See You In Boston (CU Hockey 5.50)

I hurry to take another sip of my water, wanting to at least look casual and not as though I’m shitting myself, when the group of people pauses by the door. There are four of them. Two senior men, one woman, and—

I choke on my water so hard, I’m surprised it doesn’t fly out my nose. The coughing and spluttering and heaving gasps for breath get their attention, and a second later, I’m pinned in Rossi’s shocked stare.

Meanwhile, mine is watery as hell, and I quickly swipe at the tears as I get the choking under control.

“You okay?” one of the men asks.

I hurry to nod. “Yes, sir. Just need to remember to drink the water, not inhale it.”

“Good reminder for us all.”

I can’t tell if he’s being polite or teasing me, but either way I’m willing to bet he’s self-fiving over this employment win.

He turns to Rossi. “Remember we’re meeting for lunch at one.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

Dad? The three older people walk away as Rossi stiffly turns to face me.

And isn’t this a total clusterfuck? I’d hoped if we ever saw each other again that I’d be smooth and confident, not sitting here red-faced with spots of water staining my tie.

I suspect I know where Seth got his tip about the internship now.

“Hey,” I say cautiously, unsure how this is going to play out. Will Rossi want to pretend like we don’t know each other? Are casual acquaintances? Will he call his dad back and demand they fire me on the spot?

“Hi.” His expression gives nothing away, and before I can say anything, Carla is back, with a girl around our age in tow.

“Ah, Giovanni, you’re here, good. This is Tyson and Whitney.” She points to us each in turn, but I’m still stuck on his name. Giovanni Rossi. I wouldn’t have picked it for him. He’s clearly Italian or something, but that’s the sort of name suited to a business mogul, and this guy … His big brown eyes flick toward me again with uncertainty in them. He’s a giant kitten.

“Gian is fine.” Rossi takes the chair across the table from me, and Whitney pulls out the one beside him.

I force my gaze away to concentrate on the orientation packet. Carla runs us through start and end times, breaks, emergency and evacuation procedures. There’s a whole section on policies as I side-eye the fraternization one with interest.

Interpersonal relationships are discouraged, but not prohibited. Should one occur, it must be declared to your direct supervisor, and a conflict of interest form should be lodged with HR.

Interesting.

I glance over at Rossi again, wondering if a hurried blowjob would constitute as an interpersonal relationship. I guess if it ever happens again, I can shoot that question to my direct supervisor for confirmation. Though, given Rossi hasn’t met my eye again for this whole presentation, my future there doesn’t look bright.

It takes most of the morning before we leave the meeting room and do a tour of the offices. Callaghan and Robson takes up this floor and the one above, and I’m going to need someone to give me a map because every hallway looks identical. Well, that and I’m not paying the kind of attention I should be.

Not with Rossi walking right next to me.

I’m finding it hard to work out if it’s because we’re in a group, or he’s purposely keeping in line with me.

Then I look over, catch his eye, and this time, his mouth pulls up a little at the side.

Swoon.

What were those emergency procedures again? Because I’m dead. This big, bashful beauty is too much for my poor little bi heart.

“Okay,” Carla says. “You can take, let’s say, ten minutes? Then I’ll see you back at the meeting room and show you to your desks.”

She’s barely finished talking when I nudge Rossi and head toward the elevators. Thankfully I don’t need to talk him through this step by step like our hookup, and he follows me quickly. There are two other people in the elevator with us, which means I still have to wait, and the anticipation of this is killing me.

I don’t want him worrying. I don’t want him to think I’m the kind of guy who’s going to out him for having a night of fun. Hell, it wasn’t even a whole night.

A mouth is a mouth, right? I’ve been told that enough times.

If that’s the way he wants to play this, that’s totally cool with me.

We’re finally let out in the foyer after a grueling amount of self-doubt has circulated through my mind, and I take off at a march for the front doors, Rossi scrambling to keep up with me.

“Someone’s in a hurry,” he says.

“I figured you wouldn’t want us to be overheard, and we’ve only got ten minutes.”

“Well, seven now.”

When I look over, he’s smiling.