I bit my lip. Maybe it wasn’t my place to make any suggestions. Dani was the social media director, my superior. I didn’t want to step on any toes.
“What? Say it.” She waved her hands excitedly.
I swallowed my nerves whole, then washed them down with the dregs of my coffee. “Well, what if the players took turns acting as baristas. Not during the games of course, but for special occasions, maybe even birthday parties, corporate events. Sort of a new take on meet and greets.”
A slow smile spread across her face. “I love it.”
“Really?”
“Fans will love it, too. Great idea!” She nudged my shoulder with hers. “Why did you hesitate?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I said. “I guess I don’t have the best history of voicing my ideas and opinions.”
She pursed her lips and nodded. Something told me that despite her cool, confident demeanor, Dani had firsthand experience with suppressing her ideas, too. Then again, I didn’t think there was a woman alive who didn’t.
“That ends now,” she said firmly.
“Sorry?”
“You said it yourself.” She must’ve noticed the blank look of confusion on my face because she added, “It’s history. So, let’s leave that shit in the past. Deal?”
“Deal.”
“Alright. Let’s go. We’ve still got one more stop.”
Ten minutes and one elevator ride later, we stopped outside a pair of bright red doors that matched the shade of my lipstick.Rose City Roasters Red.Hmm, maybe there was some kind of MLB x Maybelline collaboration to be had. I could practically hear the jingle now . . .
Maybe it’s MLB.
“Final stop: the locker room.”
Dani crossed one boot over the other and leaned against the wall. I longed to be as effervescently cool as she was.
“You make it sound like a horror movie.”
She snorted. “It definitely can be.”
“Are we even allowed in there?”
She arched her brow. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of some nasty, naked boys.” She leaned in and added, “Most of whom probably don’t wash their own butthole properly.”
I couldn’t contain the giggle that escaped.
“Locker room is off-limits the hour before and after a game, thirty minutes for practices, and anything else needs to be cleared with Coach Ward beforehand.” She pulled the phone out of her back pocket to check the time. “It’s still pretty early, so we should be good.”
I twisted my mouth sheepishly. “Maybe we should ask first?”
Dani yanked on the handle, pulling the door wide and holding it there with nothing but the heel of her ass-kicking boots. “I’m more of an ask for forgiveness, not permission kinda gal.” She punctuated her statement with a wink.
When I grow up, I want to be Dani Bernal.
I took two tentative steps forward, careful to keep my eyes shielded from any surprise peen that crossed my path. I could count on one hand the number of penises I’d come eye to, well, penis with. I wasn’t currently in the market for more. Unless, of course, that penis came with a certain pair of gray-green eyes and soapy-covered abs, and even then . . .
I tried shaking off the memory embossed on my brain. I’d just broken off an engagement, moved clear across the country, been cut off by my parents, and started a brand-new career. The last thing I needed to think about was men. Especially men with roguish grins and zero inhibitions.
I just had to do my job, make new friends—both of which were off to a good start—and everything would work out fine.It had to.I stepped farther into the room, listening half-heartedly as Dani pointed out each of the players’ lockers. Feet shuffled from somewhere behind me. To my left, a bag zipped closed. Nonetheless, I kept my eyes averted.
That was, until a pair of well-worn cleats—thebiggestpair of cleats I’d ever come across—stepped in front of me, stopping me dead in my tracks. I slowly lifted my head, skimming the lines of the intruder’s well-defined body, from the ankles clad in red-striped socks—a staple of the Roasters uniform—all the way upto the thighs, which were thick enough to crush a watermelon, and finally, the, um, package. If the rumors were true about men with big feet, then this guy must have a huge—
