I leveled him with a glare. “If I remember correctly, that’s whatIsuggested last year.”
“That was then and this is now,” he shot back smoothly. “Don’t be an asshole.”
I flipped a page in my notebook. “Fine, we’ll stagger stations. What about the swag?”
“Dani has that covered. They held a Junior Roasters’ logo design contest in the schools last semester, so this season’s shirts and hats have the winner’s.”
I smiled despite myself, immediately picturing it. Dani had shown us the winning design in question—a hand-drawn rooster with a crooked baseball cap pulled down over one eye—during our last volunteer meeting. What it had to do withthe Roasters was beyond me, but there was no denying it had been drawn with heart. Uneven, wildly disproportionate heart.
Honestly, it had more personality than half of the National League’s current branding.
I made a quick note in the margin of my notebook to talk with Dani about potentially adopting the design forourjerseys at some point during the season.
Matty leaned forward, peering at my notes. “What’s that face?”
“Nothing,” I said, closing the notebook. “Just thinking the kids might’ve out designed the professionals with this one.”
“No surprise there. Should we place a pastry order from Jo for the morning of?”
Like on cue, Jo himself glided past our table, his dark hair tucked behind a patterned bandana. He flashed us a grin and a quick thumbs-up before disappearing behind the counter again.
“God, I love that man,” Matty murmured.
“I would kill for him,” I said. “Or at least for his guava pastries. And to answer your question, I’ve already got breakfast covered.”
“Well, I guess that does it then.” He capped his pen and leaned back again, stretching his arms overhead. “Now that we’ve got that squared away, catch me up on what I missed at the latest M&M night.”
“Oh, you know, popcorn, margaritas, Harry and Sally—the usual.”
Matty laughed, then sobered a little. “And Valentine’s Day plans? I heard rumblings in the group chat.”
“Lots of cute shit. Soren is shacking up with Clarke for a seventy-two-hour sexathon, and Tucker and Brock are doing some bougie nine-course tasting menu. Oh, and in typical Roman fashion, he’s bookended his evening with bondage.”
“Bookended with Bondagesounds like a book Pink and Nessa might read,” Matty mused. “And what about you?”
“I don’t know. I might read that.”
“No, I meant Valentine’s Day. Got anything special planned?” I hesitated just long enough for him to clock it. “Ah, that answers that.”
I picked at the edge of my napkin. “It’s . . . complicated.”
He tilted his head. “Bella.”
It wasn’t a question.
“Yeah.”
He waited, giving me space in that infuriatingly patient way he had.
“I’m serious about her,” I said finally. “Like,reallyserious. And that’s part of the problem.”
He quirked a brow. “Well now, that sounds ass backwards. Is she not interested?”
“Oh, no, she is.”
It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours since she’d dry humped the fuck out of me before coming apart on my fingers.
I shifted in my seat, suddenly glad the table between us hid the lower half of me.
