More like sleepy and sex starved.
Nobody was going to stand in my way of making a good first impression today, last of all my new neighbor. With chiseled abs. All eight of them.
Sugar.
I shrugged off my fatigue—and horniness—and reached for my compact mirror. It had taken an extra layer of concealer to cover up the dark circles under my eyes this morning, and by the looks of it, the makeup was holding up well. My nerves on the other hand . . .
Thankfully, today was supposed to be all onboard paperwork and orientation, plus a tour of the Roasters’ facility. All one million square feet of it. Even though I’d barely made it out of the parking lot, I was already feeling miles out of my league—baseball pun intended.
I tilted my head back, staring up at the titanium structure in front of me. Panel after panel of glass was stacked on top of each other, like an endless pile of Legos. It was overwhelming.
“I can do this,” I whispered to myself before glancing self-consciously to the side. The last thing I needed was for one of my new co-workers to spot me talking to myself.
My stomach roiled. I should never have had that second cup of coffee this morning.
Why did I wear this shirt?
Was my Drop Dead Red lipstick too much for the office?
The doubts ran rampant through my brain, repeating themselves like a record stuck on repeat. I matched my steps to their beat as I approached the door.
I don’t belong here. This is a mistake. I—
“Clarke!” a bubbly voice called out from behind me.
I turned to find a petite, sprite-like woman waving me down from the parking lot. I recognized Dani immediately, though this was my first time seeing her in person. It would be hard to forget that ear-to-ear smile, not to mention the electric blue, pixie haircut and neck tattoos.
And to think I was worried about my lipstick.
As the Roasters’ social media director, Dani was single-handedly responsible for interviewing, and ultimately, hiring me for my coordinator position. From what I'd gleaned during my interview with her, Dani was somewhat of a genius. Not only did she have two master’s degrees—one in sports psychology and another in multimedia journalism—she had also played an instrumental role in creating the team’s initiativefor mental health. Every Roasters’ employee—from the top-tier management down to the part-time custodial staff—was required to take one mental health day per month, specifically to better their personal well-being. It was a model that several other teams in the league had decided to employ as well.
“Great to meet you in person, Dani.” I extended my hand to her. “I mean, Ms. Bernal. Or do you prefer—”
“Dani is fine,” she said. “And I’m more of a hugger, if that’s okay with you?”
“Um, I suppose—”
Before I could finish my sentence, she’d already hauled me into an all-consuming hug. For such a small person—she had to be at least two or three inches shorter than my 5’6”—she sure packed a punch. Her tight squeeze tempered all my insecurities better than any prescription or pint of praline crunch ice cream.
“Alright,” she said, pulling away. “Now that that’s out of the way, let’s get started. Paperwork, coffee, tour. In that order.”
From teddy bear to top dog, just like that. She walked while she talked, and I did my best to meet her pace. Dani reminded me of my sister-in-law, Ellie. The type of person who was always in motion, always busy thinking about the next step, literally and metaphorically. Anin-betweener,as my sister called it.
Together, we walked the three floors of offices and facilities before taking a lap around the stadium’s concourse level. When Dani had mentioned a tour, I hadn’t expected a full-on hike. Truthfully, I was a little embarrassed by how winded I was. It’d been a while since I'd hoofed it for more than a block or two, especially in my favorite wedge heels. I’d pick a more sensible pair of tennis shoes tomorrow.
What impressed me most was the way the designer had seamlessly incorporated the natural wonders of the Pacific Northwest in with the modern architecture. Solar panels lined the west side of the building, a one-hundred-foot waterfallcascaded behind the centerfield bleachers, and about eight thousand square feet of the roof over the press box had been converted to an organically maintained rooftop farm. The plan was to grow herbs and seasonal vegetables to be used in dishes served at the stadium during games and at private events throughout the year.
My favorite feature, though, was the beanery. That was right. The Rose City Roasters had their own coffee roasters on site, just fair of the left field foul pole. Which meant visitors could take home a fresh bag of Rose City Roast on game day, and more importantly, I had access to a lifetime supply of upside-down, quad-shot caramel macchiatos. A glass-enclosed atrium full of Oregon flora and fauna, and Ponderosa pines tall enough to breach the ceiling ran through the center of the beanery. According to Dani, the building had literally been built around the trees, to preserve as much of the wildlife as possible.
AndIgot to work there.
“I’ll never get sick of that smell,” Dani said. She took another sip of her chai latte with oat milk. Oat milk was apparently very big in Oregon.
“I know what you mean.”
“We should get some content with the guys ordering coffee. Like, videos of their favorite coffee orders.”
A lightbulb went off in my head. “What about—”
