The words barely left my mouth before Kaylani came racing around the other side of the building, her fingers linked through Ryan’s.
“Nessa Gibbs running late?” Kaylani asked, a puzzled look on her face. “I never thought I’d ever see the day.”
“It’s my fault,” Pink explained. His baby blue eyes crinkled in the corners as one side of his lips tipped up in an infuriatingly sexy grin. “We had a late night.”
My cheeks burned. I might not have been a varsity athlete like June or Ryan, but I had been a drama geek. Improvisation, however, had never been my strong suit—I much preferred the safety of a script, one that clearly outlined where the scene ended and reality began.
Pink and I still had a lot of ground to cover—starting with the list of rules I had texted him late last night, long after I should have been asleep—but our script would have to wait. We were already running well behind, and there was a croissant with my name on it burning a hole in one of the pastry boxes.
“That’s right.” I kept my eyes on his when I added, “But like I told Jared, it takes some guys longer than others, and that’s nothing to be ashamed of. Everybody gets stage fright now and then.”
His smile soured. It was a low blow for sure, but if he wanted to play, I was going to level the field.
Ryan cleared his throat and dragged Kaylani inside before she could say anything else.
“Oop,” June squeaked from behind me. “I’m just going to—”
She made her escape, too. When it was finally my turn to brush past Pink, I jammed my shoulder into his chest a little harder than necessary. Not that it did much good. My shoulders were no match for his chiseled abdomen.
Just as I cleared the door, he stopped me. “I don’t know who you’ve been with, angel, but I don’t get stage fright. Ever.”
I turned over my shoulder and narrowed my gaze in warning.
“Neither do I.”
I had a newfound appreciation for teachers.
Three hours of talking, two cups of coffee, and one pistachio croissant later, I was desperately in need of a throat lozenge—and maybe a nap. Public speaking had never been my forte. I could organize an Excel document like nobody’s business—a “freak in the spreadsheets,” as June called me—and I threw one hell of a Halloween party—people still talked about my Sunday Bloody Sunday twenty-four-hour horror film fest to this day—but staring down a room of strangers for hours on end? Not my thing.
“That’s all for now,” I told our team, thankful that our orientation had finally finished. My tennis shoes had been working overtime for the last forty-five minutes. “Please be sure to add the festival email address to your approved list and look out for an email from me in the next day or two. See you next week.”
June stood to add, “And don’t forget to grab a bag on your way out the door.”
Based on Clarke’s endorsement, the Roasters had agreed to sponsor this year’s festival, and that sponsorship included some branded, drawstring backpacks full of swag.
While our volunteers dispersed, June cozied up to my side. “I think that went really well.”
“Agreed.” Even though the last few hours had drained me—mentally and emotionally—I was feeling more invigorated than I had in days. “Excellent recruiting, by the way.”
June and Jo had assembled a top-notch mix of festival regulars, plus a handful of newbies. Seeing as it was my first time chairing the event, it was a major relief knowing that I had the support of my right-hand man and woman.
She nodded. “If what Clarke said is true, we should have more closer to the day of, too.”
That had probably been the biggest surprise of them all. When Jo had emailed me the final list of volunteer sign-ups, Pink hadn’t been the only Roaster on it. Half of the team’s starting lineup was there, too, though none of them made my stomach jump quite like the man leaning against the doorframe, nursing another glass of Miles’s lavender lemonade.
For a world-renowned celebrity who made a living throwing balls around, Pink sure fit into small-town life seamlessly. I’d even caught him taking notes more than once during my presentation, which had stirred something in me—specifically below the waist.
Great, now I’m fantasizing about his notetaking.
“Hey, Ness.” A soft tap on the shoulder had me turning toward a fresh-faced Kaylani. After a couple of days of solid sleep, she was back to her usual bright and bubbly self. “Got a second?”
“Of course.”
She twirled the ends of her ponytail, a nervous habit she’d had since we’d been children. “Great seeing you, June.”
“You, too. I’m going to text you the details about my gym.”
“Perfect! Thanks.”
