“So, what can I get you?” she asks, and I’m instantly grateful she has the wherewithal not to prod.
“Just a small dark roast,” I answer.
“Cream or sugar?”
“Nope. Just black.” I tap my card against the reader, then wait as she retrieves my coffee.
The nutty scent instantly perks me up as she turns around and slides it over the counter with a smile. “You know, everything will work out, right?” she asks, meeting my eyes.
I nod, swallowing over the sudden thickness in my throat.
If all it takes is a female with a gentle voice and puppy dog eyes to get me all teary eyed over my predicament with Tatum, I’m fucked.
Damn, I’m getting soft.
“Yeah.” I clear the emotion from my throat. “I hope so.”
“Dude,” a large hand claps me on the back as Damon’s voice comes from my left. “You can stop flirting with my girl now.”
I arch a brow at him, ready to call him out for being a jealous prick but fall silent when he leans across the counter and presses a kiss to Avery’s mouth that would be considered indecent if anyone else were in line behind me to witness it.
“Damon!” Avery chuckles as she pushes him away, her cheeks blooming a bright shade of pink as she glances around the coffee shop. “I’m working.”
“So am I. Working on reminding everyone you’re mine,” he says with a smug grin.
I fake gag before taking a sip of my coffee to wash away the cheese, when Chris joins us. “What’s going on here?” he asks, placing a hand on each of our backs. “Team huddle?” He glances at me, noting my sour expression, then adds, “Ah, Damon’s being a possessive asshole again.”
“Like you’re any better,” Damon huffs. “Besides, it’s romantic, not possessive, to want the world to know she’s mine.”
“Right.” I roll my eyes as we say goodbye to Avery and head toward the rest of the guys while I try and keep my shit together. It’s only been two days since Tatum dropped the bomb that she’s thinking of transferring schools, and I can think of nothing else. Getting through two days of practice was like trying to run routes with cement in my cleats and a playbook written in another language—nothing feels right, and I can’t focus worth shit.
I sink down into a chair across from West and Jace, shifting the duffle bag from my shoulder when the zipper surrenders, and half the contents come tumbling past my feet, scattering protein bars, one odd sock, and a luridly pink paperback. It slides to a halt next to Chris’s foot, its cover model half-naked and, to add insult to injury, a dead ringer for me.
My eyes widen, and I lunge for the book before the guys can see, but I’m not fast enough.
Chris snatches it up instantly. “What isthis?” he says like he just found the only golden ticket in a Willy Wonka chocolate bar.
“‘Taming the Highland Bad Boy’?” Damon reads, peering over his shoulder, before turning his gaze back to mine with an ear-splitting smile. “Bro. Seriously?”
I snatch the sock off the ground and lob it at Chris’s face in the hopes he’ll drop the book and we can move on, but I’m not that lucky.
Jace and West snicker as Chris flicks the sock right back at me with a laugh. “What happened to just drinking your weight in protein shakes and playing Madden?” he says, holding the book between two fingers like it might give him cooties. “This what you’re into now?”
I make a show of shrugging, like it’s no big deal and the heat in my cheeks is merely a result of how hot it suddenly is in here. “Maybe I have layers. Maybe I’m expanding my mind.”
“I think you’re expanding your estrogen levels,” Jace says, grinning.
“Or maybe you’re just whipped.” Chris guffaws. “Please tell me this isn’t because of Tatem.”
I shrug, because the truth is, I’ve been reading her favorite romance novels for years, so I can follow along when she reviews them on social media.
“I don’t just read them because of her,” I grumble, hearing the lie in my voice. “It’s research,” I shoot back, ignoring the fresh streak of embarrassment crawling up my neck.
Chris tips his head back, looking over the bridge of his nose like a judgy owl, but I see the tiniest curl in the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, sure. ‘Research.’ Why don’t you tell us all about what you’re learning, Professor?”
“Hand it over.” I hold my palm out, curling my fingers in a gimme motion, but Chris clutches the Highland Bad Boy like a frat pledge with his first bottle of tequila.
“Nah, man. Now it’s a group read.” He flips open to a random page, his voice already taking on a forced breathy register as he reads. “‘His broadsword bulged against his kilt—’” Damon loses it, braying so loudly the old guy on his laptop two tables over hits mute and side-eyes us.
