“Told you I’d bring it.”
“I’ll need it. You’ve got exactly ten days before you’re expected in Mesa,” I say, holding the whistle in one hand and the coffee in the other. “That’s just ten days to prove to me—and toDoug—that you won’t be a PR nightmare when you step off that plane in Arizona. So if I say we’re doing three hours of interview simulations today, we’re doing three hours.”
“Blow the whistle and I’ll be there,” he says.
I’m aware that I’m being chattier than normal, especially after what Logan said. I wonder if part of me is doing it to spite him or to prove to myself that I haven’t been stringing anyone along. Or maybe this fluttering in my belly …
It’s caffeine, Scottie. Get over yourself.
That’s right, it’s coffee, mixed with gratitude and a splash of relief. My morning didn’t implode. Anyone would be a bit giddy after expecting the worst and getting a delicious peppermint mocha, instead.
If I’m more talkative than usual, what does it matter? I’m just being friendly?—
I almost laugh out loud.
I’m competent. Pushy. Sometimes a little nosy.
But friendly?
Ha.
“Too strong?” Lucas asks, eyeing the coffee before smiling at me.
My phone buzzes, and Jake’s name flashes on the screen. I stuff my phone back in my pocket before Lucas can ask.
“Uh, no, it’s good. Good choice,” I say. Then I gesture to the kids behind him. “I’ll walk around and film some stuff for socials in a bit.”
“Be sure to get my good side,” Lucas says, popping his collar.
“Which side is that?” I ask.
He walks backward, arms spread out. “Take your pick. The camera loves me.”
“Not as much as you do,” I shoot back.
The worst part is that he’s right. As I film him throughout the day, he really doesn’t have a bad side. Not just physically, butemotionally. When kids throw tantrums, they roll off his back. When parents demand special treatment, he listens without getting flustered. He doesn’t give in or back down, but he finds a way to keep peace, too.
He’s almost impossible not to like.
It’s the end of the day before I call Jake back.
“Where have you been?” he asks.
“At work,” I say.
“Mygirlfriendshould have called me back.”
“Contrary to what my family thinks, I do have an actual job.”
“I was at lunch with a reporter,” he says. “He asked how I felt about all the Triple-A players who flirt with my girlfriend.”
I snort. “What players?”
“You tell me.”
A few of the moms have noticed me now, and at least one of them seems to have pieced together that I’m the woman dating Jake Rodgers. She’s showing them something on her phone, and one of the women is looking at me.
“Jakey,” I say, adding some honey to my voice. “I only have eyes for you. But let’s talk about the endorsement. I am so proud of you!”
