"Oh." Her face fell. "How disappointing."
"Soren has a thing about showers," I told her. "They're kind of his cure-all." I didn't offer more than that. It wasn't my place to spill all his secrets.
"I got that. Pink, apparently, had . . . a night."
"Is he okay?"
She pursed her lips. "I'd say he's about as okay as the rest of us. Don't let that goofy smile fool you. He's still a person, flaws, feelings, and all."
Flaws, feelings, and all.
Like usual, Dani was right. She had a knack for actualizing ideas I had never been able to find the words for. It didn't matter where we came from or how we were raised. In one way or another, we were all hurting. Some of us just had a more convincing pageant smile.
For the next thirty minutes, we made the rounds, making small-talk and snapping photos with attendees, players, and our mascot, River. River had also taken a turn behind the counter earlier in the evening. As a mustached hipster barista, how could he not? We were quickly broaching the final hour of the event, which meant it was time to switch up our baseballer barista once again.
"Have you seen Tuck?" I asked Dani after double-checking my list. "I know he's here, but I haven't seen him in over an hour."
"Oh, he left a while ago."
My head snapped up from the clipboard. "What?"
"He wasn't feeling well, so I told him he could go home."
That was news to me. Tuck was slotted to be our last barista of the evening. There wasn't any time to call up any of the other guys. Most of them lived in Portland anyway.
"Okay." I racked my brain for a solution. "Well, maybe one of the guys won't mind giving it another go. Roman, maybe? Although we might run out of vodka—"
"No worries. Your boy-toy already has it covered."
I stopped cold. "What?"
"Sinclair. He's already aproned up and ready to go."
My stomach dropped when she pointed across the room.
Well, damn.Soren in an apron instantly zipped up the chart of sexiest Soren moments, landing somewhere betweenbuck-naked Soren and game-day-suit Soren. They all paled in comparison to backwards-hat Soren. That was top-tier masturbatory material.
"And can I just say?" She leaned into me. "It should be a crime for somebody to look that good in an apron."
She breezed away from me, presumably to relieve Matty—whose line had finally started to die down—and introduce Soren. My head was still trying to catch up with my heart. He hadn't RSVP'd. He hadn't so much as mentioned the event, even while sharing my bed. And yet, here he was, freshly shaved and (gulp) sporting a backwards Roasters hat.
I carved a path through the partygoers, my feet moving as if of their own accord like a wind-up toy.
"Alright, Roasters fans." Heads swung toward Dani as she stepped up to the small stage beside the coffee counter. "We've got a special surprise for you. His illustrious career began twelve years ago, and now, he'sourtop hitting third baseman. Give it up for Soren Sinclair."
The room erupted in applause. Phones clicked and flashed, almost as if everybody in attendance knew this was a rare, unexpected treat. They couldn't believe he was here, and hell, neither could I. This was so out of his wheelhouse. And yet, if he was uncomfortable, he didn't let it show.
He waved to the crowd as he took his place behind the espresso machine. Only then—in a move that surely burst every ovary in attendance—did he roll his sleeves up to his elbows, exposing his arm tats for all to see.
I waited in line like everybody else, my eyes glued to Soren the entire time. His smooth pull of the espresso machine was nothing compared to the genuine, toothy smile on his face. He split his attention between the baristas at his side—therealones who actually knew what they were doing—and the fanssurrounding the pickup counter. I studied him, admired him for the next ten minutes, until, finally, it was my turn to order.
"Hi, Jeanette," I told the twenty-something, bright-eyed barista with a nose ring. "I'll have—"
"I've got this one, Jeanette."
I just about swallowed my tongue when Soren swapped places with her.
"Hi," he said around a smile.
