Mushroom chairs in funky gray velour, olive green Lucite seats on casters, and white vinyl swan chairs with high backs and wide armrests were tucked into boomerang-style Formica tables and pulled up to solid wooden cubes.
Plexiglas terrariums sat on every tabletop. Vintage metal newspaper racks stood on the floor with a collection of papers and glossy magazines. Subdued lighting from chrome hanging lamps with frosted white bulbs created a feeling of intimacy. Lava lamps at the ordering station drew customers’ smiles.
Taylor’s gaze darted to the darker corners. She needed to locate Stryke before he noticed her, then fly beneath his radar.
She found him at a triangular table, alone, all game-day casual in a white knit shirt and blue jeans; he was reading the newspaper. Six of his teammates were gathered nearby, seated around a 1950s-style diner table with a shiny grooved aluminum edge. Taylor recognized Risk Kincaid, Zen Driscoll, Psycho McMillan, and Cooper Smith—men who set the standard for fair play and athleticism.
The unwritten rule—never disturb a starter on his day to pitch—was upheld here. The men honored Brek’s privacy and need for mental preparation. They left him to his paper.
Since no one other than Stryke knew she was in town, she could order her iced hazelnut latte and scone and hit the door without being noticed. She crowded up against the man ahead of her, who cut her an annoyed look. Taylor willed the line to move a little faster.
If anything, the line slowed. After a second furtive glance at Brek, she breathed easier. He was still buried in the news. She’d seen no sign of Jacy Kincaid.
She had almost reached the ordering station when Jacy pushed through the kitchen doors and spotted her. “Taylor Hannah?” Her voice carried from the cappuccino machine across the coffee shop. “You’re home!”
Taylor winced. Her cover was blown big-time.
So much for keeping a low profile.
She looked at Stryke and saw him square his shoulders and clench his jaw. When he located her in line, he held her gaze for ten long seconds before returning to the comics. She’d been openly dismissed. He’d chosen Garfield over her.
Taylor nearly folded. Her breath rasped out, and she locked her knees so they wouldn’t buckle. Jacy Kincaid’s warm welcome soothed her ragged nerves. They hugged like two lost sisters, finding each other after three long years.
Jacy would always be Jacy, with her metallic blue hair, dangling red earrings, and generous smile. She was as eclectic as her coffee shop in her burgundy velvet jacket and tuxedo-yoke blouse. She’d stuffed the hem of her pink corduroys into knee-high brown leather slouch boots with studded cuffs. The lady made her own fashion statement.
Jacy immediately tugged Taylor out of line and customer earshot. “When did you get home? How long can you stay? Have coffee with me?” Her words tripped over one another.
Taylor couldn’t help smiling. She and Jacy had grown close during Taylor’s engagement to Stryke. Jacy had been one of few who’d remained her friend following the wedding fiasco. They’d exchanged letters and phone calls over the years.
“I arrived in Richmond two days ago. I’m here through next weekend. We’ll have coffee later this week,” Taylor assured her. “Just not today.”
Jacy nodded toward the corner of the shop. “Have you seen Stryke? Spoken to him?”
Confession was good for the soul. She lowered her voice. “He caught me playing Rally Ball at yesterday’s game. I’d wanted to see him one more time before he got married, and hoped to go unnoticed. Unfortunately, I was discovered. Stryke had me stripping off the costume in the mascot lounge, down to my bra and panties—an unsettling way to face off with the man I left at the altar.”
Jacy covered her mouth and choked back a laugh. “Talk about tense moments.”
“He’s engaged. He had no time for me.”
Jacy looked at her intently. “Can’t really blame him, can you?”
“The blame was all mine,” Taylor admitted. Her stomach twisted on her next request. “Tell me about Hilary Louise Talbott.”
“A need to know?”
“A want to know.”
Jacy understood. “Hilary has brown hair and eyes, and is petite and curvy,” she began slowly. “She’s heavily involved in her father’s mayoral campaign. I don’t believe she works out or is the least bit athletic. She’s quiet, analytical, and a homebody. She teaches Sunday school, loves kids. She’d never take the road less traveled. She’s quite dedicated to Stryke. She defers to him on all decisions. Hilary is sweet and—”
“Predictable.” Taylor’s breath hissed through her teeth. “Hilary and I are complete opposites.”
Jacy nodded. “Pretty much so.”
“Is Hilary”—she could barely get the words out—“the love of his life?”
Her friend shrugged. “There are many kinds of love. You and Stryke sparked so much heat, I’d fan myself. With Hilary, there’s a softer warmth. She’s kind and comfortable and—”
“Reliable. She won’t leave him at the altar,” Taylor finished for her.
“He doesn’t deserve to be left a second time,” Jacy stated. “Stryke’s a good man.”
“Too good for me.” Taylor sighed. “I should be happy for him.”
“But you’re not.” Jacy read her well. “You have regrets and need closure.”
“It’s hard to wrap up loose ends when Stryke wishes me gone.”
Jacy looked toward the players, then linked arms with Taylor. “Hmm, perhaps he’s not as indifferent as he might seem. There’s more than one Rogue checking you out. Stryke’s given you as many slanted glances as Sloan McCaffrey has direct ones. Come meet Sloan. He’s the new reliever. He’s cocky and conceited, and would do himself if he was able.”
Taylor resisted. “I’ll meet Sloan some other day.”
“Make it today,” Jacy insisted. “Risk,” she called to her husband. “May we join you?”
Taylor stiffened. Never one to be embarrassed, she now blushed. She didn’t want attention drawn to herself. And Risk’s obvious uncertainty did little to reassure her. The Rogues were as close as a fraternity. She’d screwed over one of their own. There was no love for her from the team. Nor forgiveness after three years.