Page 3 of Serving Bunt

“Guilty,” he said, not even pretending to be sorry. “And I’ll do it again. Every day for the rest of my life if she’ll let me.”

Pink groaned, but there was no real heat behind it. “Fucking gross, man. Spare me the details. I already have to live with the image of walking in on the two of you on the couch.”

“You should’ve knocked,” Bennett reminded him mildly.

I laughed under my breath.

The timeline still amused me. Bennett had moved out of my North Portland place and into Pink’s spare bedroom at the start of the year. He had claimed it was for the quiet and convenience, but we all knew better than that.

The real reason had been Bella, the sharp-tongued, fiercely independent beekeeper who lived next door, and who just so happened to be Pink’s little sister. Within weeks, she had turned our stoic, introverted catcher into a walking rom-com cliché.

Six months later, Bennett and Bella were disgustingly in love, house-hunting together, and arguing over paint colors. Not that there was much of an argument. All of us knew that Bennett would lay down his own life if it meant Bella got the exact shade of green she had her heart set on.

Pink might grumble about his teammate shacking up with his sister, but he would also be the first one to buy them some ridiculously expensive patio furniture the day they finally put in an offer on their future home.

“Seriously, if you knock her up before we win another ring, I will shave your mustache off in your sleep and glue it to your face.”

Bennett raised both hands in mock surrender. “I’ll keep the baby-making on hold until we’ve got the hardware.”

The guys started filing down the tunnel toward the locker room, cleats clacking against the concrete as the conversation splintered, half of them arguing about where to grab dinner, while the rest discussed their plans for tomorrow’s day off. The noise echoed and overlapped, all of it blending into the kind of background hum that came from too many personalities crammed into one space, comfortable enough to talk over each other without missing a beat.

Bennett fell into step beside me as we headed toward our lockers. “You good, man?”

“Just peachy. Why?”

“I don’t know. You’ve just been a little . . . extra lately.”

I shot him a wink. “You should know by now that I’m always extra.”

“Even for you,” he said, low enough that only I could hear. “I can’t help but feel like you’re putting on a show.”

My smile faltered. “I just take my self-appointed cheerleader responsibilities seriously, Benito. Don’t worry about me.”

He didn’t look convinced, but he also didn’t push. He never did when he knew I was deflecting. Instead, he just bumped my shoulder the same way he used to when we’d still shared a kitchen, playfully arguing over who’d left dishes in the sink. Again.

Spoiler alert, it had been me.

Bennett was an obsessively tidy fuck, one of the many reasons he was better off living with Bella.

If the team needed me to shoulder the burden of being the resident optimist through this slump, then I was more than happy to take it on. Truthfully, it was a welcome distraction.

“Are you excited for Abuelita’s visit?” Bennett stripped off his jersey, tossing it into the locker next to mine.

Subtle subject change, Benny boy.

“Sí,” I told him. “She’s made a list of all the places she wants to visit while she’s here. And all the meals she insists on cooking for me.”

His eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. “Does that include arroz con gandules?”

“You know it.”

“You better invite me over.”

My lips kicked up in a grin. “Abuelita would have my ass if I didn’t.”

I stripped off my own jersey, the damp fabric clinging to my olive skin, and tossed it toward the hamper. The throw went wide.

The curse continues.