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“I think I got diabetes through osmosis.”

Cara chuckles. “It gets worse. Trust me. Sometimes I wonder why people don’t just shoot pure sugar through an IV straight into their veins. It would certainly get the job done faster.”

I snort, then turn when the door chimes. Smiling, I watch as several men waltz inside, my stomach clenching like a fist. They’re all tall and muscled, with broad shoulders and wide chests. All of them are carrying a duffle bag or a backpack that I know is stuffed with clothes and gear, because I’d recognize these men anywhere; they’re Damon’s teammates.

I strain my neck, trying to look past the tallest one in the back with the mop of dark hair that keeps falling into his eyes to see if Damon might be with them, but am disappointed to see he’s not. Regardless, these are his friends; I’m sure of it. Not just because they’re teammates, but because I recognize them from the photos on Damon’s social media. You don’t pine after your ex for two and a half long years without also learning who his closest friends are.

The man leading the pack has blond hair and blue eyes like a frosted sky. Chris Collins, I believe, one of their running backs. The brunette with eyes like the Caribbean Sea is Jace Taggart, their wide receiver, and the shortest among them with the disheveled sandy hair is Brandon Lambert, a cornerback. The tall one in the back with the black mop and honey eyes is West Stone, the team’s kicker. All they’re missing is their quarterback, and as they approach the counter with their eyes on me, my heart kicks into high gear. They probably just came from practice. With any luck, he’s meeting them here.

Or maybe he’s avoiding you.

“Can I help you?” I ask, trying to ignore the nerves jumping in my stomach.

Chris stops in front of the counter, rapping his knuckles on the countertop as his eyes flicker over the badge with my name. Iwonder if he knows who I am, if Damon’s talked about me, and whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

With the way his cool eyes assess me, it’s probably a bad thing, I decide.

Beside me, Cara gawks at them, eyes bugging from her head. “Holy hotness,” she mutters under her breath, fanning her face.

“Actually, we were hoping we could have a word,” Chris says.

“A word,” I repeat like I’m stupid.

“With you.” He nods.

“With me?” I point at my chest, blinking rapid fire.

“If you don’t mind.” He smiles, a big, charming smile, and I can see why Charlotte fell for him.

“Um, I’m working,” I say, glancing around me.

Apparently, I can only form two-word sentences now.

“We’re aware,” Jace says from behind with a sigh. “Don’t you have a break or something?”

“Uh . . .?” I glance back at Cara, raising a brow. She might be younger than me, but when she’s around, it’s an unspoken rule that she’s in charge. Itisher family’s business, after all.

“Take fifteen.” She waves me on, still staring at the brawny crew in front of us in awe. “Or twenty. Or thirty. It’s slow.”

I nod and turn back to them, almost wishing she had said no, but she’s right. It is slow. At nearly seven p.m. on a Friday, we’ll only get stragglers or a couple small groups of students looking for a different environment to sip coffee and do their homework until we close.

“Okay.” I take a step back and remove my apron while I focus on the air going in and out of my lungs.

“Oh, but you have to order something,” Cara says, raising a finger. “No loitering. Customers only and all that.”

I grin at her, then turn to the guys. Each of them nods, sliding their phones and wallets from their pockets as Cara steps up to the register and takes their orders while I help her fill them,which isn’t too difficult. Most of them order regular drip coffee: two black, one with cream, and the fourth a vanilla on ice. Once they have their drinks in hand, I step through the swinging doors onto the main floor of the café, motioning for them to follow as I lead them to the cushy couch and chairs in the corner of the shop beside the giant mural of Princess Leia. I can’t help but wonder if I’m successfully hiding my nerves or if I’m doing a poor job of it as I take the seat beside Grogu, the baby Yoda, holding up a tray which serves as an end table.

I sink into one of the faux leather chairs and wait as they each take a seat, hiding the smirk threatening to form at the sight of three of these huge men all cramming onto the love seat, while Chris takes the chair to my right.

I fold my hands in my lap, wishing I would’ve grabbed a coffee for myself, if nothing so I’d have something to do.

Chris sets his coffee down on the battered coffee table in front of him and leans forward, hands clasped between his knees. “I guess you’re probably wondering why we wanted to talk with you.”

I nod furiously. I’m a bobblehead gone unhinged.

Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes for the smallest of moments and collect myself. I might hate confrontation and conflict, but if my goal is to win Damon’s heart again, gaining his friends’ affections is a huge step in the right direction. “I assume it has to do with Damon?”

Chris blinks, a flicker of surprise running through his eyes at my ability to piece it together.