One of the guys whistles. “Ohhh, shit. He’s gotsomebody.”
I shake my head, smirking. “Kind of.”
Kind of,I think.Kind of like that.
Chapter Fourteen
CASSIE
I didn’t plan on coming to the bar. I told myself I’d stay in, maybe read, maybe journal. Do somethingproductive.
But journaling at the coffee shop was a fool’s errand, so here I am.
Perched at a high-top table, fingers wrapped around a sweating glass of rosé, staring up at three flat-screens broadcasting Logan’s game from different angles. The place is buzzing with locals—some watching, some just here for the Friday night beer specials.
I guess it’s as good an afternoon as any to explore the local bar scene.
“You're not from around here, huh?” the bartender asks as she wipes down the counter. Her name tag reads Val. She strikes me as tough and tan. She has smoky eyeliner and a dry voice that sounds like it’s seen a lot.
“Is it that obvious?” I smile.
She shrugs. “You're either new in town or you know someone on the team. My money’s on the latter. You’ve got that look.”
“What look?”
Val arches an eyebrow. “TheI’m-not-admitting-I-have-a-crush-but-oh-God-he-just-hit-a-doublelook.”
I choke on a laugh just as Logan rounds second. “That’s a little specific.”
“I’ve been working in baseball bars for ten years, sweetie. Trust me—I know the signs.” She pours a whiskey for someone down the bar. “No one watches the minor league games with this much attention unless they’ve got a stake in it. He yours?”
“No. God. Definitely not.”
I clear my throat. “…Well, um, we’re roommates.”
Val gives me the kind of look that sayssure, Jan,and wipes the bar again, smirking. “Roommates. Classic.”
“No, seriously, ever heard of the home stay program?”
“No.”
“Well, minor league players sometimes live with a local family, since they don’t make a ton of money, travel with the team, and are only in town seasonally. And, you know, no one likes to live alone.”
I glance back at the screen. Logan’s dusting off his pants, tapping his cleats. The camera zooms on his face. Focused. Sharp. Annoyingly hot.
My stomach tightens.
“Hey,” a familiar voice says behind me. I turn to see Jackson in jeans and a weathered Riverbend U hat, sliding onto the stool next to mine.
“Oh! Hey. Didn’t know you were coming.”
“I was just stopping in since you texted me. Val here makes a killer Manhattan.” He grins at her.
“That’s only ‘cause you tip like an overpaid D1 coach,” she quips, sliding him a glass. “So you two know each other?”
Jackson grins. “Cassie here’s my sister. Just moved here and bought her own place.”
“The mortgage is half the rent of what I was paying in Dallas,” I offer.
