Page 6 of Penalty Kick

“She is interested.”

“She’s not. She’s made it very clear that she’s focused on other things right now. Things that are not you.”

“Ouch…” Chance muttered around his omelet.

Letting out a “hmph,” Dash stabbed at his French toast. It was borderline comfort food, heavy carbs that he would probably regret later as he was running sprints. In this moment though, they were a damn good distraction from the cold reminder that Liam had just handed him. Talia wasn’t nearly as interested in him as he was her. Or so she said.

Her kiss told a different story.

CHAPTER TWO

“Band!”

Heather Atwell, owner of Bunz and Talia’s boss, slammed her hand down on the bar, trying to emphasize her point, as if her opinion hadn’t been perfectly clear up until now. Which, in Talia’s opinion, it absolutely had.

“Heather, you have done more for me than any other person on this earth, and I love you for it,” Link Weston, a member of the waitstaff, countered. “But you’re wrong. DJ. All the way, no questions asked.”

All Talia could do was shake her head, as she refilled the glasses of soda in front of her. Bunz had been open for maybe fifteen minutes at this point, but there were already a few customers. The real rush wouldn’t start for another half hour-ish, so naturally the gang was huddled around the bar waiting, chipping away at the debate du jour. Although, this debate had been going on longer than just today. If memory served, they were on day five.

“A band is just so much classier.”

“They eloped in Vegas!” Talia said.

“Doesn’t mean the reception can’t be classy!”

“It will be,” Felicity assured her longtime friend and mentor. “But I don’t think a DJ is un-classy.”

“Where are you even going to find a band with a month’s notice?” Link asked.

Felicity scrunched her face, realizing her friend had a point. She looked to Talia, who shrugged in response. What did she know about these things? Nothing, that was what. It had only been a little more than a week since they’d returned to Atlanta from Vegas, where Felicity had married Gunnar in a spur-of-the-moment ceremony. Despite the spontaneity of the moment, it was still one of the most romantic things Talia had ever seen. Getting to be maid of honor was just icing on the cake.

“Six months ago when you showed up in Atlanta, could you have ever imagined we’d be here?” Felicity had asked her shortly before walking down the aisle. “That you’d be maid of honor to the crazy lady who helped you find a job, as she marries your dad?”

“Could you have ever imagined it’s where we’d be when some random girl showed up going ‘so, I have this letter that says that guy is potentially my dad. He had a one-night stand with my mother twenty-two years ago in Paris’?” Talia had responded, laughing.

“Never. But I’m glad this is how it turned out.”

“Me too.”

It was hard to believe that this was her life and not the plot to a daytime soap opera, but it was. Six months prior she’d been working a dead-end job back in Arizona, feeling lost and alone. The letter her mother had left her when she died had been like a bomb to their entire family. No one knew how to handle the news. Then she discovered the man mentioned in her mother’s letter was moving to Atlanta, and Talia acted on impulse, moving across the country.

It had been a major risk, but if the last six months had proven anything, it was that it was the best thing she’d ever done. She no longer felt lost and alone. She was back in school, pursuing the degree she actually wanted—rather than one her parents wanted for her—had a great job, the opportunity to volunteer with the Rising’s new Special Olympics team, and even had a weird makeshift family. Life was good.

Even if she was stuck in the middle of an ongoing discussion about a band versus a DJ.

“Link has a point,” Felicity acquiesced. “July starts next week and we reserved Archer’s Green for the second weekend of August. Everyone is probably taken.”

“I still don’t understand how you snagged the club so quickly,” Link commented.

“Because when you are the Sutherlands, people just do things for you. Including making Archer’s Green available,” Saxony quipped, walking into the bar area, a knowing smirk on her face. She had a point—the fact that Archer’s Green, Atlanta’s premier and very exclusive country club, had an opening so quickly was probably due to Felicity not being just anyone. “And no one told me we were having a Sour Patch meeting. Or have I been voted off the island?”

“Heather started it,” Felicity joked. “She still very much believes a band is the way to go.”

“If you had more time, I would agree. But with only a month to plan? DJ,” Sax replied.

“Fine,” Heather said, throwing her hands up in surrender before walking off toward her office. Following her lead, Link muttered something under his breath that Talia didn’t catch just as the hostess signaled to him that he had a table.

Shaking her head, Talia couldn’t help but let a smile take over her face. She was just so thankful to have found these people and to be included in what they called The Sour Patch—a little club made up of people who Heather had helped.