Page 9

AVERY

I finish pumping ten shots of caramel syrup into a cup, then add two sugars before pouring in the cream and coffee, trying not to gag.

After handing it over to the customer, I smile and tell them to have a nice day, then wait until they’re gone before I turn to Cara.

She’s seventeen and the daughter of Java the Hutt’s owner, which isn’t as awful as it might sound. She’s actually pretty cool.

“How people can drink that stuff is beyond me,” I say with a grimace.

She glances up at me with a smirk. “It needed four more pumps of caramel, didn’t it?”

“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. I wonder 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. It is her 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.

“You’re his friends and teammates, right?” I add. “Even though I’m new on campus and have never met any of you, I can only assume that’s why you’re here.”

“She’s smart,” Chris says, glancing at his friends.

I huff out a laugh. “You say that like it surprises you.”

“I mean, you did dump our quarterback,” Jace chimes in. “And I’m secure enough with my masculinity to say he’s one sexy son of a bitch.”

He has a point.

Beside him, West snorts.

“Not to mention, he’s going places.” Brandon shrugs. “Once women sink their claws into someone like that, they don’t typically let go.”

I turn my icy gaze on him. “I am not a jersey chaser,” I say with a snarl, my nerves forgotten.

He raises his hands. “Not saying you are, but . . .” His unspoken words linger in the air, and I don’t need to be a genius to catch his meaning. I’m worse than a jersey chaser?I’m a heartbreaker.

I shift in my seat, uncomfortable as Jace clears his throat, drawing my attention when he says, “You’re right. We are here because of Damon. Call this an intervention of sorts.”

I frown. “An intervention?”

“As you know, we play in the Peach Bowl this weekend. If we win, we move to the National Championship, the final playoff game. For some, it’s simply a chance to earn clout, a trophy, and a ring.

But for Damon, as a junior and a damn good quarterback, it’s a chance to solidify his position in the draft.

He has one more year before he’s out, and though he’s at the top of the list for recruits, all it takes is one shitty performance when it counts the most and teams will look the other way.

All they’ll see is a guy who can’t perform under pressure.

” He shrugs. “No one wants a quarterback who crumbles.”

“O-kaaaay,” I drawl, crossing my arms over my chest and sinking back into my seat, “but what does this have to do with me?”

“Ever since he ran into you, he’s been playing like shit,” Chris says.

My gaze flickers to him and my stomach sinks. “What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I said.” Chris sighs. “He’s been dropping the ball at practice all week.”

“Both figuratively and literally,” Brandon chimes in.

I swallow. “How bad is it?”

“Fucking bad.” Jace runs a hand over the back of his neck. “So bad, in fact, there’s been talk of Coach starting our second string.”

“No.” I blanch, the blood draining from my face. “He . . . he can’t.”

My heart pounds. This is everything Damon has been waiting for; he’s been working toward this his whole life. If Coach starts someone else in the game this weekend, it’ll kill him. And if what they’re saying is true, and I’m the cause . . .

“I don’t think he’ll do it,” Chris says in a soothing tone, and I wonder if it’s because I look like I want to puke, because I do. “It would likely be suicide, but he’s desperate. It’s that bad.”

“Oh God.” I run a hand over my face, trying to process what they’re telling me.

My thoughts race. Maybe my coming here was a mistake. Maybe winning Damon back is a lost cause, and I should do him a favor, and pack my bags and leave.

No. I fist my hands in my lap. You’re not running from him again. You’re going to make him listen, explain your reasons for letting him go, and let the cards fall where they may. Maybe he won’t forgive you. Maybe this is a lost cause. Regardless, you’re seeing this through.

“I have to say, you don’t seem to be the heartless bitch Damon made you out to be,” Chris says, and even though his words should hurt, I actually appreciate his honesty.

“What did he tell you, exactly?” I ask, unsure of if I really want to hear the answer.

Jace shrugs. “He gave us the basics of your relationship, then the rundown on how you basically ripped his heart out of his chest, then stomped on it with both feet.”

I nod, worrying my lower lip with my teeth before I find my voice. “That’s fair, but I didn’t come here to hurt him.”

“Why are you here?” Brandon asks.

I meet his eyes and straighten my shoulders. Taking a deep breath, I instantly decide to lay it all out there. “In a nutshell?” When he nods, I add, “I want him back.”

