And that bugged the hell out of me. Worse, the fact that it bugged me, bugged me even more.
She didn’t even know what she did to me—storming around the stadium with her latte in one hand and phone in the other, barking orders at men twice her size like she’d been born to run the show.
Because she had.
And maybe, that was why we hadn’t won a game at home this season without me first catching a glimpse of her.
Coincidence? Maybe. But I wasn’t about to risk it.
10:30 a.m. meant coffee o’clock.
So, here I was, walking way too fast for a guynottrying to “accidentally” run into someone.
I slowed my pace when the on-site roastery came into view, casually adjusting the fit of my cap and glasses, pretending like I hadn’t just damn near jogged to get there.
To nobody’s surprise, Dani was already at the counter, waiting for her drink. She had traded out her usual pair of jeans and boots for black leggings—that did incredible things for her ass—and Chuck Taylors to match. Her windbreaker was half-zipped, and her black and blue hair had been piled into two matching buns on the top of her head that reminded me of cinnamon rolls. Or maybe I was just hungry.
Hungry for a taste of Dani Bernal, that was.
I didn’t say anything, just watched her for a second. She hadn’t seen me yet, and for some reason, that made my chest ache more than I wanted to admit.
The barista looked up, eyes flicking from Dani to me. “Your usual, coach?”
I nodded. “Thanks.”
Dani’s shoulders hunched. She turned to face me slowly, like something out ofThe Exorcist.She gave a polite nod, not quite meeting my eyes. Not cold, just . . . careful. Like she didn’t know where we stood anymore, and frankly I couldn’t blame her.
“Fancy meeting you here.”
I shrugged. “I needed something to settle my stomach.”
“And you decided on—”
Her eyes narrowed when the barista slid my drink across the counter, then lit up in that way that made my stomach tighten.
“—a triple shot of espresso?”
I took the cup, avoiding her gaze like a damn coward. “Rough morning.”
“You? Coach Broody? No.”
Her teasing should have made me smile, but it had the opposite effect. It gutted me thinking about the fact that at one point not too long ago, she’d teased me while tangled in my sheets, naked, her lips brushing my jaw as she’d whispered something smart-mouthed into my ear.
“Dani, your herbal tea is on the bar.”
That stopped me cold. “Herbal tea?”
She had been a dirty chai latte drinker for as long as I’d known her—they were as much a part of her as her tattoos.
“Mm-hmm,” she said, avoiding my gaze. “I’m fighting a bit of a stomach bug.”
She turned toward the milk and sugar and began doctoring her tea.
I should have walked away right then. Should have taken my cup of espresso sludge and left her in peace the way she’d asked me to.
Because she had asked.
“Please, don’t make this harder than it has to be.”
