After that, they melted back into the crowd.
I wrapped my fingers around the latte Parker had brought me, which was, thankfully, still warm, and took another sip.
“You’re glowing, you know that?” Parker said.
I laughed, breath fogging in the cold air. “That’s the frost on my eyelashes.”
“Nope, it’s definitely more than that.” She paused, tilting her head like she was studying me under a microscope. “Though, I have to say, something has changed since the last time I read your aura. It used to be this soft golden color, and now it’s more red.”
“Is that bad?”
Parker’s eyes narrowed playfully, the kind of look that said she was about to drop a truth bomb and enjoy watching it explode.
“Like, bright,hornyred,” she finished, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper even though the nearest customer was agood ten feet away. “The kind of red that says someone is getting thoroughly and enthusiastically railed. Or at least wants to.”
I nearly choked on my latte.
My face was on fire now, and it had nothing to do with the windchill. I glanced around instinctively, making sure no one—especially not Miles and Myron—was close enough to overhear.
“I, um—” I started, then stopped.
What was I even going to say? Before I had a chance to decide, a familiar, deep voice cut through the market noise.
“Arabella.”
I coughed again. This was the most dangerous latte of my life.
Bennett filled the space in front of my booth, along with two of his teammates. He was bundled up in a flannel, scarf, and beanie, like he’d wandered out of a catalog of Hallmark Christmas movie heroes.
There was something surprisingly wholesome about the look, which was especially hard to believe considering this was the same man who’d just last night, had called me a good girl while fingerbanging me.
I had to forcibly remind myself how to breathe.
Matty was right behind him, his strawberry-blond hair sticking out from beneath a baseball cap. And Roman brought up the rear, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, looking amused more than anything.
Parker leaned over, her breath tickling my ear. “Mr. Red, I presume?” she whispered, smug as hell.
I elbowed her lightly, cheeks burning for real now, and turned to face the three of them.
“Hey,” I said, voice steadier than I felt. “Fancy seeing you here.”
Bennett rubbed the back of his neck, the tiniest bit sheepish. “Matty and I were at Would Smell as Sweet, loading up oncaffeine and sugar while we finished planning the Junior Roasters clinic.”
Matty jumped in, eyes dancing. “That’s right. And then Bennett got this . . . intense craving for fresh vegetables. Really urgent, couldn’t wait.”
Bennett shot him a look that could’ve frozen lava.
“We ran into this guy by the hummus stand,” Matty continued, jerking a thumb toward Roman.
“Yeah, me and chickpeas are like this,” Roman added, crossing one finger over another.
“Well, well, well.” Parker’s eyes narrowed in on the Roasters’ third baseman. “Roman Garcia.”
“Parker Duffy. It’s been a minute.” Roman’s eyes crinkled at the corners and a lazy, Cheshire cat grin spread across his face. “How’s Kitty Cat these days?”
She crossed her arms under her chest. “Catarina’s good. Her ice cream shop is thriving, but you would know if you ever came home.”
Roman laughed, but there was a flicker of something else in his expression that gave me pause. Guilt, maybe. Or shame. It was there and gone so fast I almost missed it, but I’d spent enough time learning how to mask my own emotions to recognize the micro-twitch of his jaw.