Several of them groan while Jace hisses, “Shit.”

“And before you say anything, it’s not because he’s on the NFL’s watchlist or one of the best quarterbacks in the Big Ten.

I would say it has nothing to do with football at all, but then that wouldn’t be right either, because Damon loves football.

He lives for it. Breathes it. It’s a part of who he is, and so, it’s a part of the man I love.

But as long as he’s happy, he could never set foot on a field again, and I’d love him all the same. ”

“I like her,” Chris hooks a thumb toward me.

“Dude, we can’t like her,” Brandon hisses as he leans past Jace’s arm to look at him.

“Why the fuck not?” Chris asks, scowling.

“Because . . .” Brandon pantomimes with his hands, like he’s saying you know why . “She’s the enemy,” he finally blurts.

Chris snorts. “Maybe. Or maybe she’s the solution.”

I glance between them, watching the exchange with wide eyes before they turn back to me, and I feel a wave of defensiveness rise inside me like a rolling tide.

“I’ve been trying to talk to him, but for obvious reasons, he won’t have anything to do with me.

But if he would just listen . . .” I trail off, my voice thick.

“There are things he doesn’t know. Things about why I broke up with him and left like I did.

They don’t make it right, but I at least need to explain. Maybe if I do?”

“He’ll forgive you and you can work your way back into his heart,” Chris finishes for me.

I shrug. “Something like that.”

Chris glances over at his teammates and they exchange a look I can’t read before he nods as if making a decision.

Turning back to me, he rubs his hands together, blue eyes sparkling with mischief as he says, “I got this, gentleman. Just leave it to me.” A simultaneous groan runs through the boys. “Chris the Love Doctor is here.”

“That’s not a thing,” Jace points out.

“Oh, it is a thing.” Chris grins.

“Lord help us.” West places his face in his hands.

“Us?” Brandon turns to West, but when he does, he’s close enough to kiss him and recoils. “At least you’re not on his radar next!”

“You should be so lucky as to be on my radar next.” Chris points at him.

“Wh-what is this?” I ask, motioning between them. “What’s happening?”

Jace rolls his eyes and hooks a thumb toward Chris. “He thinks he’s some kind of love guru.”

“I am a love guru.” Chris’s eyes glitter. “The ultimate love guru.” He rubs his hands together like a man with a plan.

Unable to fight the smile curving my lips, I raise my hands, palms out. “Hey, I’ll take all the help I can get.”

“See?” Chris points. “Again, smart woman.”

“So, what do we do?” I ask, afraid to hope for anything.

“Time is of the essence. You may or may not know that we leave for Atlanta tomorrow morning. Are you free later?”

“I can be.” I swallow, heart pounding like I just ran sprints.

“Great. Give me your phone.” He holds his hand out, wiggling his fingers until I oblige and slide it from the back pocket of my jeans and place it in his palm.

“I’m texting myself with your number, then I’m going to send you the address of my apartment.

When do you get off work?” he glances up at me, expectantly.

“In an hour.”

He nods, turning back to the screen as he finishes typing and hits send. “Meet us at this address at nine o’clock, and we’ll make sure Damon’s there. Just don’t be late, because he’s a moody bastard right now, and I’m not sure how long we can hold him.”

He hands my phone back to me and my lips quirk. “You make him sound like a wild animal.”

Jace snorts. “You haven’t seen avoidant, post-Avery Damon. He’s been a bear all week.”

“Then how do you know you can even get him there?” I ask, skeptical. “Maybe he’ll see right through this.”

A slow-spreading grin snakes onto Chris’s mouth. “Oh, ye of little faith. Don’t you worry, Daddy Collins is running the show.”

My brows rise to my hairline.

“Again, with the daddy shit.” Jace groans while Brandon shakes his head and West sits by, looking quietly amused.

“What he means,” Brandon says, standing, “is you’ll get your chance to talk.”

My chest tightens. “And if talking to me makes things worse?”

Everyone glances at Chris as if the thought hasn’t crossed their mind.

Chris shrugs, then rises to his feet, taking his coffee cup with him. “It’ll work.”

“How do you know?” I ask while the vise on my chest ratchets down tighter, afraid to hope.

“Because . . .” Chris, pauses dramatically and waves a hand in the air like it should be obvious. “He’s not over you. He never was.”