I loved my friends. Jo and his fiancé—now husband—had moved to Rose City post-pandemic as part of a state initiative to bring in new business owners. The same grant that had helped fund his bakery, Would Smell as Sweet, had also helped make Smutty Buddies a reality.
Dani and Clarke were newer additions to our circle—and the accompanying “Bitchcraft” group chat—but they had both already carved out space in my heart. Together, they were the dynamic duo behind the Rose City Roasters social media. Individually, they were polar opposites. Clarke was sundresses and southern charm. Dani was combat boots and biting comebacks. Clarke was sweet tea. Dani was a soy chai latte.
And yet, they made one hell of a team.
Just like June and me.
“I didn’t realize you were dating again, Ness,” Jo said.
“I’m not.”
“Yeah, what happened to the sex ban?” Dani asked bluntly. I loved a woman who didn’t mince her words.
“The ban is still in place,” I assured them. “And just so everybody is clear, since you’re all so suddenly interested in my love life, I’m not looking for anything with anybody anytime soon. Got it?”
June saluted me with two fingers to her brow. “Aye aye, captain.”
The other three followed suit. What a loveable bunch of smartasses.
“By the way,” I said, pointing to Clarke. “That pirate romance you wanted is back in stock. I saved you a copy.”
Her cheeks flamed. “Er, thanks.”
“You know,” Dani said, swirling her drink. “If and when you do decide to date again, you should come straight to the source.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“I mean, Clarke and I have twenty-six baseball players on speed dial, all of whom are disease free.”
I tilted my head. “How can you possibly know that?”
“I have my sources.”
Dani and I were two pieces cut from the same cloth—a tri-blend fabric made from sarcasm, cynicism, and a fondness forold movies. As the only other single one at the table, it surprised me that she was so vested in my love life. Especially since shenevertalked about hers.
“Her point is,” Clarke said, chiming in. “That we know a lot of great guys personally.”
“Many of whom are barely old enough to drink,” I said under my breath.
“Allof whom would be lucky to woo you.”
Huh. There was a thought.
When was the last time someone wooed me?
As an avid romance reader, I was familiar with the concept of “wooing,” but as a thirtysomething woman? Not so much.
To be fair, I had always enjoyed doing the wooing in my relationships—because fuck gender roles. There was a certain excitement that came with surprising your partner with flowers or cooking them a special dinner or . . . going down on them in the shower.
That being said, it would be nice to be wooed for once.
IfI was dating, which I wasn’t.
“Plus, then you could double date with Soren and I,” Clarke added, stars in her eyes. Like June, she was still head over heels—and heels over shoulders—for her boyfriend, Soren Sinclair.
Clarke had made quite a splash on social media herself when she’d started dating the Roasters’ third basemen earlier this year. These days, fans from around the globe worshiped at the feet of the newly minted king and queen of baseball.
“Don’t you think Bennett would be perfect for her?” Clarke asked across the table.
