" They set their tablet down, giving me their full attention. "From what?"
I hesitate. It's not that I'm ashamed of what happened—not exactly—but it's also not a time I talk about often. The end of my baseball career isn't my favorite topic of conversation. Plus, anything relating to younger me has been a cautious subject. I never want to remind them of the years before my frontal lobe developed.
Except, this is Royce. And if we're doing whatever this is between us, then I should probably be honest about the important stuff.
"From when I played college ball."
Their eyebrows rise. "You were injured in college? I feel like I knew that."
"Yeah, well. It didn’t last long. No reason for you to know." I shrug, trying to play it casual even though my stomach is twisting.
"Kenneth." They stand up and come around the desk, leaning against it so they're closer to me. Close enough that I can feel the heat of their body. "Tell me. Please."
