Page 3 of Built to Last

I was that sour thing, and I would not regret it. Really, I wouldn’t. It would be a waste of eight years of holding a grudge if I were to let things go so easily.

“Thanks for letting us know,” I said, speaking on behalf of the café in general so I didn’t have to admit to being nice.

Kyle nodded.

Then stood there.

Staring at me.

The air in the café crackled. The part of me that wasn’t a grumpy, once-bitten-twice-shy bastard tried to lean closer to him. Chase and Emily leaned against each other, eyes wide, probably holding their breaths.

“Okay, then,” Kyle said at last, his shoulders dropping. He turned to go, but glanced back over his shoulder. “See you at the game tonight.”

I nodded, but didn’t trust myself to say anything as I watched the guy who’d once had my ankles over his shoulders and currently had my gut in a twist walk away. His ass was as awesome as it’d ever been, but I really didn’t need to go noticing that.

Kyle Jameson was the enemy. He wasn’t out, he wasn’t coming out anytime soon, and it was a waste of my time to keep holding a torch for him.

I realized too late that I’d kept staring out the window and watching him until he disappeared around the corner. When I shook myself out of my thoughts and turned toward the office, Chase and Emily were still watching me.

“Questions, comments, concerns?” I asked them sarcastically.

“Nope,” Emily said, jumping away from Chase and focusing on the customer who had just walked through the door. “Welcome to Common Grounds, can I help you?”

Heat flooded me at the idea I’d let my personal business spill out all over the café floor in front of a customer. I nodded to the young mom with her sleeping baby in a stroller and walked around the end of the counter, heading for the office.

Chase stopped me with a quick, “So Kyle Jameson plays baseball, too?” as he returned to stocking the cups in the dispenser beside the bank of coffee machines and espresso makers.

I wasn’t naïve enough to think that was Chase’s actual question.

Since he wasn’t going to leave me alone until I spilled at least a little tea, I veered back to the edge of the counter area. “Yes. We’re in the same league, different teams.”

“Sounds like you’re playing each other tonight,” Chase said, still fishing as he tidied up his area while Emily made the young mother’s coffee order and looked on.

“Yes,” I said with exaggerated patience. “I play for the Barracudas. Jameson plays for the Walruses.”

“The Walruses?” Chase asked with an amused snort. “Who names a baseball team the Walruses?”

I sighed, pretending to be put out when, in fact, I’d always thought the name was hilarious. “The guys who started it a few years ago all had giant moustaches. Thankfully, they’re no longer a requirement to join the team.”

Although Kyle might look good with a ’stache. Not one of the massive ones that the team founders had once had, but something trim and distinguished. I would never say no to well-groomed facial hair. It felt especially nice brushing up against⁠—

Nope. Not going to go there where Kyle the Closet Case Jameson was concerned.

“Who’s got the better team?” Chase asked, just having to drag the conversation out further when we all had work to do.

“We do, of course,” I answered with a wry smirk. Because I couldn’t just let the whole thing drop and go back to work either. “I’m having the best season of my career, actually.”

“Good for you, boss,” Chase said with a genuine smile. “I might have known you had it in you. Of all your brothers, I’ve always thought you were the most competitive.”

I still couldn’t leave it alone, even though I could see from a mile off Chase was on the hunt to get some sort of an admission out of me. “More competitive than Sam when he’s playing games with Brian?” I asked.

Chase laughed. “Different kind of competitiveness. Those two compete like an old married couple, which I’ve no doubt they will be someday. You and Jameson, on the other hand.” He grinned expectantly at me.

I scowled, no longer having fun with the conversation.

“Me and Jameson nothing,” I said. “He’s just the asshole contractor who lives in his RV and has made our lives a living hell all summer.”

“I didn’t know he lived in that RV,” Emily said, glancing our way and entering the conversation, now that she didn’t have any customers to serve.